The summer we moved to the city, I was ten.
I remember the sound of my mother's laughter
ringing through the empty house,
the way she danced with abandon in the kitchen,
a glass of wine in hand. I remember
the sound of my father's key in the door,
the way he would pause in the entryway, surveying
the scene with a cold eye. I remember the way their fights
would escalate until something broke--a dish, a vase,
a window. I remember the way they would cling to each other
in the aftermath, weeping and apologizing. I remember
As if we are still there, if we had never left.
William Du is a high school student at Delbarton School. He finds inspiration and beauty in the motion pictures of everyday life. In his free time, he enjoys fulfilling and dispelling stereotypes and writing satire. He has a fondness for elegies and plays the piano.