It’s been foggy lately. Not a light-misting fog that stretches over the valley like a cloud lake, but a pea-soup thick fog that spreads over roads and makes driving dangerous. My hometown used to have this kind of fog. The seven miles stretch home from a movie theater could feel like a hundred miles. Bright lights only made the fog blind us. Low beams didn’t go past the front of the car. So we crept along, car door open, following the white lines down the middle of the road. We didn’t want to end up driving over the cliff into the Kaiser gravel pits.
Angels must have been watching over us.
Angels watched over Rick, too, when the Marine Corps deployed him briefly to Yuma, Arizona, and he would hitch a ride home to our little Santa Ana studio apartment once a week. He could only stay for a few hours before he and his friend had to head back to base in time for roll call. Fog lays low on those long desert...