Getting Home
This morning I took a taxi from North-East Portland to the Greyhound station in the North-West downtown area. My boxed bike fit snugly into the trunk and the bearded leather jacket and bowler hat wearing driver sang in french for the whole ten minute ride. I spent the next thirteen hours on a bus Southbound to Chico. My boss Steve called when I was about half an hour away and offered me a ride home from the bus station, his kids giving me easter candies when they arrived in his sun-bleached pickup. Today was a sunday well traveled.
When I unlock my apartment door for the first time in almost a week, nobody is there except for a cat. Not the cat belonging to one of my roommates, but a new one almost identical in markings save for her massive yellow eyes. Should I name her?
Chairmen Meow sits in my window and focuses her twin eye-beams on any who would challenge her.
I think Chico is a great town for me, for now. I’ve got a job I really enjoy, working with people I respect and genuinely enjoy the company of. I’m taking classes in a field I find interesting and am set to take more advanced courses at a university held in high-regard for its achievements and efforts in sustainability. I’ve made friends with some very kind, intelligent, endearing, admirable, and exciting people.
But in nine weeks I’ll be half-way towards graduating with a BA in Philosophy. Two more years and I’ll be a graduate of California State University, Chico. I’m sure by then my roots will have sunk even deeper into the rich brown soil of the central valley, but from where I stand now I don’t think I’ll want to stick around.
I made a list of pros and cons for moving to Portland, and it’s hardly balanced.