More than twenty-eight years ago I left Harbor Beach to come to Chicagoland. A country mouse in the city. Just after the new year dawned.
Before I left, I packed up my mini-van with text books from college and resource books from work. Someone stole them while I was at midnight mass, Christmas Eve.
“Whoever stole the box, will see those books are of no value to them,” I said to my friend Cindy. “I’m sure they’ll bring them back.”
“Adela, think about it,” she replied. “They’re thieves.”
I was so naïve.
My co-workers sent me off with $100 inside a coffee mug. I bought a professional looking wool coat, so I could leave my puffy parka in the closet and look like I belonged in the city.
I have the coat in the closet, hoping some day it will fit again. It is, after all, retro by now.
On cold mornings, it reminds me of old friends. On warm mornings it does the same.