Stephanie’s house is one of those dream houses you see in movies with the big pool, the big garden and tennis court, the countless rooms, the various art work, the designed walls, the paintings and statutes, the sunroom, the library of books. I am introduced to Stephanie, whom they call Stess because when Becca was little, she couldn’t pronounce her grandmother’s name.
Stess is a published writer and poet, lying on her bed with beautiful soft features and pedicured, red toenails. Being a writer, she learns my name quickly and says it naturally. She has dazzling beads inside her closet; Becca is wearing one and Stess insists on her keeping them. But Becca says she doesn’t want to keep them because she likes to tell people they are her grandmother’s.
In Scarsdale, outside of this pretty palace, there are lots more dreamy houses. We pass them on our way to the train station. The streets are tiny and green, calm and sweet. The air is fresh and hot, like honey on warm toast. Becca and I take the train to Grand Central, New York and I begin another city adventure.
And like all other adventures, this one also ends. I realize, as I have before, what the city means to me, how it makes my skin jitter, how it makes me smile and laugh at the same time, how it makes me feel like it’s my very first visit, how it makes my heart rate faster, how it makes me want to jump. Every time, I get a new perspective. I get closer to my dream. I get braver and I want it all: the city, the noise, the puddles of water, the river, the boat, the earth.
Every time.