As I crossed the bridge to the Peninsula, I looked around and said to myself, “Here is going to be my home for the next months.”
The road was backed up with cars dragging their wheels to the first traffic stop. The month of June means more tourists from out of state heading to the ocean shore. My son’s car was there somewhere, loaded with my stuff. I was riding light, as I had to park 3 minutes away from the house and didn’t want to carry anything else but my purse. Age and heart sickness come with some luxury, right?
When I got out the car, the breeze picked up. It was cloudy still, but the air was warm and loaded with salty and ocean algae fragrance. I turned the corner to our street just in time to see the back of my son’s vehicle disappearing on a parallel street. He was looking for a parking spot.
I opened the gate and saw my boxes and bags lined up by the garage in the yard. Unlocked the small gate to my son’s apartment and got up the wooden stairs glued to the old building. The yellow bunches of flowers and the small American flags guarding the steps were still in place, in spite of the wind. I was glad I bought them and secured them on the staircase before Memorial Day. They made such a difference.
The petunias on the small deck needed some water. But i had to get inside first. Placed the key in the keyhole, when I turned around.
A few feet away, somebody was peeking at me from behind their blinds.