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September
27
I
should
have
written
this
down
right
away
,
because
it
’
s
important
to
make
this
record
complete
.
I
went
to
see
Rose
three
days
ago
.
Finally
,
I
forced
my
self
to
borrow
Burt
’
s
car
again
.
I
was
afraid
,
and
yet
I
knew
I
had
to
go
.
At
first
when
I
got
to
Marks
Street
I
thought
I
had
made
a
mistake
.
It
wasn
’
t
the
way
I
remembered
it
at
all
.
It
was
a
filthy
street
.
Vacant
lots
where
many
of
the
houses
had
been
torn
down
.
On
the
sidewalk
,
a
discarded
refrig
erator
with
its
face
ripped
off
,
and
on
the
curb
an
old
mat
tress
with
wire
intestines
hanging
out
of
its
belly
.
Some
houses
had
boarded
up
windows
,
and
others
looked
more
like
patched
-
up
shanties
than
homes
.
I
parked
the
car
a
block
away
from
the
house
and
walked
.
There
were
no
children
playing
on
Marks
Street
—
not
at
all
like
the
mental
picture
I
had
brought
with
me
of
chil
dren
everywhere
,
and
Charlie
watching
them
through
the
front
window
(
strange
that
most
of
my
memories
of
the
street
are
framed
by
the
window
,
with
me
always
inside
watching
the
children
play
)
.
Now
there
were
only
old
people
standing
in
the
shade
of
tired
porches
.
As
I
approached
the
house
,
I
had
a
second
shock
.
My
mother
was
on
the
front
stoop
,
in
an
old
brown
sweater
,
washing
the
ground
floor
windows
from
the
outside
even
though
it
was
cold
and
windy
.
Always
working
to
show
the
neighbors
what
a
good
wife
and
mother
she
was
.
The
most
important
thing
had
always
been
what
other
people
thought
—
appearances
before
herself
or
her
family
.
And
righteous
about
it
.
Time
and
again
Matt
had
insisted
that
what
others
thought
about
you
wasn
’
t
the
only
thing
in
life
.
But
it
did
no
good
.
Norma
had
to
dress
well
;
the
house
had
to
have
fine
furniture
;
Charlie
had
to
be
kept
inside
so
that
other
people
wouldn
’
t
know
any
-
thing
was
wrong
.
At
the
gate
,
I
paused
to
watch
as
she
straightened
up
to
catch
her
breath
.
Seeing
her
face
made
me
tremble
,
but
it
was
not
the
face
I
had
struggled
so
hard
to
recall
.
Her
hair
had
become
white
and
streaked
with
iron
,
and
the
flesh
of
her
thin
cheeks
was
wrinkled
.
Perspiration
made
her
fore
head
glisten
.
She
caught
sight
of
me
and
stared
back
.
I
wanted
to
look
away
,
to
turn
back
down
the
street
,
but
I
couldn
’
t
—
not
after
having
come
so
far
.
I
would
just
ask
directions
,
pretending
I
was
lost
in
a
strange
neighbor
hood
.
Seeing
her
had
been
enough
.
But
all
I
did
was
stand
there
waiting
for
her
to
do
something
first
.
And
all
she
did
was
stand
there
and
look
at
me
.
