Thee Lonesome Dove

There was never anything standing in our way, well, I suppose that was if you took out my remarkable shyness and repulsiveness to physical and verbal interaction with people, and Lane's stubbornness. Then there would truly be nothing. She could be loud and fun and sociable but my twin was just born with those traits. I on the other hand am not as flattering. But somehow we fit together like two pieces to a puzzle.

Like the puzzle we finished in one of the earliest summers of ours lives, we had been very proud. Granmama had allowed us to stay up all night and she left us to ourselves. The porch creaked steadily as our grandfather, Popa, rocked in the wooden chair and the comfy smell of his cigar smoke mingling with the evening air and earthy scents from our apple orchards that sprung up around us. It was wonderful. the sun was gone but the slightest bit of orange was twinkling far far away. Lane was so very determined and, as usual, it rubbed off onto me.

Thinking about it at this moment I can't pin when exactly was the last time I watched a sunset, so I shove my feet into some dusty boots and fling myself across the room gravely. The stairs feel large beneath my feet which feel awfully light. I sigh. Three months. Three long damn months. Now my puzzle was disheveled, because the largest piece was missing. Lane.