Let s gather up your things. Forcing a weak smile, I fold my small arms across my body, squelching the tension building inside. During the drive home I think about Easter Sunday, eager to search for my Easter basket in two days. Familiar cars line the street in front of my house. The liquid amber trees my mother planted two years ago are covered with leaf buds.
Faces fill the large picture window in the living room.
From the front porch I hear muffled cries filtering through the screen door. I stammer up the steps. Many relatives and friends fill the small room. I quickly check the three copper plates hanging on the living room wall and the dusty, forgotten bowling trophies my parents proudly display on the window sills. The red antique ornamental stove my mother cherishes stands near the front door.