goodbye

Dear Ciara, It’s fitting that our time at the Cutler house began with rain—heavy, pelting rain—and now ends with it. Outspread on the couch, I watch the droplets fall as the removal truck arrives. I think of my landlord upstairs, shuffling about, the pain in her hip ripe as an orange. She is shortly scheduled for surgery, and so I feel guilty for leaving her at this time. But I know I must go—I…