But this isn’t a movie and if I’m the director of my life I’m not doing a very good job. I drive down the one-lane road — big enough for a horse and buggy back in the 1800s when this town was built — and marvel at the changes time has wrought. I am one of them. But driving back home after close to a decade away I feel the layers of time peel off. There’s my old high school — whereSusan andMelanie and I had ruled the roost and one memorable night been hauled down to the police station after running through the streets at three a.m. singing at the top of our lungs. Neighbors thought we were drunk but we weren’t. On alcohol that is. Just on life. We were young and living in a town so safe and quiet they really did arrest girls for singing too loudly at night. And then sent them home with a growl a wink and regards to the folks. I turn the corner next to the gas station. This drive is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. There’s oldMrs.Garret’s house corner ofHarrison andGrant where she used to hand out homemade cookies on our first day of school. All our street names are presidents other than Main Street only they stop atKennedy which is the last time a new street was added. Starting from the ’70s most kids have opted to leave for the big cities.Susan is now a dentist in Denver.Melanie last I heard married some cowboy and settled in Texas. I haven’t spoken to them in years.