Estranged

Today I realized just how far removed I am from this place that still sort of feels like home. It began with my morning odyssey to the car rental agency. "Yup, m'aam, we're in Derry."
Of course I didn't check to know if they were still at the same location in Derry as before, or, even as in the phone book.

So my dad and I cut through back streets, and we drive across town, only to discover in lieu of the Enterprise, a used car dealership. And of course, no phone number. I call the house, but my brother, still suffering jet-lag or insomnia, or a mixture of the two doesn't answer the phone even though I call three times in the hope that he will notice the urgency. So we stop at a Cumberland Farms, on Broadway, a quirky little convenient store that stirs memories better left unstirred. "Yeah, it's up on Crystal Avenue, in the same building as the Quizno's."

So we go. And my dad leaves me, with the understanding that the reservation I made earlier would be fine. It was. But this weird, pasty looking white man, comes in, pallid to the point of near transparency, trembling as if he were fiending for drugs (which he likely was, given the looks of him) clutching a crumpled jacket, and with a wobbly voice. I exit the building, imagining, as I am wont to do, a back story for such a character. I climb into my rented ultra-fuel-efficient vehicle, and pull away. That man, creepy as he may be, is not my problem. I remind myself, and admonish my wandering imagination for its wanderings.

So I drag Ari from bed, tapping my foot impatiently, and we first head to the town hall, hoping that we can obtain some proof of residency for him so that we can procure a replacement for his long-expired driver's license. We do get his voter registration card, but it will serve no purpose at the DMV, but what is more disconcerting is that both of these places have moved!

Everything rests, immutable, and yet, such very basic services like the Town Hall (I had forgotten the multi-million dollar Police Station and Town Offices that were under construction when I left four years ago) and the DMV, now on South Willow by the Mega-Shaw's instead of by the INS office on Canal St, have relocated in seemingly innocuous ways. Seemingly innocuous because what is deeper is this disturbance to my memory, the placement of things, the exact location shifting, causing a deep sense of estrangement or alienation from this place, that I know will never be mine again.

We went to Consuelo's to see Martín and Arturo, and we ran into Arty, still the old Gringo, still totally un-p.c. Some things never change. It is good to go somewhere where everyone knows your name, even if you forget so much in the course of a lifetime.