City Moon

I was not sorry. 

I told anyone who would listen that I wasn't staying and there was nothing anyone could say to convince me otherwise. They would roll their eyes and shake their heads at my big talk, but I knew I would do it. So when I turned eighteen, I left and never looked back. It was, single-handedly, the most selfish thing that I have ever done. 

Frankly, I couldn't stay. I felt stifled in that tiny town that couldn't contain my hopes and aspirations. I dreamt of big cities and even bigger opportunities. I took my life savings and made a break for it, alternating between bus rides and hitchhiking. Nowadays, you can't really do that - especially young girls on their own. The world is a different place. No less dangerous or scary, but it tends to show its teeth and claws more often.

After a few days, I made it to New York. The lights and bustle were everything I had imagined. What I hadn't anticipated was the smell. The noise. The grit. The oppressive feeling of being so small that I could be swept away like a little fish in a swiftly moving river. But no matter what, I still wanted to make it.

When I called home, I would lie. I said that I loved it, that the city was everything I had hoped for and more. The energy was electric; I had found friends who loved poetry and art galleries and dressed all in black like proper beatniks. We hung out in jazz clubs, smoked skinny cigarettes, and discussed the prevalent themes in e e cummings' poetry. As far as anyone was concerned, I was having the time of my life. 

"Don't forget to go to church on Sundays."

"Yes, Oma."

"Don't go out with strange men."

"Yes, Oma."

"Eat a hearty meal at least once a week."

"Yes, Oma." 

On the other end of the telephone, I could almost hear my grandmother's smile, "I'm so proud of you, mein mäuschen." She would brag to the women in her sewing circle about all of the things I was doing in the Big Apple; some would disapprove of "my lifestyle," but all shared the same sense of living vicariously through me. Someone from this dusty old town that had never fully recovered from the Dust Bowl had finally gotten out. We would then share our "I love yous," and hang up. And I would burst into tears. 

At times, the weight of loneliness and insecurity in a city packed to the gills was too much to bear. How could one feel so empty in a city that was teeming with life? My only source of comfort was to escape to the frigid and dirty rooftop of my apartment building and gaze up at the night sky. You couldn't see too many stars - they competed with the dazzling lights of the city - but I would pretend that I was back home, looking up at the same moon that Oma saw.