Maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t win the Powerball jackpot. I don't need the temptation.
I’ve been looking to relocate to Boston or the greater metro area recently. The prices are insane. However, it doesn’t deter me from perusing listings way outside of my budget. Ironically one particular listing caught my eye. It is also ridiculously overpriced. Given its target is a very elite audience. Although, I can’t understand why or how its value has doubled in the last six months. It might explain why, as of this writing it has been on for almost 200 days when other properties fly off the market in minutes.
Regardless, if I had the money, I would plunk it down immediately. Not just because it is a beautiful brownstone in my favorite place in the world, but specifically where it’s situated. One address number away therefore directly across the street from the address that is forever etched in my mind and immortalized in my novel Marlborough Man.
If you go to “street view,” drop the little Google Guy in the map, and rotate it to the opposite side of the street, there it is. His former address is an equally regal single-family townhome now, not a humble bunch of chopped-up apartments that it was in the late 80’s. That former studio on the second floor with the black bay window would be my daily vista.
When I visited Boston a few months back, I made a quick pilgrimage along the cobblestone streets retracing the steps of that blissfully ignorant college freshman. I remember going to that historic brownstone almost always when he called, eagerly awaiting this gorgeous, intelligent, intriguing man to greet me at his doorstep. The person I used to visit is long gone. All I have is the lingering mystery and memories that have never fully let me go.
So why would I buy that brownstone if I could in two seconds? I’ve asked myself the same thing. Maybe because I still have a bunch of unanswered questions about what happened. Maybe it reminds me of that young impressionable girl I once was and one of the few times life felt like an adventure. Or perhaps, it symbolizes self-discovery, taking a gamble, and being free for the first time to make decisions (good or bad).
For whatever reason, I'm still drawn to that nostalgic neighborhood and the history that it holds. Yet, I have far from a down payment on that property in my bank account, much less the income to support the yearly tax nut. But I’ll keep wondering, dreaming and playing the lottery.
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