It’s true love for this city girl! But the country mouse she likes is afraid of living outside of a five-mile radius of his house (apparently).
I move to Pennsyltucky, the reddest part of a purple state (though at the time, I don’t know what that means). I leave a union part-time job making a decent salary to make minimum wage at non-minimum wage-type jobs (none of which I accept). I enroll in a state college that doesn’t have my true major, but courses I can piece together to get close. The nearest Wawa — where I’ve gotten my hoagie rolls all of my life – is a 45-minute drive away. And then the worst of it all: he’s not just a normal Republican. He’s a wingnut conservative. (If he had led with that, we could have saved so. much. time).
Six months after my brother and nephew hauled my mattress into my second-floor apartment on the edge of a farm — the only building taller than the coterie of cows — they hauled it out again. After the last of the boxes were packed, I said goodbye to my now ex-boyfriend, closed the door of my sky blue Plymouth Horizon, and hit the road to go home. A song I’d been singing since I was too little to talk, thanks to my Dad’s enjoyment of this artist, played on repeat the entire way home.
This post is part of the Blogging A to Z Challenge. My theme is Musical Memoir. Each Monday through Saturday, I explore personal memories through my love of music, inspired and coordinated by the letters of the alphabet. Join in the fun and participate in the challenge, or leave a comment and enjoy some conversation. Thanks for reading. Peace.