Two days after the fire incident and three days after the thief incident, I was about ready to pack my last box. A lot of things did not mean much to me, so I threw them out. Most of my valuable belongings were already packed in boxes that I found in the trash. All of the boxes were cleaned off, though. Numerous pictures were scattered around my living room.
One last box was left to fill. Everything else left over in the apartment would become garbage. One small, torn photo of my mom, dad, and I was remaining after all of the other pictures were packed into the small box. I looked at the picture, which was probably the picture that meant most to me at that time. It was a picture taken when I was just four years old. Being the size of my palm, I figured I’d put it in my pocket for access along the way to my next home. Life up until that point had gone by very fast and I felt like I never really knew my parents. I did know that they were helpful people, but that was it. Aside from my parents, there was once a time when things were better during my time in Pine Grove. While I was staring at the picture, I entered a great flashback about my life up to that moment.