I decided that after two years of college, I would move to Boston. I was only 19, without a boyfriend or bills; I didn't even have a dog or a cell phone. But the dream grew. I wanted to meet Boston!
Well, I don't like cities, and as I forgot that when I was dreaming about a better future, I stayed in Boston only three summer months: June, July and August. I felt like a patriot, though--closer to our American history than I had ever felt before--and I knew I had to stay on the East Coast.
I had four girlfriends from around the USA--Minnesota, Montana, Florida, Nebraska--who said that we should journey up to Montreal for a long weekend. Vermont gleamed like a diamond in my imagination, and my answer was a splendid, excited, "yes."
We drove an old, dark blue Cadillac that made noises up to 30 MPH but kicked in steady on the highway. The whole way, my eyes were licking the scenery with splendor. "I have to move here!" I said, "I have to!"
The roadtrip to Montreal came and went, and I arrived back in Boston with new batteries. I quit my job; I called my mom and said, "Mom, something great has just happened!"
