Our house in New Milford was right out of a Hollywood movie; a white picket fence holding in the tamed green grass my fathered obsessed over to avoid my mother. My father was a man who took pride in everything that could be seen on the outside. With a ruler he measured the length of his fresh cut grass and the distance of the picket fence from the sidewalk.
There were no cracks or weeds in the walkway. No flaws in the perfect house where the perfect family lived. Not a single paint peel. Not a spotted window to look through. No weeds in the flower beds. Everything about us looked perfect. Then one day we were gone. The weeds came back, the paint peeled off and the walkways cracked. No one even knew we were gone.
We had moved to Rochester and I felt left alone. Connecticut and New York were in sharp contrast I didn’t know how to behave. All I kept thinking was I must become accountable to no one.
There were no cracks or weeds in the walkway. No flaws in the perfect house where the perfect family lived. Not a single paint peel. Not a spotted window to look through. No weeds in the flower beds. Everything about us looked perfect. Then one day we were gone. The weeds came back, the paint peeled off and the walkways cracked. No one even knew we were gone.
We had moved to Rochester and I felt left alone. Connecticut and New York were in sharp contrast I didn’t know how to behave. All I kept thinking was I must become accountable to no one.
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