I store my life in the oddest of places. I kept my 9th grade in two cabinets at the bottom of the dresser in my room. 11th grade is directly on top of 8th, though it's mostly dust and ungifted scented candles. 10th grade I left behind in the corner classroom with my favorite teacher. 18 I think I left in the passenger seat of your car, along with my green plaid scarf and the camera you said was mine.
The day you called, I left that day on the Burke-Gilman trail at the University. I left last summer on the 520, spending so many hours stalled in traffic. I left the holiday season in Cafe Habits, where I worked for free because I thought you needed me (I left in a hurry when I realized you didn't). Freshman year is stretched between the Henry Art Gallery and McMahon.
The trouble is, I'm running out of places to go in this city. The reality is, I'll never go back to those days. The buildings of Bellevue and Seattle stand like the ruined temples of Chichen Itza. This is a city of dead memories and people I used to know. Let's just get out of the country.
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