After reading “real Estate,” by Lorrie Moore, there was one part that seemed to stick out to me. Once analyzing why this seemed to stick out to me, I found what was most important to me: a sense of missing something that wasn’t yours anymore.
After selling her house and buying a newer, crappier house, Ruth would drive by her old one, missing what she had there. In that house were memories, a sense of not being sick. That house, which she left behind, hoping for the better, was now screaming her name to come back.
Just like Ruth, I also drive by my old house that I grew up in. After fixing our house all up, building a deck, putting siding on, and refurnishing everything, my mom and dad had to file for bankruptcy and we eventually had to move out. We lived in that house for as long as I can remember, and every time I drive by I ask myself, What if we never had to move and this was still our house? Just like Ruth, I criticize the house on how it looks and how I and my family would have made it look better.
Like Ruth, I miss my old house and know that it is not mine anymore. We both had memories galore in those houses, but we left them for a reason. My parents promised me everything would get better after the move, which was exactly what Ruth was hoping for. One problem, things seems to get worse.
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