I haven’t been to Memphis in many years.

Was it Christmas 1975 when Zorba and I  staggered through the finale of our open marriage and traveled to Memphis to tell my parents that our marriage was over?

But why should I expect my parents to invite me home?

During college, I was only permitted to return home for Christmas vacation.  For the summer and other school breaks, my mother always barked: “Find someplace else to go.”

I went from cheap hotel to cheap hotel and from inappropriate man to inappropriate man.  Along with several mind-numbing office jobs and lecherous bosses.

Plane tickets were a waste of money to her, as were phone calls, ink cartridges, and postage stamps.