“So where do you think your checkbook and passport are, David?”
“I don’t know where they are, mom. I thought they were in this box.”
David moves back to his childhood home.
“David. You need to be more organized.” She looked at me with that mom look. You know what I mean. The look that each time projected instantly shrinks you to your former self as a child.
“Not only are my checkbook and passport missing, mom, but I also can’t find my shoes. And I know they came with me and not into storage.”
Three men I’d never seen before had removed most of my worldly possessions to a storage room somewhere in Brooklyn. My only connection to my furniture and the things that described my life for the last fifteen year was reduced to a room number. Continue reading