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Exit Wound Our family is different. Five versions of our childhood become one whispered voice that my brother and sisters share. The stories are retraced and shown on a flat screen TV while we safely hold the remote control.[We like to watch the cowboy story [[strikethrough]] move [[/strikethrough]] movie in a collage sequence with fractured time of white, glass and weightlessness pushing fast forward and pause.] Jesse was a cowboy my mother brought home to stay with us. I wished my mom had met Jesse in a bar[[strikethrough]] he [[/strikethrough]] it might have felt safer. My mother picked him up while he was being held for evaluation. She snuck him out of a loopy psychiatry system and brought him home. A professional can help determine the craziness of a person but I could have given my mother the flood light of my fear. My evaluation sat inside my brain wrapped in clinging adolescence while watching the grandeur of madness being performed. We were living in Phoenix Arizona with Camelback Mountain casting a shadow over our ranch style house. No cowboys worked this ranch, only my mother and the ranch hands were her kids. The new ranch house was plopped down in an old citrus grove. The fragrance of orange blossoms became our calendar. Spring was the smell of 1