Live in three countries. Move four times. Evade the pressures of a job for a year. Call on some of the world’s best known arts organizations. This had me spellbound.
Nine months later, the time for goodbyes has come. The children in the neighborhood have turned out to hug Tibby our Labrador. Friends drop by for one last farewell drink on our Harlem roof deck—then another, then another. (Admittedly we have a few bottles of liquor to liquidate.) My last ballet lesson at Steps. (The last class always produces near-perfect pirouettes.) A twinkling evening for tapas in Central Park. A large batch of titles makes its way to print but I won’t be here to see the copies at the Brooklyn Book Festival. My best friend gets a job across the street where we can commute on our bikes and eat lunch together. Except that she starts work the day I start school, 1700 miles away.
With twelve days to go, I want to call the whole thing off. Where am I barreling off to? Alrik, was this one of your ideas? No, he’s tearing himself away from his friends and family too.
During a short trip to NYC with Alrik when we first started dating, I dreamed that we were lying in sleeping bags on the floor of Penn Station, happy and safe. So let my dream come true.