Returning to back pockets. He asks so many questions about why I wasn’t happy. I don’t want that to be his impression. So I tiptoe through the halls, susurrate, reach the other end, and tell him about a trip we once took to Kansas. I sat in the back seat and watched the trees gradually disappear into a long, endless field. He leaned over the steering wheel so that she could tickle his back. They sang silly songs to make us laugh. When we reached Leavenworth, they took us to an old-style soda shop, and sat us on naugahyde bar stools.