She had left her small town called Petal. She left her town, her family, friends, and fiance.
Petal slept on the northern edge of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, a coastal town near the forest known for, well…not so known, actually. Salty air and scent of pine permeated. Views of the Straight of Juan de Fuca, towering mountains and winding roads were dotted with billowing chimneys and nestled farms. So just another stunningly green and beautiful place in the great Pacific northwest that people passed through, maybe stayed in, or escaped to from the big cities.
Everybody wants to escape something to somewhere.
“Welcome to JFK International” the sign said.
She released a deep sigh as she stepped off the plane. By habit, her left thumb stroked her left ring finger. Nothing there. She scanned the terminal in front of her. So far, she recognized no one. A welcomed change.
A six hour flight cramped into absurdly small seats meant for no one with real proportions, she desperately needed yoga. At least she was a good conversationalist; it kept her mind occupied and distracted from the discomfort of her hips pressing into the sides of the seat and her knees knocking the tray table.
In addition, she learned great tips about where to go in her new city for some great food — she intended to eat her way through the city. “Always ask the locals” – was her favorite travel rule. So far, she had never been disappointed by taking time to talk. On her list now thanks to her row mates: BBQ, Italian, burger, sushi places, and of course, steak.
Her whole life, New York had only been a postcard city, sent from others on their journeys; the towering steel buildings, the bridges, taxis, and people. Everywhere. All of the stories, their stories…sounded like dreams from a mystical place that only existed in her childhood imagination, ripe with impossible possibilities.
It was now her turn to see for herself. And just as one must enter Vegas at night and see the lights, so she must enter New York.
The lights beckoned from Times Square like a supercharged searchlight; its own colorful history a symbolic patchwork intersection of world events, where people come to gawk, to celebrate, a congregation of nationalities, a microcosm of commerce.
As New York is the heartbeat of the world, Times Square is New York’s heartbeat.
Hers beat with anticipation of not knowing what was next.
~ Emily C.
Part 1: Return to Sender
My attempt to break past the opening scene of my long abandoned book attempt. 🙂 Can be read stand-alone, or in sequence.
And as I don’t know what kind of story I’m writing, this could literally go anywhere…dark, light, funny, sad, mystical…all of the above perhaps.
Just playing with my brain. Again, feel free to ignore.