It’s an old, established neighborhood with some newer houses beginning to replace ones that had seen better days. People rarely wanted to spend the time or money to refurbish anymore. It was an impatient world, and everyone demanded immediate results. Of course, it didn’t matter that a new build took longer. That didn’t really enter into it. The modern one-size-fits-all was better to most than its drafty, classic counterpart. I spot my parents’ white Victorian surrounded by, of course, a white picket fence. Its style has been featured in countless movies, and it’s been the inspiration behind fairy tales and love stories. The porch light glows in the early morning light as if it had been expecting my arrival all along. Home. Our initials are carved in the oak tree out back, and under it, two dogs that had died of old age are buried. I rub a small scar under my chin and grin as I remember Luc and I having the bright idea to ride our bikes off the steep porch.
