Kimberly Guerrero

Sweetgrass was on the American side, but all you could see was an overpass that arched over the highway and disappeared into the prairies.

Just hearing the names of those towns, you would expect that Sweetgrass, which is a nice name and sounds like it is related to other places such as Medicine Hat and Moose Jaw and Kicking Horse Pass would be on the Canadian side and that Coots, which sounds abrupt and rude, would be on the American side.

But this was not the case.

Between the two borders was a duty-free shop where you could buy cigarettes and liquor and flags, stuff like that.

We left the reserve in the morning and drove until we got to Koops.

"'Last time we stopped here,' my mother said, "'you had an orange crush.

You remember that?'

"'Sure,' I said.

That was when Letitia took off.

"'You want another orange crush?'

"'That means we're not going to stop at a restaurant, right?'

My mother got a coffee at the convenience store and we stood around and watched the prairies move in the sunlight.

Then we climbed back in the car, my mother straightened the dress across her thighs, leaned against the wheel and drove all the way to the border in first gear.

Slowly, as if she were trying to see through a bad storm or riding high on black ice.

The border guard was an old guy.

As he walked to the car, he swayed from side to side, his feet set wide apart, holster on his hip, pitching up and down.

He leaned into the window and looked into the back seat and looked at my mother and me.

Morning, ma'am.

Good morning.

Where are you heading?