“ I hope you like Boston, Abby,” she said, wrapping me in a final hug.
…
There are almost sixty colleges in Boston, but only two of them mattered to me: Boston University, where I was enrolled, and MIT. It didn’t take me long to get settled. I was living in a small dorm just off campus with a roommate that hadn’t moved in yet. My dorm was built in the seventies and all of the furniture and appliances looked like they were on the brink of collapse. I picked the side of the room that had the most sunlight, and then I set up my writing space so that my desk faced the window.
I couldn’t see MIT from my room, but I knew it was there. Boston University and MIT were separated by the Charles River. I could literally walk to MIT in a matter of minutes. That first night in my new dorm, I sat at my desk, staring at my reflection in the glass, and contemplated the fact that I didn’t know a single person in the entire city except for one. And he didn’t know I’d left Dallas.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed and sifted through the new pieces of my wardrobe. Even in early autumn, it was chilly in Boston. My jean shorts were packed far, far away and I quickly grew to love the art of layering. Once I had my jacket zipped up, I locked my apartment and headed out to explore the city.
It was starkly different than Dallas. The buildings were older. They had character that came with being built hundreds of years ago. Brownstones spanned city streets and I let them lead me toward the Charles River. I wanted to inspect the MIT campus. I knew the chances of running into Beck were beyond minimal, but that was okay. I wanted to get a feel for where he spent his time; where he’d spent the past year without me.
I trekked over the Harvard Bridge and paused in the middle to watch a group of rowers pass underneath me. Their synchronized strokes were mesmerizing to watch and I snapped a picture to send to my mom. She hadn’t loved the idea of me traveling to Boston for school, but she couldn’t argue with my reasoning. It had taken a little convincing and quite a few tears at the airport, but I promised to talk to her every day and visit home as often as I could.
Abby : I’m officially a Bostonian. This picture is on the Harvard Bridge.
Mom : Don’t fall over! You look like you’re right on the edge…
I smiled and pocketed my phone. Some things would never change and that was okay. She’d worked hard to keep me alive. She didn’t need the fruits of her labor falling off a bridge by accident. After walking for a few more minutes, I reached the epicenter of the MIT campus. The buildings were stoic. Tall stairs led up to an imposing building that reminded me of the Pantheon in Rome. But that wasn’t what held my attention.
There was a statue just off the sidewalk that looked at once solid and transparent. It was a stainless steel shell of mathematical symbols in the shape of a giant human form. The plaque at the base titled it “The Alchemist”.
It stood almost three times my height, and the front of the sculpture, where the man’s legs should have been, was cut out so that you could stand inside of it. I peered in, unsure of how claustrophobic the space would make me feel, but the way they layered the symbols made it feel like you were at once inside and out. The blue sky streamed in through the holes in each symbol and I took my time walking in and out, inspecting it from all sides.
Students walked around me, shuffling to their dorms or to buildings on campus, but no one bothered me as I stood and inspected the sculpture for the rest of the afternoon. It gave me an idea of how to reach Beck, and I sat there piecing it together in the Boston sunlight until I felt a buzzing in my pocket.
I looked down at my screen and smiled before pushing back onto my feet.
“ Hi, Mom,” I answered, waiting for a break in pedestrian traffic so I could start to head back to my dorm. It was early afternoon and I’d skipped lunch. She could probably sense that. Moms are superheroes, I swear.
She sighed into the phone, almost inaudibly. “I won’t bother you this much all the time. Just cut me slack for the first week, okay?” I could tell she’d been crying and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss her just as terribly.
“ I’m glad you called, Mom,” I told her, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “I miss you, too. Want to talk to me while I walk home?” I offered, sticking my free hand in my coat pocket and heading back to the bridge.