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Written By: Belle Morris
December 7, 2014
"Good-bye Smith!" A pat on the back, wobble out of the plane, get home. Home, I've missed it more, more than Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and Quincy Market on Sunday mornings. The velvet-interior car drops me on the stop of the place where I ate too many buttermilk pancakes in the mornings and cheated at monopoly more times than I can count, unsteadily, I knock on the door that always gave me one extra Snickers on Halloween. "Mom," Her eyes glitter, and her arms fly around me, using the wooden spoon in her left to scold me for being gone so long. I have eaten more than my fill, and lie in bed, closing my eyes, and this time no screams of death and destruction echo through my ears, like they had for my months away; finally, I am home.