The Woman from Boston

by Grace Twala (South Africa)

Making a local connection USA

I see her every day on my way to pick up Evie from school. I have always wondered about her life. I make up stories in my head while I walk to school. She sits there on a bench at the park at the end of my street reading a book. I always look out for her every time I leave the house. She is, at most, the highlight of my day ever since I moved to Boston. I moved to the USA to be an Au Pair and move to this beautiful and 'full of character' country. Leaving South Africa has been a journey for me. It hasn’t always been sunshine and rainbows. I have had my fair share of hurricanes here and there. My history of travel is mostly moving from town to town for my dads’ job. I can’t even tell you about how many friends I can’t remember. For some reason, when I was younger, I was more excited about moving away and meeting new people. My parents described me as fearless and determined, although I never really saw what they saw. I always thought of myself as adapting to my circumstances and having to embrace change to be able to succeed in this new town. I do not mean this to sound exhausting but rather the other side of adventurous. Her, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of me. She seemed not to want the change. Well, this coming off my idea of who she is or rather the story she plays in my life. Why did I have to make her so different from me? Maybe it was that some part of me wanting to be her or is her. Having been born and raised in Boston and her apathy towards the cool breeze allowing her hair to make waves in the air, she must have a sense of belonging. She gazes into the woods, as she lifts her head from her book, about something in her life that she needed a break from fiction into reality to block off the resemblance between her life and the novel. Sometimes I see her speak to the neighbors in the neighborhood that decided to take their dogs on a walk. Having a laugh and her head tilted to the side as to distract herself from the conversations she so desperately wants to escape. Being in the park is supposed to be her time of quiet from her everyday life. Apart from wanting to rescue her, I knew that all this was probably myself projecting my feelings. She was different to me. Some part of me was like her, and I couldn't help myself but want to know more. Living in one area all her life and only see this life. In some ways, I want to be her. She is the other side of my mind that tends to think about the 'what ifs.'. What if I did not want to travel and stay in South Africa? What if I did not move so much as a child? What if I stayed in one place and lived like she does? The answers to these questions do not exist and should not. I think of myself in parts. One part is adventurous and loves meeting new people and discovering new flavors of foods, and the other one is in the same town having beers with my childhood friends and being able to have the same walk home from the bar. It sounds like two of the same thing, although I like to keep them separate for a reason. To be able to enjoy the "wanderlust," I have to let go of the Woman from Boston. She is my other half. My 'wish I could be' half. For now, I will just keep watching from a distance as my other part lives a life that enjoys a novel in a park. While I, on the other hand, see places in this vast and gorgeous world with all the beauty it has to offer. I will see the Woman from Boston again. But maybe this time she will be from New Zealand.