We flew first class to Seattle so we could get the cello on board without a fight for overhead space. So imagine the come down when my son walked into the dorm room at cello camp. “Oh,” he said. “A dorm room is like a one-star hotel.”
I thought to myself: Who am I? Am I a person who flies first class, or am I a person who shares a bathroom with ten strangers?
There are cello lessons all day and we run around Seattle Pacific University with me marveling at the dahlias (are they perennials here?) and Zehavi doing too-risky parkour (“Mom. I think my penis broke.”)
Zehavi tells me I have to sleep in the top bunk because he doesn’t want to fall out. I climb up there and remember the kid down the hall who rolled out my freshman year, so I sleep on the floor.
Am I a person who has a garden that covers an acre? Am I a person who has no bed?