I just turned on our oven for the first time in our apartment. It had smelled a bit like gas, even though its an electric oven, with a faint burnt smell. And for the first time in over a decade, I thought of my old home of an apartment and cold winters, standing by our tiny radiator in my mom's room. It was the size of a shoebox, with little grills that kids couldve stuck their fingers through and got burned.
Some time over a month ago, I was back home on break when I heard the horn of a passing train. I thought back to some night long ago, when I was barely 7 or 8, and I was sleeping on my mom's bed, under the window. For some reason, she had not brought her keys that night, and I remember her shouting for me outside the window. I look down two stories to see her, and went to open the door for her.