Mom was from an Army family. Always shuffling, cardboard boxes, pets left behind with neighbors. It’s no way to live. Kids need roots, she’d tell us. Proudly, because roots we have, all right. Roots like a tire swing and a basement with broken Christmas lights. Roots like my initials carved into a bench at the high school, roots like Mrs. Greer at the checkout counter, Now, how are you and that Brenner boy? I remind her we’re both in college now, moved away. Never home anymore except for Christmas.
Aw it’s a shame, weren’t you kids sweet though. I remember.