and his fourth-grade curiosity caught on as the two of us carefully lifted the flaps . Inside , a pamphlet glowed with happy students reading in the sun , the school ’ s motto “ The Catholic College for Independent Thinkers ” scrolled beneath them . The neatly folded sweatshirt with the university ’ s logo fit perfectly . The reputation of the Classics program , the promise of a semester in Italy , and the sweetly unfathomable swath of American land that would separate me from my life twinkled and glittered like the Lone Star itself . Even the shape of the state held promise , its dips and curves the antithesis to Rhode Island ’ s sharp , rectangular edges . I needed to leave behind the last two years of high school , of tenuous friendships , anxiety induced stomach aches , and long talks about my dad ’ s failings as a husband that my mother and I had in the garage while she tapped the long ashes of her cigarette into an empty soda can .
Yet this decision had consequences . My 12-year-old sister and 10-year-old brother would lose the sanctuary of my bedroom ’ s pink beaded curtain with its couch where I supervised math problems , and the TV which muffled the sounds of our parents ’ bitter accusations and endless arguments which laid bare their rankled unhappiness with one another . The two of them would have to take up the weight of my parents ’ silence at the dinner table on their small shoulders . There would be one less pair of eyes to glance at for comfort .
Even with a scholarship , I knew my parents would need to contribute substantially to my tuition , though I would work all four years to supplement their funding . Having only recently moved out of a situation where my brother , sister , and I were sharing a bedroom , I felt the weight of the coin they would shell out for airfare , for tuition , for food . But , I had made the decision , and it would have to work out , for the cowboy boots I had already promised my siblings , a cheap trick to distract them from the nervousness stirring around my departure , and for the firstborn , trail-blazing success that I had promised my parents by mailing in the commitment letter . I had promised myself that somewhere out in the brush weed or in the blanket of stars big and bright that shined over grassy flatlands , I might find something for me .
For all the determination that fired my purpose , I was unprepared for the complex texture of my destination . The huge vistas of sky on sky that canopied the flat of the Texas panhandle disoriented me . The access roads running parallel to the highway made knowing where to get on and off almost impossible , yet any spin of a radio dial turned up country . The cell-changing heat made driving with air conditioning and closed windows ubiquitous , and the polite absence of screaming , swearing , and honking that so colored Boston ’ s streets unsettled me .
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