him , too , blurred watercolor memories that no longer feel real .
But then , one day , my mom and I are driving through the city . And we drive down Winterview Avenue . The buildings that lined the street are all gone , turned to rubble , crushed by construction equipment .
“ I heard they ’ re going to put up some high-rise apartments over here ,” my mom remarks . “ The really modern kind .”
I stare at the rubble . “ How do you know that ?”
She shrugs . “ I did some research back when you moved into that modern studio . This must be the same company . They tear down old ruined buildings and build modern apartments . It ’ s kind of controversial , actually , because some of the buildings they tear down are considered historic sights , even if no one uses them anymore .”
“ But there was one building that wasn ’ t ruined ,” I say , trying to remember . “ People were living there .”
My mom shakes her head . “ I don ’ t think so . Not for decades . You know , I never understood why you broke that lease and moved back home . It was a beautiful apartment . I loved those big windows .”
I turn to my mom . “ Well I couldn ’ t stay there . Not with Henry .”
“ Henry ?” she says . “ Who ’ s that ?” My voice rises . “ Henry .” “ I don ’ t know Henry .”
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