In the late nineties I moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts. A humble brunette from the desert city of Tucson, Arizona... I was traumatized by the brilliantly-preppy reality that were the Harvard University students walking past my Mass Ave window in alien discussion.
In my never-swam-in-the-sea mind, I saw my retail-bound future as tragic, yet somehow I felt hopeful and inspired living among the chic New English... girls with painfully-short nails, and academically-handsome guys who rowed and played chess daily.
I stayed long enough to feel inadequate, but eventually made home in a half dozen other Boston neighborhoods. I found a diverse refuge in Jamaica Plain, a narrow-halled, mothball-smelling paradise in the Fenway, and even lived with a female construction worker in a South End brownstone. She collected toy novelties... ever see a cardboard, life-sized Shirley Temple in a window that overlooked Columbas Avenue? That's the place.
In my never-swam-in-the-sea mind, I saw my retail-bound future as tragic, yet somehow I felt hopeful and inspired living among the chic New English... girls with painfully-short nails, and academically-handsome guys who rowed and played chess daily.
I stayed long enough to feel inadequate, but eventually made home in a half dozen other Boston neighborhoods. I found a diverse refuge in Jamaica Plain, a narrow-halled, mothball-smelling paradise in the Fenway, and even lived with a female construction worker in a South End brownstone. She collected toy novelties... ever see a cardboard, life-sized Shirley Temple in a window that overlooked Columbas Avenue? That's the place.
Today I live in what we lovingly call "952." Davis Square, Somerville.
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