When he was young he'd take the bus into town and sit at a giant counter. The man would throw him a Coke and he'd slip a straw through the neck of the cool glass bottle.
The rain was soft against his skin as he exited the restaurant, feeling the dirt crunch under his feet. A million tear drops, a million memories. His life was so young then. A blank canvas.
He had two younger siblings. They adored him. Revered him. Ryan was the bread to their butter, the sugar to their tea. He had to admit this gave him a bit of pride, but what did he know. All he knew at the ripe age of six was that being a big brother made his chest burst with pride.
His mother was gentle. Strong. Beautiful. He thought she was the loveliest woman in the world.
He didn't see much of his father, who worked hard to provide for their family and had no energy to do anything else. His father would come home from his alternating jobs, field work and mining. On Tuesdays his hands were streaked with dirt and blood. On Thursdays his eyelashes were laden with coal dust. That was just the way it went.
The smells of Ryan's childhood consisted of peppermint and butter and the earth after it rained. Deep brown dirt colored most of his life as he learned and grew. His roots went deep in those years. Maybe too deep. If not for the memories pulling on his heartstrings, he'd have no regrets about leaving home all those years ago.
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