How a Traveler Turns “place” Into “home”
My skin crawls beneath the chemical-stiff caress of new sheets as I lie in the creaky used bed I bought on Craigslist this afternoon. Next week I’m starting medical school, here in the odd city of Cleveland.
It only took me 12 hours to trundle my way here from Boston in a rickety U-Haul truck, and for all the similarities of these small, cold, snowy Northern cities, I expected to feel more at home here. But it’s the little details that raise the hair on the back of my neck: the moldering, bricked-in buildings, the sidewalks devoid of people, the absence of streetlights. Where the hell is everybody? I find myself wondering.