We’re at an intersection. Mom’s observing the world from the passenger seat. I’m thinking about how small she looks. She points, and says, “We used to go to that coffee shop every Saturday night.”
I glance over as cars start moving. “There?” It’s a place I haven’t thought of in ages. Me and my friends used to hang out there. Sip Cokes. Draw. Play D&D until they kicked us out.
“On Saturdays your father and I would go dancing, and end up there,” she said, smiling, lost in thought.
I never knew that.
My folks were way cooler than me.
Hey Alex Perez 