My kid flew in from Colorado and we had one last night in the states. Without a car (yes, I can and do drive in Washington… I’ve held a license there since 1986) the options were limited, but we walked from our Belltown hotel to the Pike Place Market to buy donuts – a ritual from his childhood, and my own.
Pacing down the sidewalk chatting with the boy about his time in the mountains I almost walked right past Ade, who was shocked to see me; another person I did not get in touch with because the visit was too short. Also, before we forget, a child of Colorado.
I introduced my kid, an honor in and of itself as my family is normally kept strictly separate from the denizens of the Seattle scene. Ade is important, not just a genius performer and wit, but someone I truly care about and would welcome to my home (if I had one). But we were all short of time, we had to say goodbye, hurry away.
Shoe museum, magic shop, arcades, spaghetti dinners, an arduous and ultimately successful attempt to get all of our gear crammed into carry-on luggage, a fitful sleep. We talked about our memories of living in the city, what we miss.
On the last morning we sat in the Sculpture Park, looking at the Olympics, completely shattered.
The boy did not want to move to England in the first place, and neither of us want to go back.
