My GPS Lady directed me north on Kingshighway Blvd. to Bircher, a little street leading to the I-70 west exit towards Ferguson where my cousin Theresa Orso Smythe and her husband John live.  You are on the fastest route and your road is clear.  You should reach your destination by 10:22.

She reckoned without my detour off the highway at Jennings Station Road.

Pictures from old classmates posted on Facebook had prepared me for the rubble of demolished storefronts and the rundown houses.  What stores remained, and a few newer brick buildings, held unfamiliar businesses.  At the red light before the turn onto West Florissant, I stared northwards, straining to see the abandoned, boarded church where two of my sisters had been married.

As I neared McLaran Avenue,  I slowed to gaze at Velvet Freeze, thinking it looked unchanged.  I did not recognize anything around it. The gas station where we filled the tires of our bikes no longer exists, forgotten now, along with the silent attendant who wore a shirt bearing someone else’s name.

A block north, I idled in front of 8416 McLaran.  Untamed bushes snarled down the northern edge of the driveway, alongside two rusty cars and a pile of trash.  I knew the trees that once rose above the roofline had been taken out.  I did not expect the eerie stillness.  I sat in my car, wondering who lived there.  I could almost see my mother’s face at the living room window.  I could nearly hear the voices of my brothers and sisters, calling through the morning air.

I put the car in reverse and raised my phone, with its camera function ready.  I snapped the picture from just south of the house, overlooking the neighbor’s driveway.  Everything looks good from some certain  angle, even dirty snow in a city street.

A few hours and two more family visits later, my long New Year’s journey finally ended.  With a full tank of gas,  I left St. Louis behind and headed for home.