I pulled my car into a spot next to the motorcycle I thought was his, turned off the engine and gazed at the small apartment complex, realizing for the first time that I didn’t know his unit number. My dad had just moved into his new place, and though he’d armed me with something resembling driving directions (“Get off the freeway, and head toward the library. Then look for a big building that people might live in.”), I found myself just short of enough information to declare my journey a success.
I got out of my car and looked around, trying to decide what to do. This was in the time before mobile phones, so a quick call wasn’t an option. I took a few steps in the direction of the town’s main street and the corner bar he frequented, and then paused. It was a nice day. Overcast but warm with a soft breeze. The kind of day, I thought, that would mean my dad would have his windows open. Maybe even his front door. And so I paused…