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38 onto the old couch with the saddle shaped cushions. There was no way to keep from smiling at the rest of the space. “But it’s all mine.” I spoke the words aloud and jumped up to run to the window to look down on Denver Avenue, one of the busiest streets in the city. Life’s drama was playing itself out only one story below me. I watched darkness take hold of the evening as the sun settled into the hills a few miles west of Tulsa. I knew that darkness would soften the of the avenue. Night. My most favorite time. I looked up into the sky and focused on the faint image of the moon. I thought of home, of mother and daddy and wondered what they were doing just at that moment. They were only a few miles from my front door but it seemed a world away to me. I had tod wed a4 on my own. For a second I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my head. “No Barbara. Must you move out of the house?” And when I had just kept putting my things into boxes she’d said, “Nineteen is just ... well ... you’re so young.” It hurt me to hear the pleading in her voice. I’d answered, “But Mother, what can happen? I’m a grown woman, now. I need to be on my own. I’ll get a job. I'll call every day to let you know what I’m doing.” She’d sighed and given up, then she’d given me the money to get that first apartment. The bubbly feeling returned to my chest now, and with the tip of my fingernail, I lifted a tear from the corner of my eye. I hated to admit that I was having an attack of homesickness, even though I’d left my parent’s house only this morning. I took a deep breath of the night air. The cool Barbara Bartholic as told to Peggy Fielding facades of the scarred brick buildings that lined both sides to do something to help myself learn to be an adult, to be understand. I’ll take a walk, I thought, a walk’ll feel good. Cheer me up, maybe.