During the first decade of my life, when I was living at my parents’ house, there was an old man in our neighborhood. He was from somewhere rural and he was an old man for as long as I’ve known him. He didn’t really have a home. The few things I remember actually belonging to him include a thin walking cane he carried everywhere and the long-tailed khaki coat he wore all the time. Later my mother would give him a hefty Gabi that had once belonged to my father and a silhouette of anything resembling a tall, heavily wrapped human being holding a cane will forever remind me of him.
It feels like it’s been a while. It has been a while. I’ve been trying to reconnect and it hasn’t been going well.