It’s a peculiar thing that I ended up back in Thread after plotting my escape for all my high school years. During my adult time in Manhattan, Thread was a place in my past, an interesting set of anecdotes and stories. It held no future for me. The locals were too isolated, too strange. I was meant for better places.
But last winter in Times Square, a mugger’s knock on my head forced some sense back into it. All I could think of was how much safer and quieter life would be if I went home. The big city held too many problems for me. The old home town offered something simpler. True, Mom and Dad had already moved away. Neither my brother nor my sister lived within a hundred miles of the town. And I hadn’t kept up with any of my old classmates. Yet as I rose back to consciousness from that mugging, I could smell the Friday night fish fries of my youth in Thread. A nostalgia welled up for the sense of belonging I once had, and I knew I needed those old feelings back.