Chloe doesn’t leave until next week.
I promise to meet her over break.
Together again, with our fake IDs.
Dylan makes me a mixtape for school.
We promise to write.
Maybe try this new thing, AOL.
Mom packages up the glass
solar system for my dorm room.
James helps me carry my stuff—
telescope,
big trunk,
a duffel—
to the sidewalk.
Don’t know if I’m ready
for another goodbye.
Even a temporary one.
Mom drops something into my hand.
I feel the ridges, the weight—
keys.
Tears float into my eyes.
My heart swells like the moon.
Mom says Dad wanted you to have this.
James nods, says the car is mine.
April, in her new ACT UP T-shirt,
curls her arms around me,
rests her head on my shoulder.
Mom smiles.
All at once I know
I have to make this drive myself.
Mom says she and April
will visit soon
for Parents’ Weekend.
We hug goodbye.
I climb into the driver’s seat,
wave to April, Mom and James,
together, on the corner.
Check my mirrors,
turn onto the Henry Hudson,
the steering wheel glides
gently under my fingers,
Dylan’s mix on loud,
Rusted Root blasts as
I leave the edge of Manhattan—
Roll down the window,
shout goodbye
to my windowseat,
goodbye to the Big Rock.
A crystal hangs from the rearview mirror.
A map by my side.
The road,
solid
beneath me
as I blast into
the summer-gold
sky.