When she left, Anita took Mom's valise, the round one with the wooden handle from Eaton's department store. Mom was furious. She'd had it on hold at the store for weeks while she earned enough to ... [+]
“When did they build it – the neighborhood?”
“Oh, sometime in the mid-nineties. I can’t exactly remember when, the years just bleed together, you know?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, when you live here for forty years, you start to forget how long it’s been since a road was repaved or a neighbor moved away, and before you realize it things have changed. Then doesn’t look like now, you know?”
“Oh. No. I move around. New state every year or two. Every place is different before I’m there. Can’t notice anything changing if I’m also moving.”
“No?”
“Anywhere I live, everything around me stays the same. I leave too soon to see a forest disappearing.”
“Yeah, well, a neighborhood takes time to be built, you know?”
“Like Rome.”
“Huh?”
“Rome wasn’t built in a day. I move too quickly to watch history happen. To watch stories.”
“Oh. Do you wish you could?”
“Yes.”
“To see a forest disappearing?”
“Yes. To see something changing. Not already different.”