The Man in the Matchbox

Laura stepped out of the car and felt the sun scorch her bare legs and arms. Even the air tasted burnt, but it made a change from the heavy stench of the city.
She stared at the huddle of caravans, their matchbox shapes quivering on the horizon and felt the beat of her heart pick up pace. Was she really going to go through with this? Near the roadside, a bullet-riddled can sat on top of a pole that was speared in the ground. Target practice for the locals, thought Laura. She touched the can with her finger, feeling the sharpness of the holes and fear stabbed her chest. What if he really was everything that her mum had said he was? The fear was almost enough to make her jump in the car and head straight back to the highway, but then she thought about the letter again. If she hadn’t have come home early that day from college she might never have found it lying there on the kitchen table, his Nevada address scribbled on the back. Although it was the only letter she had seen, it was clear there had been a lot more and that her mum stopped replying to them some time ago.
A lot could change in four years. And the fact that he still cared enough to write after all this time must count for something.
She took one last look at the horizon and wondered how much it was going to change her life. Then Laura jumped back in the car. She headed off to find out.