The house was a two story brick rectangle with ivy climbing its side. The white front door opened and a woman my age with a ponytail and yoga pants maneuvered a running stroller onto the small landing. “Hurry,” Violet said, “Get us out of here.” I started the car, smiling and nodding at the mom, who was now staring at us. Violet had her face in her hands.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she nodded. “That was just a big jolt into the present, seeing that strange girl there.” She patted her knees. “Let’s see some of your favorite places.”

“I don’t have any,” I shook my head firmly. “Nothing good happened to me here.”

“Well, at least show me where you lived.”

“What about where you lived, Violet?”

“They knocked down my childhood home and built a pediatrician’s office. It would only make me sad. Show me yours.”

I managed to locate the rundown house on Knox Avenue. There were tricycles and neon orange plastic toys strewn across the scraggly front yard. “That’s it,” I announced. “The mimosa tree on the left is my reverse equivalent of your ginkgo. It seemed much larger years ago. I used to climb up and hide in there to read.”

“What sorts of books did you like?”

“Anything I could get my hands on. My first book-love was “They Loved to Laugh” by Kathryn Worth.”

“Oh,” Violet said, “I remember that book. It’s a wonderful story.”

“And I read lots of successful woman biographies, daydreaming about the important life I’d have someday.” I laughed. “Maybe I was a feminist in my early years. Or maybe I just wanted revenge.”

Violet offered her sage smile. “You didn’t want revenge, honey. That’s ugly. You wanted what you have: a career you enjoy and the opportunity to help people.”

“I’m not nearly as noble as you think, Violet.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, you went to Anniston High School, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but they’ve torn it down, too.”

I smiled and made a right turn onto Quintard Avenue.

“This isn’t where the school was, Ronni.” Violet was gazing at the pizza joints and supermarkets lining the street, shaking her head. “It used to be lined with elegant Victorian homes. They’re all gone, replaced by this mess.”

“Look toward the center, Violet.” The wide median was populated by huge leafy oaks and azaleas in full bloom.

“Yes, at least that part’s still beautiful,” she allowed.

“Now look ahead on your right.” I nodded.

“Oh, my gosh! Is that what I think it is? The arches. We have to stop.”

“We will.” I parked the car and led her to the preserved entrance from Violet’s old school, tall brick and concrete arches towering near one of Anniston’s many war memorials. She placed her hands on their worn surface and closed her eyes.