I wake up one morning and drive past on my way to work, the sign says "hay and azaleas." Typical, I think. On my way home there's a truck in Bossman's usual place. An hour later I return. "He sold the place," she said. And my heart skipped a beat. "He's gone."
I was cordial and happy for her. Happy if she was happy. And honestly, I was happy for him for finally being able to move on. But in my heart of hearts, I thought ... what do I do now?
For 23 years I've lived in this town and for all my memorable ones, he has owned that store. I used to go with my mom when she would get copies of her newspaper column or use the fax. I would buy a gumball or some Chiclets. I went once with Dad to find a fixture for our ancient bathtub. He didn't have it, but he knew where to find it.
Today I drove by on my way to work and the sign read "new hours" and listed them.
Part of me wants to strongly dislike the man who bought the shop, but I'm so happy for Bossman that I can't be upset. So much has changed for their family in the last few months that this just seems miniscule. But miniscule it might seem, it also seems like the perfect pick-me-up.
I grew up with his son. We were like best friends in grade school. Shared the same class through seventh grade or so. Inseperable sometimes. He used to work there -- about since he was fourteen maybe. His life has changed now, but I've since wondered what he will do when he returns and life is not the same in Fort McCoy.
And I might fear I'll lose touch with the family I've begun to feel as my own. The convenience of seeing them will be gone, and when Bossman and the Mrs. move to Georgia (which is bound to happen), I'm not exactly sure what that will mean for their son. . . . What that will mean for me.
I'm not sure I get even remotely the same feeling when I drive through Fort McCoy anymore and so I'm not so uneasy about moving myself anymore either. It almost makes me queasy to see the shop that's parking lot once stored four cars I knew at a glance. Now I know one. And as awesome of a woman as she is, she was never the reason I went there.
Why is it that even though I know this is what they want and what they've always wanted, and that it's been a long-time coming, that I'm not prepared to lose the ability to swing by and see them? I think I never really believed he would be able to go through with selling it. But with no one to pass it down to, I understand why he did. And with his future in Georgia now, it makes perfect sense for him. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't kind of breaks my heart.
I need to visit Sanford as soon as I come back from Texas. I think that might be part of my problem.
I was cordial and happy for her. Happy if she was happy. And honestly, I was happy for him for finally being able to move on. But in my heart of hearts, I thought ... what do I do now?
For 23 years I've lived in this town and for all my memorable ones, he has owned that store. I used to go with my mom when she would get copies of her newspaper column or use the fax. I would buy a gumball or some Chiclets. I went once with Dad to find a fixture for our ancient bathtub. He didn't have it, but he knew where to find it.
Today I drove by on my way to work and the sign read "new hours" and listed them.
Part of me wants to strongly dislike the man who bought the shop, but I'm so happy for Bossman that I can't be upset. So much has changed for their family in the last few months that this just seems miniscule. But miniscule it might seem, it also seems like the perfect pick-me-up.
I grew up with his son. We were like best friends in grade school. Shared the same class through seventh grade or so. Inseperable sometimes. He used to work there -- about since he was fourteen maybe. His life has changed now, but I've since wondered what he will do when he returns and life is not the same in Fort McCoy.
And I might fear I'll lose touch with the family I've begun to feel as my own. The convenience of seeing them will be gone, and when Bossman and the Mrs. move to Georgia (which is bound to happen), I'm not exactly sure what that will mean for their son. . . . What that will mean for me.
I'm not sure I get even remotely the same feeling when I drive through Fort McCoy anymore and so I'm not so uneasy about moving myself anymore either. It almost makes me queasy to see the shop that's parking lot once stored four cars I knew at a glance. Now I know one. And as awesome of a woman as she is, she was never the reason I went there.
Why is it that even though I know this is what they want and what they've always wanted, and that it's been a long-time coming, that I'm not prepared to lose the ability to swing by and see them? I think I never really believed he would be able to go through with selling it. But with no one to pass it down to, I understand why he did. And with his future in Georgia now, it makes perfect sense for him. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't kind of breaks my heart.
I need to visit Sanford as soon as I come back from Texas. I think that might be part of my problem.
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