In Vietnam, They Were 19

Today is the last day I will be 18.

The little old lady sits on the top step of her front porch, eyes not seeing, ears not hearing, consumed by snoop tendencies that linger even now. When my mom pulls into the driveway, I watch from the second-story western window as Ina drags herself to her feet and hobbles back inside, never saying a word.

She used to always holler at us when we came home if she was outside. Always wanted something, it seemed. Fix my weather windows, bring my laundry off the line, read this housing assistance letter to me.

Hello, nineteen!