The Bar.
“What’s up stoopid.”
Tara sat down across from me, her brown hair blocking the clock on the church across the street. Fortunately , part of the sun as well.
“What is that brain working on now? Who brings a book to a bar anyway?”
I stared. what do you want Tara?
I had to admit, it felt weird coming back home…the mills closed. Empty buildings, like coffins, waiting for their dead or a hotel with empty floors…just shadows of memory.
Tara smiled, lit a cigarette,
You know, you have to be 21 now.
Hey, we‘re all older.
She laughed.
I closed my book.
Asking myself why I came back home…but I really, already knew.
Maybe that was what bothered me.
Tara hadn’t changed that much. She had a way of moving through the weights and the hard moments. Seemingly unscathed.
I was not so lucky.
I took a breath. Feeling flashes of my childhood walking past me in the street.
