I WISH I COULD SAY it’s been four years since I’ve been here, but I cheated. Twice, I cheated. As I walk by the familiar newsstand, I check the date once again. September 11, 1965.
I normally get here in the morning, but this time, I wanted to make sure he got the papers, so it’s just before dinnertime.
I walk the street to Ivy Hill and take in the changes. A few new houses have gone up on the street. Sad to think they won’t be there in fifty years when the museum is built.
One of them across the street has some kids playing on a tire swing with their dad, and I can’t help but watch and smile. Soon, I tell myself. I have to believe that soon I will have my David with me always. The alternative is something I can’t think about right now.
I walk toward Ivy Hill and see a few people out f
