may be

last night my grandpa's brother drove me home. i pointed out the wraparound driveway just beyond the purple string lights near the end of the shopping village in which i live, and as he turned in, he said, "really!"

(how many times have i turned off right in front of his beloved goofy car?)

"where do i drop you off?"

"oh, just there - that's my car."

"and this is where you live?"

"yep, this is it!"

my aunt tells me that whenever she drives down that road she thinks of how i live there. when my grandpa drives back from costco he tells me he passes my place. he and his brother have passed it for years driving to the orchestra up the street, and i wave to them from my stoop as they pass along home (if i'm really lucky, they're right behind me on the way).

really. this is where i live?

i take the trash out from the side of the house, under the fire escape, to the curb, and stand out there for a while, listening to the classic rock waft over from the sushi restaurant. if i bought a bike, i could take it a mile and a half over to the ecological trust trail around the creek. maybe i will. i probably won't. but i can take a walk outside any time i like.

i like going places with these people. i love it when they pick me up, spare tennis shoes and all, and accept that i'm their problem for the day. we arrive together. we leave together. we watch each other's stuff on bathroom breaks.

if i concentrate hard enough, i can fall fast in love with what has been and what may be.

the concert season is over. my four-day work week's begun. i can do absolutely anything i like.