Memory

A few days ago, we stepped out for a moment to buy candy for the kids (Mexican M & Ms). The sun, for once, was shining. The air was bright, painful after the dark hallway. It was brisk but not cold. Cars sped by us. Horns, people shouting their wares, and the clangs from the garage down the road surrounded us. I stood there, lost for a moment in time. Something about the smell, chorline and pollution, and the feel of that cool air on my bare skin, sent me back into time. For the briefest of seconds, I was once again, 29, with a baby Umberto in his stroller, walking to buy a cigarette from Oscar, and the News from the local newspaper stand. And then just as suddenly, I was 35, with three children, walking to buy Mexican M & Ms.