This morning was hard. My wife looked at me and asked how we got trapped in this “funny little town.” I thought but did not say: because we didn’t plan for the future and I let you down and prices have tripled. Silence was sufficient and the moment soon passed.
Later I did speak. We could always move to a little college town in the Midwest, I said. Right now there are half a dozen beautiful older homes with big porches and nice yards for sale in such-and-such wherever. You’d never be able to stand it, she said. That’s probably true. Give up my dreams and share space with Trump voters. Nothing but white people. Hot sticky summers and endless gray winters. Drive two days to see mountains and be able to breathe again.
And then I persisted: I’d do it for you, I lied. She practically screamed. I grew up in the Midwest and I’m not going back.
In my heart of hearts I’m successful and we go wherever we want. I’m not too old to move and the future is bright. We both have new glasses and hearing aids and nice clothes. There are friends and vacations and nobody dies.