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.