Wilmington

Growing up, Wilmington was Front Street. It was, “Be careful walking through the neighborhoods” and a poisonous water supply and an hour-long drive to Saturday swim practice. The YMCA had diving blocks and I hated diving. Wilmington was my first date at 17, and it didn’t go well. Wilmington was the interstate and the movie theater. I didn’t care too much.

She had mercy on me amid my prejudice and took me in and became my home. At 24 years old, Wilmington has become the giant window at Bespoke where I studied in college. It’s the secret pockets between tree branches that I could only spot on a Sunday walk. It’s the locally owned book store where I can find short stories and old friends. It’s Dock Street where I get coffee beans and hour-long conversations. It’s Monday morning breakfast with my kind friends who love me well. It’s where I fell in love, and it’s still Front Street— but it’s Front Street where I grew to know myself. I wouldn’t call Wilmington a romantic, but I’d say she loves me.