I stare at the huge, daunting building. I can't believe I had classes here for five hours and I found my way out.
This is a school? Looks like a teeny, short version of the Chrysler building. Six floors, three block radius, partially glass walls. The school of the future. Then why is its name old sounding? Carver High School. The name is carved into the entrance, the only part of the building that maintains some history. I ascend the stairs leading to the main entrance. My nineties phone falls, and i reach down to pick it up.
My hand comes into contact with the floor. Suddenly, my head starts spinning.
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Everything's blurry. I can barely see clearly, let alone my nineties phone on the floor.
What I do see is pictures. The history of the school is ãll around. I watch as everything swirls.
That's when a hand grabs my shoulder. It's the only thing really keeping me from falling into the swirlyness that threatens to suck us all dry. It's trippy in the very worst sense of the word. Like H, but without all the purple clouds. Which helps, I hate purple. Or maybe I like it. I'm kind of a flip flopper with colors.
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The hand pulls me out of the sepia colored, history filled picture world to my feet. I lose contact with the ground, and I begin to see the world around me again. My eyes focus as I try to focus in on the face attached to the hand that pulled me out of my hallucinatory trance.
Its the guy with the welcome basket. As mysterious and hot as ever. Damn me and my spacing. Makes me look like an idiot every time. My friends never cared, because they've known me forever, but I don't think Chicago will be as forgiving. Just a hunch.
He not only looks like he doesn't really care why I was frozen, bent down on the stairs, inches from grabbing my nineties clunker of a cell phone, but there seems to be understanding written on his face.
He gives me the same stare as yesterday. It's the same intensity, but I don't feel invaded this time. Either I'm used to it, or he's trying to be nice.
"You're used to it." he says.
Huh? How'd he know I was...
"Because I just know." he says, before I can even finish my thought. I look at him bewilderedly. How'd he do that?
"You can...?" I can't even fathom the answer.
"You are not who you think you are." he says simply. He hands me a small card, almost like a business card, only it's purple. I turn it over, to read the words:
"If you can read these words, you are more than you think you are. Or less, it depends on how you look at it. (Hmm, wit. I like witty guys, is my thought.) Go to 77 Charlotte Street and show the door this card.
347-387-0810"
I stare at the mysterious mind reading hot guy. (Best not think that thought too hard, he might have heard it.) "What's this for?"
He says nothing, just takes me by the hand, and leads me to a black mini-van with a good three dents each in each door. He opens the front passenger seat, and ushers me inside. Gentlemanly. Cool.
He closes my door, then walks around to the other side. I take the time as he's turning on the car to tell Ashleigh that I'll be a little late. Granted, late to me is early to her. Best get home at 1 in the morning. She expects me home at that time, I bet. Hello freedom.
This is my thought as the guy pulls out of his parking space. That, and I'm silently berating myself for not looking nicer. In New York, I was normally prepared for this sort of thing. Damn low self esteem.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Welcome to Chicago.
I watch the buildings fly by my window as my sister drives us to our new home. Or rather, the new house we moved a good six hundred miles to get to. I'm from New York, born and raised. And I do not want to move. My sister, Ashleigh, got a job in Chicago doing...whatever it is she does. I try not to listen to her most of the time. I think she's in modeling though. Explains the men parading through the apartment at all hours. But she didn't get an apartment this time. She inherited a Victorian mansion from an uncle on her mom's side. Granted, his kids got his money, but she got the house. In Chicago. At least the men will be on the other side of the house. I plan to get some blue paint tape and split the house in half.
I look down at the small box of personal effects I decided to have stashed in my purse so they wouldn't get crushed by the massive boxes and furniture at the back of the moving truck. The necklace I'd inherited from my mother before she died, with a translucent stone on it. She'd said it reminded her of me. The pet rock my best friend had given me the day we left. A few CDs, my iPod, my clunky nineties phone that I'll never get rid of. My PSP. My life in a box.
I stare at myself in the mirror. God, is this what happens when you're stuck in a car for more time than I remember? My black hair looks more like a fuzzball, my normally pale skin looks tinged green. (I hate how my sister drives). My light blue eyes look bloodshot from lack of sleep, and my head is a wreck. Granted, my head is always a wreck. My friends always used to say I was off somewhere else in my head. And now the rest of me has gone along too.
Ashleigh turns onto an exit road. Thank God, I want out of this car.
She looks at me like she wants to talk. Please tell me that's just me.
"It's not going to be as bad as you think. I know you didn't want to come here, but..."
"...it's going to be a good thing, you promise." I finish off for her. I feel kind of bad, but I'm nauseous, tired, and I want a New York pretzel.
She looks hurt. Because she didn't deserve that, I relent. "I'm sorry. I'm kind of nauseous and I really don't want to be here." Ashleigh and I are actually pretty close. I just can't stand her peppy attitude sometimes. Plus, she's got an annoying habit of repeating herself.
She smiles. "It's okay. I know uprooting you in your sophomore year isn't the best idea, but this is something I've got to do. I just can't believe I'm working at a real law firm now."
Oh, she's a lawyer. This also explains the many gentlemen callers.
I manage a small smile. She shouldn't be miserable because I am.
Before I know it, we're at the house. Four floors, double doors, huge windows, and those circle rooms I've always loved on Victorian mansions. Three of them! I feel a bit better about the predicament now.
~*~*~
By evening, everything's moved in. My sister is at her new office, getting settled in, because they expected her there as soon as she settled into her new home. I'm sitting on our IKEA sofa, watching TV, when I hear a doorbell ring.
I walk to our new huge doors and open one.
A guy is standing in front of me. If I'd known guys who looked like that were all in Chicago, I would have been much less of a bitch about moving. Brown hair, dark brown eyes, fair skin. He's taller than me, but not a giant, and he's got the style of both punk rockers and academics. All in all, New Yorker girls would have been at his feet.
He's staring at me. I'm now wishing I learned how to put on decent makeup. I never wear any, because my skin's too pale, and my sister says that a skin tone like mine would get washed out by it. It's no fair. How'd she get all the melanin?
He shakes out of his self induced trance and hands me a basket. I knew this was a good neighborhood, but welcome care packages? Hello, Stepford wives.
"Thank you." is all I can say.
We're both still holding onto the basket when I lock eyes with him. There's something very different about him, I can feel it. It feels like he's staring into my very soul. Searching.
He looks me up and down, and I can feel his stare wherever he puts his eyes. I look at him more closely, and his face changes. It probably looks like mine does now, surprised, intrigued, and slightly violated all at the same time.
I back off. He just met me, and I just moved here. No need to eye rape my poor hot neighbor.
He senses that I'm backing off and does the same. He lets go of the basket, and I thank him again.
"No problem." he says quietly. Wow, his voice sounds crazy. It sounds like his stare. God, that doesn't make sense.
"I'll see you around, I guess." I try. Way to make an idiot of myself. I thought that was something I'd get to do in school.
"I would hope so." he says, with a hint of humor in his voice. He turns to go, walks down to the sidewalk, and looks back at me and smiles. I smile back, a bit involuntarily. I'm such an effing girl. He gives me a little wave before disappearing into the night.
I close the front door. I wonder who else I'm meeting at this new school. Guess I'll find out.
I look down at the small box of personal effects I decided to have stashed in my purse so they wouldn't get crushed by the massive boxes and furniture at the back of the moving truck. The necklace I'd inherited from my mother before she died, with a translucent stone on it. She'd said it reminded her of me. The pet rock my best friend had given me the day we left. A few CDs, my iPod, my clunky nineties phone that I'll never get rid of. My PSP. My life in a box.
I stare at myself in the mirror. God, is this what happens when you're stuck in a car for more time than I remember? My black hair looks more like a fuzzball, my normally pale skin looks tinged green. (I hate how my sister drives). My light blue eyes look bloodshot from lack of sleep, and my head is a wreck. Granted, my head is always a wreck. My friends always used to say I was off somewhere else in my head. And now the rest of me has gone along too.
Ashleigh turns onto an exit road. Thank God, I want out of this car.
She looks at me like she wants to talk. Please tell me that's just me.
"It's not going to be as bad as you think. I know you didn't want to come here, but..."
"...it's going to be a good thing, you promise." I finish off for her. I feel kind of bad, but I'm nauseous, tired, and I want a New York pretzel.
She looks hurt. Because she didn't deserve that, I relent. "I'm sorry. I'm kind of nauseous and I really don't want to be here." Ashleigh and I are actually pretty close. I just can't stand her peppy attitude sometimes. Plus, she's got an annoying habit of repeating herself.
She smiles. "It's okay. I know uprooting you in your sophomore year isn't the best idea, but this is something I've got to do. I just can't believe I'm working at a real law firm now."
Oh, she's a lawyer. This also explains the many gentlemen callers.
I manage a small smile. She shouldn't be miserable because I am.
Before I know it, we're at the house. Four floors, double doors, huge windows, and those circle rooms I've always loved on Victorian mansions. Three of them! I feel a bit better about the predicament now.
~*~*~
By evening, everything's moved in. My sister is at her new office, getting settled in, because they expected her there as soon as she settled into her new home. I'm sitting on our IKEA sofa, watching TV, when I hear a doorbell ring.
I walk to our new huge doors and open one.
A guy is standing in front of me. If I'd known guys who looked like that were all in Chicago, I would have been much less of a bitch about moving. Brown hair, dark brown eyes, fair skin. He's taller than me, but not a giant, and he's got the style of both punk rockers and academics. All in all, New Yorker girls would have been at his feet.
He's staring at me. I'm now wishing I learned how to put on decent makeup. I never wear any, because my skin's too pale, and my sister says that a skin tone like mine would get washed out by it. It's no fair. How'd she get all the melanin?
He shakes out of his self induced trance and hands me a basket. I knew this was a good neighborhood, but welcome care packages? Hello, Stepford wives.
"Thank you." is all I can say.
We're both still holding onto the basket when I lock eyes with him. There's something very different about him, I can feel it. It feels like he's staring into my very soul. Searching.
He looks me up and down, and I can feel his stare wherever he puts his eyes. I look at him more closely, and his face changes. It probably looks like mine does now, surprised, intrigued, and slightly violated all at the same time.
I back off. He just met me, and I just moved here. No need to eye rape my poor hot neighbor.
He senses that I'm backing off and does the same. He lets go of the basket, and I thank him again.
"No problem." he says quietly. Wow, his voice sounds crazy. It sounds like his stare. God, that doesn't make sense.
"I'll see you around, I guess." I try. Way to make an idiot of myself. I thought that was something I'd get to do in school.
"I would hope so." he says, with a hint of humor in his voice. He turns to go, walks down to the sidewalk, and looks back at me and smiles. I smile back, a bit involuntarily. I'm such an effing girl. He gives me a little wave before disappearing into the night.
I close the front door. I wonder who else I'm meeting at this new school. Guess I'll find out.
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