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Heading Home

The first green sign for the Delaware Memorial Bridge always elicited a quickening of my spirit, already anticipatory but a bit dulled by the long stretch of Route 41 endured in the pre-dawn dark for what felt like hours. We're almost halfway there!  The first sign of our nearness to the Ninth Street Bridge was the blue strips of water slicing through the tall green grass that seemed to wave its welcome to the place I drew pictures of on the manilla papers tucked in my purple Trapper Keeper, starting back in May. The sight of the Ninth Street Bridge caused a loosening of the seat belt, arms around the back of my mom's headrest, and a huge smile. Sometimes, and it was a real bummer, the light at the drawbridge would turn yellow just as our wood-paneled van started up its length. We'd wait, and wait, and wait as a meandering yacht would sail through the center of the structure, like the Israelites through the Red Sea, but with less urgency. After its passage, the grated door

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