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Going Native by Kristine Kathryn Rusch "God, could you find a duller way to travel?" asks my leggy companion, the luscious Ruth. She has this weekend off, and she insisted on coming with me on my assignment. It'll be fun, she said, and then followed that up with, how can I know what you're doing unless I come along with you on occasion? I listened to the logic of that, and now I find myself trapped in a 5' by 6' moving room with a woman who finds train travel passe. Me, I'm afraid that the Amtrak trip up the mountain will be the best part of this assignment. I work for eight online editors, and all of them called me last week to ask for an article on the annual TVS convention. Such a uniformity of requests has only happened once before in my career, and that was when a woman that I sat beside in grade school, tormented in middle school, and dated in high school was inaugurated as President of the United States. Suddenly my memoirs had value. Somehow, I doubt that this essay has the same sort of import. I also had my doubts about bringing Ruth to kooksville and now, when we're still two hours away from our destination, I know I've made the Wrong Decision. She is lying on the bottom berth, her bare feet against the dirty plastic wall, her skirt pooled around her waist, and she is not |
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