It’s the new edition, with the epilogue and the photos.
The author’s adventures and her adaption to life in America continue. Halloween paranoia, Thanksgiving traffic jams, Christmas lists, real estate searches, the ER, a nightclub, Misha from the laundromat, John with his ski cap, Inga with her broom, the mother-in-law with her home decorating ideas, and father-in-law with his five cell phones – and in the middle of this, an Estonian woman trying to find her way.
Jorge walks me to the hospital exit. The second the door closes behind me, I dig my cell phone out of the jacket pocket and dial home.
Justin picks up after the first ring. “How are you?”
Walking along briskly, I tell him what went on during the past few hours. He, in turn, tells me that he’s sitting in front of the TV with our child sleeping in his lap.
“Wait a second, I was already on Willow Street,” the cold air brings me back to reality from the phone call. “Justin, I don’t understand how it’s possible that I came out of the hospital and started walking on Willow Street, I’ve been walking and walking, I am still on Willow Street!”
“Well, you must be walking along Willow Street then,” he comes to the pertinent conclusion.
“But how? I thought I was walking towards home!”
Just to make things more difficult, there were no street signs at the next intersection.
I’m standing there in my pajama pants, boots and a coat at an intersection at night, in the middle of who-knows-where and can’t decide which way I should go.
“But don’t get me wrong! Other places have their shortcomings as well. I’ve lived in almost 10 places in New York and about as many in Boston. Every place has its downsides.”
Before I can ask Inga what’s wrong with the other places she’s lived in New York, she steps in closer and whispers: “But you do know what the biggest plus is in this place?”
“Umm, the beach?” I answer awkwardly.
Inga continues at a half whisper – there are two more people going about their business at the laundromat. “This is the WHITEST neighborhood in all of Brooklyn and Queens! There isn’t one single BLACK teacher at the school here! Do you know why?”
“No, I don’t,” I confess in all honesty. I feel like a kitten that’s been taken out on a walk for the first time by a big cat. “I really don’t know why that is.”
- Published in 2010
- 304 pages
- 130x190 mm
- ISBN 978-9949-9043-1-0