By Megan Alexander

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” You stare at me from across the table and your eyes hum with expectation.

I know you want me to say something exotic. You want me to tell you that there’s this island off the coast of wherever that I’ve always dreamed of visiting ever since I heard about it on some NPR short, hosted by a man who had traveled to 297 countries in as many days. At the same time, you don’t care about my answer because you are already thinking about yours. You are dying to tell me about this city in Peru where the women cook up the most fabulous whatevers and you can eat them while sitting on a mountain peak above the clouds. You will tell me about the days it will take to get there and the various modes of transportation I will have to use and how very few can really appreciate the experience as they don’t truly understand the plight of the native people and so on and so forth. And the words are dancing on your lips, ready to fall over the edge and sail above your tall icy glass of the craft beer that you swear you can only get here and at some small café in the Baden-Wurttemberg region of Germany. But they don’t serve it so cold there, you say. It is much better when it is not so cold. And so I say my answer. A small town in Texas. I don’t give the name because I know you won’t care and I see hints of confusion and disappointment in your eyes. I say it’s where my grandmother had lived when I was a girl and before I can explain anymore the waiter comes by and you ask for the check.