I wanted her to tell me that she realized that she was the next to be priced out of Brooklyn, and when it happened, I would be the one who made Pittsburgh a place she would return to.
Henderson had shrunk. And the APPLE STORE with its glass windows and taunting fruit hauntingly appeared one day as if out of smoke. Seated on high haunches, as if a castle of white and gray and so much glass, the apple rising symbolically from its roof, rising even higher than the tree.
Every time I hear The Ohio Players’ “Heaven Must Be Like This” it must be liiiiike this - it takes me back to the early eighties and relay races on Broad Street. Just after the beginning of school, but right before the chill sets in the air...Indian summers. Ashy thin legs in short-shorts thrashing down the street...
“humans ruin everything,” Mom used to whistle harshly under her breath. “always poking around where they have no business.” Mom was a drowner. She hated her job, hated culling anything that she couldn’t eat, but she was the best hunter in our pod, and so she was, of course, a drowner.