People Watching

by Hannah Bonam-Young

She taps on a bumper sticker, one of many, then underlines the words with her finger. “My other ride is your mother,”

Imagine a home, Mom’s neurologist had told us, where the basement is the present and the attic is as far back as memories go. The home begins to flood, from the ground up. Like with a flood, some items will be salvageable, but most things will be lost. Similarly, some memories will survive whereas most will not. Level by level, you’ll see the water rise, irreparably damaging each room on its way.

“You can decide someone doesn’t have a seat at your table without hoping that they starve.”