Down Souf

The prop plane buzzes angrily and knocks its way through the thin clouds. Sometimes it drops a few feet, but it steadily climbs. The man next to me is bothersome. I wipe my face, sweaty and sick with Amurrikan germs that my Spanish body had lived without for four months. A bit of an oddysey, a little journey back home. When the plane lands, my parents are waiting there, right where I left them. Valdosta.