Like Mom, I think I own Darien.

How can we not think this way, as the town is at the heart of us?

Yes, the town proper owns the beaches, the woods, the parks, and the sidewalks that roll beneath my walkin’ feet. All of these things enter my eyes wildly. I suck them in and own them in my heart.

As I walk home from my after-school cashier job at Grade A Market, in the center of town, or, as I sit in the passenger front seat of Mom’s car as she drives home from
Aunt Matheline’s richness, or, on a ride about town to see lights twinkling in front yards, the lavish Christmas trees call out to me, flicker from sparkling windows. Homes whisper in my ear, as their Victorian, Colonial, and rich Mansion styles give peeks under their skirts of a life different than mine. Trees sing, from windows where fireplaces shimmer, candles glimmer, where holiday parties gather in rich people’s homes. I suck them in. They are my own. Beautiful pipedreams.