New Jersey 2, or Almost Gone

Last night, I had the very last show of the Wandering Jew Tour. It was at the Tenafly public library, amid a crowd that included: an aunt, two family friends, three of my middle and high school teachers, some folks from the senior center where my grandparents play bridge, and a few library patrons. It was as perfect an end as I could've asked for. They beamed at me, this patchwork community that represented many parts of my life. About halfway through, I realized my aunt was right: I do need to write a poem to my teachers. I realized I was performing almost solely to them, these three women, all of whom believed in me so much - even when I was a sixth grader who hated biology, or a cocky senior spouting European history. It felt right to come back to them, to say "Hey, remember me? Look what I can do now!"

The bag is nearly packed. I can't find one of my socks. Tonight, I won't be going home. There is no home. I'll spend the next month couch-surfing in Seattle and trying to find just the right spot to begin the next chapter.

But there will be Secret Agent Lover Man, and his smile, and his one good arm, and for tonight, that's more than enough.