Thursday, May 1, 2008
There are many things to love about Boston; the firemen that drop and add "r"s to words; the neighborhoods characterized by a particular cuisine, religion, flare or propensity toward violence; and the career and academic opportunities that exist here. I was brought to Boston for academic reasons, and as I'm finishing up one academic goal I'm setting another. So, this city hasn't seen the last of me. Or, I guess I haven't gotten my fill.
However, in the last four months I've wanted to get out of here worse than a Yankee's fan. I've recently finished a thesis of sorts and a prerequisite for Nursing school. This doesn't seem like much, but MY GOD this semester was rough. This is the best way I can describe it...as if you are in middle school and the kid you've been crushing on since kindergarten sees you in the hall. S/he asks you to carry a book for them, and you gladly do, thinking, "This could be The Moment when we become friends. I COULD LOVE YOU." You hush your thoughts to yourself. "He doesn't know you, and you don't know him...be cool. Don't say anything stupid." He's talking to you and you nod, blush, giggle and hope that the walk to homeroom never ends. "This is just so great," you think to yourself. You are blinded by the idea of him- this cool, interesting, "deep" person, and your heart is racing, hanging on to the moment so tightly and picturing your future together, that you don't realize that you're actually not hearing a thing he's saying, and his friends keep piling books into your arms and backpack. He's not even looking at you any more. He's paying attention to others, and finally you reach your classroom and he says, "Can you do my history paper for me?" Overwhelmed with excitement, confusion, a load of books and now dread, you do everything you can to not cry. Bastard.
That's the best way to describe it. However, in the end the sweet, smart, funny boy that sits behind you notices your tears and stress, and taps you on the shoulder during class to ask if he can help you out. You leap over his desk and lay one on him. He lets you wipe your snotty wet face on his shirt. This is The Moment. You spend your weekends in his tree house and he helps you with your problems and sorrows without any complaints. He makes you sandwiches for lunch and lets you pick what shows to watch on television. He's just happy to be with you. It's unbelievable. He has his shit together enough to not break down in moments when you would rather become a bumbling pile of helplessness. He encourages you through your dilemma and in the end, when you've gotten through it all, he rewards you with the biggest ice cream sundae he can find. You split it, but he lets you have the last bite.
That sums up January through April for me. Now it's summer vacation and the incredibly supportive, sweet and generous boy that got me through this...he and I just turned 2. Thank you, Deuce. LOVES!!!