My Life in a Suitcase

On May 27th, I was partying it up in Utah, British-style. My entire family had indulged in a Magnum Bar-Eating/Downton Abbey-Watching Fest that night in honor of my birthday. (Besides my spiritual beliefs and music, British stuff and chocolate are two of the things I love most!) Afterwards, I attempted to stuff my gifts--an itunes card, chocolate-covered acai berries, multivitamins--and the rest of my life into a single suitcase. It took a lot of squeezing, squashing, and squishing, but I finally got everything vital inside (three pairs of heels count as "vital," right?). The suitcase was 18 pounds overweight, but rather than charging me $90, a kindly airport worker let me transfer 15 pounds of shoes, fruit leather, and beef jerky into my bursting-at-the-seams backpack. That was two days ago.

Yesterday, my roommates in Boston surprised me with oreo ice-cream cake and an outdoor s'more party. My friend Shooka from Iran roasted her very first marshmallow and looked more delighted than disappointed when the whole thing started

on fire and shriveled into a charred lump. We all played a game of Life, and I ended up as a highly-educated lawyer with three children, a mountain retreat, and very little money.

Today it's just me (well, me and the Portuguese gentleman sitting to my right). I, Erica Kyree, am officially twenty-five years old. The first quarter-century of my life has passed, and I've just kicked off my second. I'm off on a new adventure, armed with a dream, enough jerky and nature bars to feed me for a month, and the address to the CM Residence. The world looks different from the upper deck of a double-decker bus. I'm perched at the very front. The windshield is wide and covered in splattered bugs, but beyond that, the summery New England scenery is beautiful. I feel like I'm floating above the traffic in a self-propelled vehicle as the bus winds through the forest-lined interstate in a purposeful way, closing the distance between me and New York!

The bus is taking us though Connecticut now. I'm trying to figure out whether or not this is Hartford, Hartford being the only big city in Connecticut that I know by name. I just caught a glimpse of a golden onion dome that brings back memories of Ukraine. . .ha! "Hartford Supplies!" We are in Hartford. (Well, were. It's amazing how quickly you can pass from city to city and even from state to state on the East Coast.)

And suddenly the bus is on 147th Street, moving downtown. I've been to New York enough times that I know my way around, but this summer the Big Apple is going to be my home. I'm going to be working here, eating here, sleeping here. I'm going to be interning with Broadway legend, Charles Strouse (composer of Bye, Bye Birdie and Annie), and I'm going to be living with the nuns at the CM.

The Lincoln Center! Columbus Circle! Carnegie Hall! Times Square! The square is so flooded with people that the sight alone makes me feel a little claustrophobic. We pass right by a band performing on the main stage. I've never driven into New York in the daylight; in the past, I've always taken the overnight Megabus. I've got the best seat in the bus for this free tour of the city, and the day has been made-to-order.

Our bus stops. We're at 28th street. I grab the handle of my suitcase, and--acai berries, books, and heels in tow--I hit the pavement for the very first time as a summer resident of NYC!