Coming True

Here it is, right here on the left, the red house. Having navigated the Greenwich Village streets, the cab stopped. Upended the heavy suitcases, the sprouts of a whole new life, on the sidewalk. We dragged the bags upstairs, fiddled with unknown locks, and went inside. Welcome home, I said, and we giggled like school girls.

A short inspection round later, we sat on the fire escape drinking rosé bubbly from large margarita glasses, toasting to all sorts of things. Charles street looked like a movie set, the sky so surreal, the rain, the street light, the silence. But then, the whole thing was surreal. Here she was, with her dream job, in her dream home, living this unreachable life because she'd reached it. I say it takes perseverance. She says it's important not to forget that it is possible.

She is right of course. Too easily, we forget that our dreams are, in fact, within our reach. That they are not impossible visions in the distance, but possible futures, should we fight for them. I was immensely proud of her then. I walked home in the drizzle, Morton street mere minutes away. We did good, I think.