The death of places that never were
On my way home I walked by a boarded up parking garage. There is something curious about an abandoned place that was never much of a place at all, like the death of a person that lived and knew no one, stolen from their mother at birth and kept in isolation until their lonely end. One laments the sale of their home, or pines for an old haunt that was destroyed to make way for new development, but rarely would one be dismayed by the demise of a place so insignificant as a car lot.
Are there memories in such a place? Is it possible that there exists only a single living human who remembers this place on a day-to-day basis? Perhaps a man sat in his car, in contemplation of ending his life, when another vehicle entered the garage and he first lay eyes on the person he would later fall in love with and marry. Perhaps a recently engaged couple had impetuous, fervent sex in the rear seat of their car and this garage remains cemented in their memory as the place their first child was conceived. Or a woman received a phone call from her sister back east who was delivering the news that their mother had suddenly passed. What spirits inhabit these unnamed spaces? Could a biographer source enough material to write an exhaustive history of such a place?
This is day 99 of my intention to write something every day in 2016.