Snapshots

By Will Evans

When my family gets together for holidays, we don’t talk about the house in Baltimore. Yet, I can still picture the curtain separating the kitchen from my grandmother’s bedroom. The faucet that always dripped.

Then I question my memory. Did I just make it up?

This Christmas, one of my brothers brings a cracked photo album of black-and-white snapshots he rescued from our childhood there. Brick with boarded windows, and kids huddled on stoops. My brother says they remind him of ‘Save the Children’ posters, and we look away and laugh.

My father sits apart, rubbing his thumb on his forefinger.