She stands in her house and looks around and sees everything she would be willing to leave behind. Most everything. She'll need a bed and a dresser. She'd bring her computer. She would need to find a home for her birds. Find a place for everything else. Or leave it. Or sell it (she is her mother's daughter...)
It would be so easy.
Last night, hanging around the kitchen table with her girlfriends, biting the heads off Teddy Grahams and dipping strawberries into chocolate, she laid out her plan. . .
"In California," Sarah says. She doesn't ask. She already knows.
Yes. But not now. Not quite yet. She must first see how other plans line out, how the pieces of the puzzle will eventually fit together.
"I could move in with my mom," she muses. "Unless I convince you to let me be your roommate," she says this to a friend as they work. She's joking. Mostly.
Her other friend wants to get a place on the Plaza. This appeals to her but she's not keen on putting down roots. Not the one-year-lease-kind of roots anyhow. Not just yet.
If it came right on down to it, she'd do it Victorian Style and "visit" friends for extended periods of time, living out of the modern-day equivalent of a trunk (a backpack). Then she wouldn't be so lonely. Sleeping on couches or guest beds.
Or she could just up and leave. Go to Africa. Brazil. Colorado or California.
Well.
It's just that today she texted her landlord and said she's moving out in one month. Oh the possibilities seem endless.....
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