Thursday, February 19, 2009
Flashbacks (Or, A-Okay)
So I tried my luck job hunting in the city. Now we wait. I high-tailed it back to Freeman House yesterday and was relieved to find everything here is fine.
That can't be said, of course, for the home that belonged to my neighbor, Betty. Her house is a charred shell, with twisted metal and smooty brick chimneys exposed. I felt guilty for staring at it. The carnage reminded me, oddly, of my first years as a reporter when a girl named Beverly Rose was pulled from a stream, naked and murdered. I was riding with Sheriff's deputies when they found her and witnessed it all. I'm not sure why I thought of Beverly Rose when looking at that house, but I did. Such beauty, such waste. The one who steals, kills and destroys isn't playing around.
But there's still life, and life to the full. So I picked daffodils and put them on the kitchen counter and stepped back and sighed.
No matter the circumstances, it's always good to come home.