My Own Cherry Tree

In the far reaches of southern Arizona, tucked away amidst the cactus and hay fields, on the banks of the mighty San Pedro River, is the sleepy town of Pomerene. At a glance, it's an idyllic small town. But sometimes, that slumber was quite fitful. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, old timers would wake up wondering if that was just a normal sound in the night, or if the savages were on a rampage again. Tribes of painted grade school children, scaring his livestock and egging his house. I grew up in that small town, and sometimes feel that I am still growing up there. I may not be located there, but I carry that town with me everywhere I go. It's heavy, not considered carryon by most of the major airlines, and is difficult to keep clean. But, it's there when I need it. It helps me make what I hope is the right decision. My self-view of my younger self is of a cherubic, and misunderstood, child who was often cast in the role of villain unjustly. And I am convinced that a concerted effort has been made to alter history. There is how others remember things, and then there is the truth. I appear to be the only one that remembers I had an Evil Twin (E.T.) for instance. Couple that with other incidences of mass amnesia and you can see just how vital it is that I clear my good name.