Mamma always had a love for other people's possessions. One of my earliest memories is walking to the park, my hand firmly tucked into hers. I was an impulsive child, and likely would have darted into ... [+]
It had been nearly fourteen years, but there you were on my morning commute. On your way to work like nothing had happened. Both of us on our ways to work as if nothing had happened. You looked good. Older, sure, hair starting to thin. But I could see the remnants of your tan, summer, teenage self, even now: your long limbs still slender under work clothes, the same dark eyes. I'd never seen you in a suit before. We were children then, not enough a part of each other's families to tag along to weddings or funerals, or even to church. It made you look—please forgive me—a little nerdy, and in