Amityville to Bayshore

The sunny spring day reminded Margie of summers at the home of Uncle Herman and Aunt Mildred, of the furniture store and early bliss for her. This time she remembered that they sold the Amityville store with living quarters upstairs when she was about nine and bought another very similar place in Bayshore. I got out my phone and asked for directions from Bayshore to Amityville so Margie could see the map and the names of nearby towns. She was delighted. The names were all familiar to her, and there, a little to the east, was Jones Beach, one of her favorite places in all the world.

Looking up from ninety years ago, she glanced around to see that everyone in the coffee shop was on a computery device of some kind. "Look," she nodded to her right, "everyone is on their phones or laptops. They can't face the silence."

I asked what would happen if they let themselves be quiet. "They would have to deal with unfinished business," she said. "Or secrets. Secrets are a lot more trouble than they're worth. You have to remember who knows what and who's not supposed to know, and you end up getting in trouble if you open your mouth at all. What were we talking about?"

Amityville, I said, Amityville to Bayshore. 

"Oh yeah. What State are we in now?"

Oregon.

"Oh, right, and that's on  the west coast, right?"

Right.

"Very far from Jones Beach. I was  wondering if we could get there from here."

Only in our minds, I said, and she reached over to squeeze my hand. 

"I love being in my mind with you. You know Uncle Herman and Aunt Mildred almost as well as I do."