“Mangy stucco and peeling green trim, waist-high wire fence that sags off its rusty poles, brown lawn so shorn it is more stubble than grass. The cab pulls up to the curb and when I pay the driver he looks philosophical about the size of the tip. He’s probably known it was coming since he picked me up at the Greyhound station.“Just here for a visit?” he’d asked with a glance at my knapsack. But I didn’t encourage conversation and when I get out he doesn’t say a word. He drives off as soon as the... door is shut, leaving me to stand on the cracked cement and wait for anxiety to pounce. Fear, relief, guilt. I am sure I’m supposed to feel guilt, and the dread of returning to a place I never meant to see again. Waiting for it all beside the curb.My mother’s corpse was in the hospital morgue for more than a week before the lawyer’s office tracked me down.A dog barks out back, across the alley behind the house. It’s such an ordinary neighborhood, neither middle class nor poor.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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