I remember the dust, the boxes, the sparse toys and machines I placed on the floor because there wasn’t a better option. A trash bag rested on the bed, another hung from my wooden desk chair, the one that had been twisting my spine for years. I was happy to leave this place, this small box of a dorm room in the middle of Boston.
The next morning my family would arrive for the weekend. We’d hustle through the pounding rain as we shopped, ate meals and toured the North End one final time. I’d open my gifts, dress in a robe and walk to the stage to collect a diploma.