Driving by the old apartment

I wonder if it is sometimes better to not go back. That it's better to keep the image alive in our memories only because the reality is, things change. And I'm not suggesting that change is bad, but maybe that change can be sad. Sometimes, going back can be great. Like when people you haven't seen in a while are truly happy to see you. It's even better when they didn't expect to see you, and the joy you watch before your eyes unfolds. But, the things that are sad, like when a building, which used to be your old apartment--your first apartment--is gone. Demolished. Knocked down. Replaced by trees and probably a parking lot. I gasped when I saw that tonight. Gasped.

No longer can those walls do any talking. Forever gone is the green shag carpeting, the black and white square linoleum kitchen tile, and the window ledge where we'd sit and watch the traffic and the people go by on Sheridan Road. There won't be any more parties there, either, where it's best to be the "cup guy," and the girls downstairs--twin sisters--commingle amongst strangers. And maybe the hookers are gone too. They've found another corner to hawk their wares.

Goodbye carpet. Goodbye tile. Goodbye window ledge. Goodbye parties, and sisters, and cups. Goodbye ladies.

I'm not the only one getting older.