I didn't sleep the night before I left. I was (of course) packing all my shit very frantically, writing a letter to the JV that will be living in my room, writing a letter to a coworker to try to say goodbye, crying, drinking iced coffee, all the while listening to the radio to all the songs that had unintentionally made me really like that hiphop/rap/pop blend during the year. (Jason Derulo, this is you, haha).
I was remembering things as I came across receipts: St. Patrick's Day night at Cryan's in South Orange, numerous trips to Carvels, meeting Megan at Subway or lunch, my airline ticket to come home for Christmas, every evidence of my struggles there made the tears flow more as I realized that not only had I survived all those things, but that I came out knowing more and able to love more.
How could I have known that that $79 dollars spent for, among other things, every one of the 5 containers of poppyseeds at Eden Gourmet taught me that if I can make Polish Christmas by myself, that home is where the Wiligia is? Would I have ever guessed that I would have the courage to walk into New York city time after time, alone, late at night to see some of the best concerts ever? Who was going to tell me that I would make an incredible friend who I shared drinks, jokes, and fat sandwiches with, only to have him suddenly never speak to me again, with no reason why?
Every memory that washes over me - some I'm glad are just memories. Some make me want to be back in Newark so I can correct things, clarify things, ask more questions, understand the answers, respond differently.
Before I had even left Newark, I was scheming ways to get back there - North Jersey. Hah! It seems now, and seemed then, so laughable. I spent so much of my year there trying to get away from it all, and now, I was itching to return - even before I had left. But Newark weaseled its way into my heart, ripping it open that last night as I taped up boxes of my things.
My last day at Georgia King Village and Bradley Court was two days before. I bought cookies for the kids as a going away treat (maybe to staunch my own guilt, I'll admit it). And at both places, as I said goodbye, hugged every child, prayed to God that they would grow up to be healthy, not get caught up into drugs or gangs, that they would get half the chances that I did in my little suburban town, that they would grow up into the beautiful personalities that I saw every Tuesday and Wednesday. I got into the van with my Junior Rangers. I turned on the radio, and at both places, this is what was playing:
Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now
Jesus, what an appropriate song, huh? As I'm preparing and grieving getting on my own airplane and leaving these kids. Both places. I mean, if you know me at all, you absolutely know that I started crying. It was hard to swallow. I didn't realize how much those kids in the projects had affected me. And I was leaving without looking back. I felt terrible.
And not to leave on a negative note, but that's where I'm leaving this blog. I'll write more in the coming days, maybe not for too much longer, but there's still stories to tell about Newark, about the roomies, about the Rangers and kids that I want to tell.
Love, Bethy
PS If you feel like sending some warm fuzzy thoughts, or good vibes, or well wishes, or prayers of any sort, there's some kids in New Jersey who could use them.
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