I moved quickly through the early evening, keeping to the shadows and along the walls. I wanted no one to stop me and inquire about my business—maybe even recognize me from my childhood. With the cane, I could walk lightly, and so I did, across Main Street and up into the brightly lit neighborhood on the knoll.

This neighborhood, for all its costliness and prestige, had very small front yards and virtually no space between the houses. I knew there were large yards to the rear; many of the homes here had swimming pools. But the homes all stood shoulder to shoulder at the street, as if guarding their privacy to the rear.

I walked slowly along, letting memories slide across my mind. I had schoolmates who had lived in these houses. Where were they now? What were they doing? Who was living and who was not? Who was successful? Who had babies? Who was alcoholic and who was adulterer? Who embezzled and who abused themselves? Such a nice neighborhood must mask a multitude of perversities.

The winter evening was earlier than I thought. Boys, dressed in snowsuits and armed with snowballs, played with each other in the streets. They all stopped and watched me as I passed, and I listened to their whisperings. They wondered at my lack of winter clothes; they speculated about my cane; they dared each other to throw a snowball at me, but none did. I kept my head down, assuming the posture of a crone, and kept on, slowly on. I no longer felt the cold. I only felt the children’s warmth as I passed.

The homes were lit with warm colors; yellow light poured out of their windows into the black-and-gray evening. I walked the length of the first street, then turned up a block and walked the length of the next. Through open draperies, I watched the neighborhood as dinners were served, then kitchens cleaned and televisions turned on. I walked and watched, hearing my boot heels on the icy sidewalks.

And then I saw her. Standing at the picture window of her living room, hands cupped to look past the reflection of the fire, out at the night. Out at me. I stopped and watched her, thrilled by her tiny beauty. Miniature black pigtails held up by lengths of bright red yarn stood out from the sides of her head. She wore a little white dress with red hearts on it; I felt as though she’d just come back from a trip to Grandma’s, or somewhere equally as special and important, and was up late because she was too excited to go to sleep.

She couldn’t have been more than four, and little baby teeth grinned at me as I watched her. She waved at me and then turned and ran, and a moment later an older sister pulled the draperies closed.