Rattling south on Chicago’s “L” with my daughter and 200 pounds of her stuff wedged into six suitcases, I wish Lyda would turn and say she’ll miss me. With her phone pressed to the window, she snaps pictures of big city possibilities instead and finger flicks them to friends. Wrigley Field’s rooftop bleachers. Snap. Swish. A river that will run green for St. Paddy’s Day. Snap. Swish. She’s already left me, I realize; her body’s just waiting to catch up after I drop her at college for the first time.
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