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sitting inside the glass mirror for four hours.  She was now becoming her mother's child, ready to be taken care of.  She was close to home.

There was a fork in the road.  The car headed left, north.  The Three Way drive-in theater was our sign to cross into Greenlee County.  The screen was empty and dark, no silent images moved, and the cars were gone.  The speakers were post evenly spaced ready to march on the incline facing the gray screen.  The drive-in was showing Ma and Pa Kettle at the Fair.  We would be back tomorrow night in my grandfathers pick up truck parked on one of the small mounds listening to cracked voices with missing words.  I would carefully watch the large screen and think the words into their mouths, making the sentences complete.

I was on the last part of my night watch.  We were going to make it.  My mother had safely fueled her anger to our grandparent's house.  Forty more miles to go.  The child sentry could doze.  I could bring my attention onto the cars glass window, see my reflected face and watch my eyes close.  The mirror of glass was always there to check on myself.

The sign greeted us.  Welcome to Clifton, Where the Trail Begins.  Welcome to Clifton.  I worked like a large Hallmark card.  It became my hallmark to safety.  We passed over the San Francisco River where there were no lights, no benches, and only the concrete span to take us to Clifton.  On the right was a walk-in theater, on the left a gas station.  This is where we turned.  The road up Shannon Hill was steep and narrow with a 

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