I’m presently sitting in a local coffeeshop. There is the high whine of the coffee machinery in the air above me, the people thanking each other, and clinking silverware and mugs. The light slants in through the leaves and the Halloween themed window paintings.
There is talk about the future behind me.
I don’t want to talk to people. Do I find it more comforting to have people to ignore, than to be completely anonymous?
I’ve lived in this town more than 20 years. I am defined by the memories here. I feel as if I can reach out and touch the buildings to help me remember who I am, often to my detriment. The alleys drone on about my indiscretions. I remember the view from the rooftops, the feeling of freedom when I was 13 and 14; high, and high. And people become cartoons, the leading image of an amalgamation of sharp, protruding memories.
Would I be weakened moving to a city? Some place where the walls stared back at me mutely. Where my desire to be defined by my surroundings would be added to a queue longer than most of my hometown’s streets?
How do people who have lived as a ‘persona’ in their respective hometowns deal with a move to a new city?
