The Jones Falls still roared alongside, but above it were new buildings of glass and concrete, I assume erected as a visible showing of progress. They blocked the twin overpasses -- my only landmarks upon embarking from Penn Station, and so it was after ten years away, standing on the crest of this hill in the city of Baltimore, with the line of taxis idling curbside and right in front, I was struck that I had no concept of north or south.
On my last trip I flew from San Francisco to BWI (now BWI Thurgood Marshall), visiting an old high school friend. She lived in Fells Point in a converted warehouse, and of her apartment all I distinctly remember is the empty carpeted foyer and the fact that it was almost permanently frigid, apparently the contractors not understanding the finer necessities of insulation when it comes to old, airy concrete structures on the dock. I don't believe we ventured out more than three times over the visit, once to refresh our supply of tequila, once to take a road trip to NYC. The city was icy, and on the third trip out (drinks, dinner, showing off), we got a small dust of snow, none of which stuck to the stones that constituted the street.
In hindsight I should have seen her living situation as an indicator of the changes happening. But I was dumb, a naif, and still enamored with the company and the city I was then living in. So those buildings may have been there. My cardinal orientation may have already been compromised.
In hindsight I should have seen her living situation as an indicator of the changes happening. But I was dumb, a naif, and still enamored with the company and the city I was then living in. So those buildings may have been there. My cardinal orientation may have already been compromised.
Ten years later, Sophie emerged from the station and we hailed a car. As we drove down St. Paul, I regained my sense of direction and, with it, a niggling feeling of familiarity.
* * *
Before I overstate: Was this home?
