Taos New Mexico 1975, a cool night in late October… this memory comes back to me over and over again; it’s colder than I imagined it would be as I spring off Maria’s back porch and head into the beckoning darkness of the mesa behind her house. I can hear her father screaming in a drunken rage somewhere in the brightly lit kitchen, the curtains casting furtive shadows behind us. “Quickly,” I murmur hoping he hasn’t realized we have fled the house. I can see the lights of my home in the distance it seems so close but must be a few miles off. Read more ›