Time Machine
The End of Moreland Ave - 2

The End of Moreland Ave - 1

Terri and I sipped mochas in a coffee shop in East Atlanta. We began to mirror each other on the cracked leather couch as she told me about the house she’s renting down the street.
    “Is that Ormewood Park?” I asked. “My mom used to live over there.”
    “It’s actually North Ormewood Park,” she said. “Because it’s North of Confederate.”
    She continued to explain the neighborhood map, but I got lost right away. Like many of my friends at church, Terri is a transplant to Atlanta. She moved here for her Masters degree, and found it a nice place to stay. I sometimes wonder if we’re talking about the same city at all.
    “I wish I knew what it was like, you know,” she waved her hand around the coffee shop,“before all this.” I scan the bluelit faces floating over laptops.
    “Well, you know that church on the corner, the massive brick one,” I said, “That’s the original Moreland Avenue Baptist Church. It was huge. You can just imagine when it was full. They sold the property and have been surviving off that money for years.”
    Moreland Ave Baptist used to take up a campus in East Atlanta that looks like it was built in the ‘50s. The congregation has dwindled to a couple dozen old folks who now share space with our church. They think we are young and reckless with our loud sound system and suspicious looking hairdos. We halfway expect to be evicted anytime.
    “Aren't they having their last service next week?” said Terri.
    “Their last service?”
    “Yeah, I heard they’re, you know, stopping. Or retiring. Whatever, this is the last time they’ll meet.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “That’s what I heard.”
    I was stunned. They can do that? Just stop?


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