I came in through the back door, like I used to. It was always unlocked and there was usually somebody in the kitchen- Ann or David or their boy- to greet me. I was the goofy neighbor back then, I guess. I'd show up, grab a beer, greet everybody,
(more) and hang out with David in the back yard for a while. Those were good times, but times change.
I wasn't the goofy neighbor anymore; I had gotten married and moved a few blocks away, and that distance along with my new life was enough that I fell out of contact with my adopted little family next door. I wasn't around when things got bad, and- being honest- I stayed away when things got really bad.
No one to greet me this time. I expected a mess or maybe a pile of dishes going rancid in the sink, but even those require more living than David was doing. The place wasn't clean either. It was just dead, muted. I walked to the front of the house and saw David in the driveway. He stood statue-still, regarding something on the ground.
I walked outside, I greeted, I went unanswered. He didn't move as I approached him but he knew I was there.
He said, "Forgot about these." In the pavement at his feet were three sets of handprints- his large ones, Ann's slightly smaller, and another set smaller still. "They've been out here a while... this whole time." I didn't know what to say, and was selfishly wondering why the hell I had come over at all.
"It's like a dream gone wrong," he continued. "But these are still real. Like they're still here."
I stood with him, and regarded the ground with him a little while.(less)
