Since I left for college, I expected the house would stay the same, and no matter how long I was gone, I’d come back to the exact same house where I grew up. It was naive of me to expect nothing would change.
Some furniture got broken and were now disposed of. Some were replaced with simpler ones. Grandma no longer put up curtains in the living room. Maybe because her arthritis had kept her from moving like she used to. It made me sad whenever I heard her talking about all of us getting older. It was Dad who did the cooking now and most of the house chores, apart from managing his auto repair shop and tending my grandmother’s needs, and I could tell he was exhausted.
And here I was, nursing a broken heart. Even I wasn’t spared.
“Could we just go back in time? When things were easier?” The words left my mouth as I watched my father check the engine of a client’s car.
