Where else could I go to hold onto their memories?
“Keira,” a voice called out from the stairwell.
It was Ms. Brown, Hayden’sndlord.
N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive ? material.
I didn’t even have to ask–I knew she’d heard about the demolition.
“Keira, they’re really going to tear this ce down… such a shame,” she sighed.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, my expression reflecting the sadness I felt.
Ms. Brown went on, “I just spent money fixing up my ce. It’s barely been rented out a month, and
now I have to kick the tenant out. What a waste.”
I stayed quiet.
“Keira, I’ve been trying to reach that young man renting my ce, but he’s not picking up. If you
see him, can you tell him to call me back? And maybe give him a heads–up about the demolition so
he can start looking for a new ce and pack up his stuff.”
“Sure,” I agreed.
“Thanks, Keira,” Ms. Brown said politely, but her tone quickly shifted to a more gossipy one. “You’ve
met him, right? That guy renting my ce–he seems decent, doesn’t he?”
I gave a small smile. “Yeah, he’s alright.”
*Just alright? You’ve got high standards! If I had a daughter, I’d be pushing for her to marry him,”
Ms. Brown joked, clearly impressed by Hayden,
“You can always try for another kid,” I teased her.
On any other day, she might’ve taken that as me being disrespectful. But with that story going viral
about the sixty–something–year–old woman who had a baby, she justughed. “I don’t have that
kind of energy! Don’t make fun of me.”
I smiled but didn’t say anything, just letting her talk. Ms. Brown kept going, “You should start sorting
your things out too. Toss what you don’t need or sell it.
“I know a guy who collects scrap–pays well and is really nice.
“I’ll give you his number, and when you’re ready, you can call him to sell your stuff.”
She seemed so eager to help, I couldn’t say no.
After giving me the number, Ms. Brown finally left, and headed upstairs.
The moment I opened the door to my apartment, the memories came rushing in all at once, and my
eyes stung with tears.
Some things… no matter how hard you try, you just can’t hold onto them.
My dad used to tell me that when you can’t hold onto something, you just have to let it go. I knew
this
demolition was inevitable, so after a brief moment of sadness, I started really looking around the
apartment, figuring out what to do next. I decided to start packing, beginning with the storage room.
My parents‘ rooms? I wasn’t ready to touch those yet.
As I sorted through things, I made up my mind: I was going to buy my own ce as soon as
possible. That way, I could take everything my parents left behind with me.
There were so many old things–the bookshelf from when I was a kid, the tiny tricycle I used to ride,
my parents‘ gardening tools, my dad’s fishing gear, my mom’s painting supplies…
I
Everything was old, but none of it was stuff I could just let go of.
The more I packed, the more I realized how important it was to find a ce for all of this.
While I was clearing out the clutter, I came across an old wicker trunk. I knew it well–I had a picture
of myself as a kid, sitting right on top of it.
My dad once told me it was his “suitcase” when he left the orphanage, basically his version of a
travel bag.
1 opened it, and there, on top, was one of my dad’s dark blue vests. Instantly, I thought of Hayden
and his
green vest.
Underneath the vest was a notebook, a pen still clipped to the cover. When I flipped it open, my
dad’s familiar handwriting stared back at me, and the grief hit so hard it felt like my chest caved in.
Tears welled up before I could stop them, spilling onto the ink and blurring the words.
I quickly tried to wipe them away, but in the process, I knocked the notebook off the bed. Something
slipped out from between the pages.
I picked it up–it was a contract. Flipping through it, I skimmed over the contents, but when I reached
thest page, I froze, staring at the signature and thepany stamp.