As the thrill of being first time home owners began to settle, I quickly started becoming quite unsettled. I would often remark that I figured out why he wanted to move me so far away from my city. I knew everyone in the Back Bay and it bothered him that I had a ten year history there without you. He used to smile when I said that and while we often joked about it, I believed it to be true.
I talk to everyone, I say hello to strangers and I smile at people that I don't know. I ask old people if they need help and run to the door to hold it open for women who are struggling with all of their baby gear. I talk to the girl making my Subway sandwich and joke around with the toll collector as I pass through. While in a city, I often ask the taxi cab driver where his home is and how long he has been living in the US- does he like it here, is his family here. I ask the immigrants who run my dry-cleaners as well as the manicurists- what their real name is. They are often introduce themselves with an extremely simple American name. I ask them to teach me their real name and how to pronounce it properly. They smile as I attempt to say their names in Chinese or Korean as Im sure I sound foolish. I imagine how challenging it must be to not only leave your country of origin but to then to lose your name also. I feel for them and for the struggles that they face on a daily basis.
We lived in Pleasantville, plain vanilla everything. I prefer a blend of vanilla, mocha, strawberry, coconut and rooty tooty raspberry. He would chuckle when I told him that I figured out the real reason for our big move to the country. He wanted to get me away from all the people that I knew in the city. As a radio personality, he thrived on attention and adoration. He is not unlike most who gravitate to the Entertainment world. He too was friendly and enjoyed people. The constant joke was that he moved me West so I could begin my cloistered life. I no longer had friendly passer bys or knew the restaurant owners. There was no free dry-cleaning and no immigrants at the nail salons. Taxi cabs became a thing of the past and any hint of someone of a different ethnicity was us. With our dark hair and olive skin, we were the most exotic looking people in a pool of blonde hair and pink skin. It gave us great material to joke around with but the interior of me was less than thrilled.
After living in Holliston for four or so years, he was offered a job in NYC. Yes !! - I can move back to Connecticut and while it is still not as diverse as living in the city-it is much more sophisticated and cultured than where we first landed. In the future, when my kids are grown and all is settled in Connecticut, I will perhaps move back to the city of Boston , as it owns my heart. Whenever I visit, I feel like Im going back home, and I know it like the back of my hand. It wouldn't take long before I knew my dry-cleaners real name and a restaurant owner would let me back into his kitchen to see what special he had prepared that day.
People like to tell their story and I like to hear it and it is a very rewarding and enriching combination. I hope my children have the same interest in people, it will greatly enhance their life by understanding and hearing the struggles and stories of people who were not given the same ease of life. One day we will all be hanging out on Newbury street, enjoying the beauty and diversity of one exceptional city.