Status: Active
It's All Coming Back to Me Now
New York, New York
The scene opens up in Manhattan’s underbelly. Hundreds herd themselves to their designated terminals, but one woman seems to stand out amongst the rest. As she exits the train, she casually tightens the drawstring of her trench coat; a hint of a smile upon her lips. The gleam in her eyes and her beguiling smile make this modern Mona Lisa most intriguing; especially when no one paid her an ounce of attention during her departure of the platform.
She did not notice because she was enveloped in the subway itself. She began to gaze at the familiar grimy green tiled walls and littered floor. Continuing along with the bustling crowd, her smile grew into a grin. The sights, sounds, and smells of New York had not changed in the last eighteen years.
Yes, this woman was a tourist, a tourist that had the ability to camouflage into the backdrop. To disappear, Jean felt would be the safest way through the city of blinding lights.
She surfaced from the dense population of the station and stifled a yawn. A quick glance at her watch told her it was 6 a.m. back home. Well that’s not going to help much here, Jean thought.
Aching, she felt her restless body arch in a cry for caffeine. She knew she could hold out for a few blocks. If she remembered correctly, the usual café she used to stop by whenever she was here the odd time was only a right turn away. With thousands of miles behind her, how far were a couple more footsteps?
A pause before the cross walk allowed her a brief moment to admire the blanket of warm sun covering her skin. But unfortunately the people around her did not feel the same way. The guy with five foot dreads wiped the beads of sweat from his upper lip; Mr. I’m-a-high-paid-executive flapped his arms to create a breeze beneath his stiff suit, while his reliable upper eastside girlfriend angrily pressed the keys of her cell phone. Jean looked away quickly before her group of fellow cross walkers noticed her intrusive staring.
Averting her gaze across the street, her brown irises honed in on a body. It was a girl, by the looks of her stringy hair, not more than fifteen years old. With her shoulders hunched over she looked defeated, almost in need of the brownstone’s stoop to brace her broken soul. Upon magnified inspection Jean noticed perfectly manicured finger nails -not the typical staple of the average bum, or ‘working girl’.
Turning right onto the street, Jean’s vision left the girl, but she felt something inside pull back towards her. She blamed the protective nature she felt on motherly instinct. It was just magnetism and solely based on that and a slight tug on her heart, Jean was not going to stop. Even if that slight tugging turned into severe pulling. Nope, Jean was going to enjoy her day and she wasn’t –I repeat was not- going to worry abou-
“Shit,” she muttered, as she stopped. She knew she was going back. Surprisingly it took exactly five strides to get back to the girl. All she needed was a conversation starter.
“Is that real?” Jean spoke the first idea that came to mind and then mentally slapped herself for not elaborating. She meant the Marc Jacobs bag sprawled out on the pavement.
The girl looked through her hair, and remained silent.
Jean cracked a smile, “I meant the purse. There’s no need to be offended.”
She was answered by more silence.
A sigh was suppressed as she occupied a spot beside the petite blond. She wasn’t going to be deterred that easily. “Ok, listen up kid. I don’t particularly like being by myself in the city and you look like you could use a few pounds on your body. What would you say to a little compromise? I’m heading to a café down the street, do you want to come?”
The girl gave a little nod while she murmured, “Sure.”
Jean got up and pulled the girl to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”
They walked in silence to the café. Jean figured it was because the girl was ashamed.
Constant wringing of the hands proved her point. She relaxed once she heard the bell announce their arrival into the building. A round faced woman with stark white hair looked up from the counter.
“Gina! What a surprise!” she smiled, dimples beaming.
Jean smiled back, “I’ll have the usual,” she said and then turned to her company, “Hey kid, what do you want?”
The girl remained stoic. “A breakfast combo too Phyllis,” Jean ordered.
As Phyllis rang up the total she asked Jean, a devilish smile sneaking onto her lips, “No man today?”
“Phyllis you know there hasn’t been a man in years,” she responded. The two laughed at the comment.
“Your order should be up in fifteen minutes. Grab a seat while you wait,” Phyllis informed them.
Jean looked beside her at the empty space. In a split second of shock, she looked up and noticed her stylish entourage had already slipped into a booth. Sliding in across from her, Jean released her harbored sigh.
“You don’t have to keep referring to me as ‘kid’. I have a name,” the unanimous teen spoke a few syllables.
“I’m not stupid. I know you have a name, but you haven’t acknowledged me at all. You need to voc-a-lize,” Jean retorted smoothly, trying not to allow the surprise escape her eyes and then asked, “So, what is it? Your name I mean.”
“Stephanie,” she responded, playing with the nearby fork.
“Great, my name is-“
“I know, it’s Gina. I heard the lady call you that,” Stephanie interrupted.
“It’s Jean actually. I haven’t been called Gina in a long time.”
A prolonged silence fell over the two. “So, what’s your story?” Jean asked to break the ice.
“What do you mean?” Stephanie answered warily, gripping her cutlery.
“Well for starters, why are you in New York?”
Stephanie resumed twirling her fork as she responded. “I ran away from home,” she mumbled, giving total attention to the piece in her hand. She was most definitely embarrassed, Jean thought.
She saw Stephanie look up from her lap after a moment or two. “You’re not going to scold me? Tell me I should go back?” Stephanie asked cynicism thick in her speech.
“Why would I do that whenever you’re clearly old enough to make your own decisions? You’re about fifteen, right?” Jean assumed.
“Seventeen.”
“Go figure,” Jean chuckled, rolling her eyes.
“Why did you say ‘Go figure’? Am I a nuisance to you?” Stephanie asked, anger sizzling underneath.
“No no, of course not; I had quite the opposite reaction,” she spoke a smile quickly forming.
“I thought people over forty were supposed to be extremely prude,” Stephanie fumed, her frustration slowly dying.
“Thirty-nine Stephanie, I’m thirty-nine. Besides the point of my age, I saw a little of myself in you. ” Jean explained. “I was your age whenever I ran away from home.”
Stephanie put the fork down. “Oh…when?” she asked, looking Jean in the eyes.
“It was the 80’s I think,” Jean stated.
Leaning over the table Stephanie asked, “Why did you do it?”
“I left for the same reason most people runaway from home: my parents,” Jean said, without batting an eyelash.
She leaned farther in anticipation, all thoughts of her own problems vaporizing, “Please, continue,” she breathed.
“I guess I should start from the beginning,” Jean stated, eyebrows furrowing together in concentration. “Most stories begin with ‘Once Upon A Time’, yes? Mine is one of the rare in a variety that doesn’t,” she began, struggling to remember the early years of her adult life. “Ah yes, it was the winter of 1984. That was the first year we got snow in Seattle…”
She did not notice because she was enveloped in the subway itself. She began to gaze at the familiar grimy green tiled walls and littered floor. Continuing along with the bustling crowd, her smile grew into a grin. The sights, sounds, and smells of New York had not changed in the last eighteen years.
Yes, this woman was a tourist, a tourist that had the ability to camouflage into the backdrop. To disappear, Jean felt would be the safest way through the city of blinding lights.
She surfaced from the dense population of the station and stifled a yawn. A quick glance at her watch told her it was 6 a.m. back home. Well that’s not going to help much here, Jean thought.
Aching, she felt her restless body arch in a cry for caffeine. She knew she could hold out for a few blocks. If she remembered correctly, the usual café she used to stop by whenever she was here the odd time was only a right turn away. With thousands of miles behind her, how far were a couple more footsteps?
A pause before the cross walk allowed her a brief moment to admire the blanket of warm sun covering her skin. But unfortunately the people around her did not feel the same way. The guy with five foot dreads wiped the beads of sweat from his upper lip; Mr. I’m-a-high-paid-executive flapped his arms to create a breeze beneath his stiff suit, while his reliable upper eastside girlfriend angrily pressed the keys of her cell phone. Jean looked away quickly before her group of fellow cross walkers noticed her intrusive staring.
Averting her gaze across the street, her brown irises honed in on a body. It was a girl, by the looks of her stringy hair, not more than fifteen years old. With her shoulders hunched over she looked defeated, almost in need of the brownstone’s stoop to brace her broken soul. Upon magnified inspection Jean noticed perfectly manicured finger nails -not the typical staple of the average bum, or ‘working girl’.
Turning right onto the street, Jean’s vision left the girl, but she felt something inside pull back towards her. She blamed the protective nature she felt on motherly instinct. It was just magnetism and solely based on that and a slight tug on her heart, Jean was not going to stop. Even if that slight tugging turned into severe pulling. Nope, Jean was going to enjoy her day and she wasn’t –I repeat was not- going to worry abou-
“Shit,” she muttered, as she stopped. She knew she was going back. Surprisingly it took exactly five strides to get back to the girl. All she needed was a conversation starter.
“Is that real?” Jean spoke the first idea that came to mind and then mentally slapped herself for not elaborating. She meant the Marc Jacobs bag sprawled out on the pavement.
The girl looked through her hair, and remained silent.
Jean cracked a smile, “I meant the purse. There’s no need to be offended.”
She was answered by more silence.
A sigh was suppressed as she occupied a spot beside the petite blond. She wasn’t going to be deterred that easily. “Ok, listen up kid. I don’t particularly like being by myself in the city and you look like you could use a few pounds on your body. What would you say to a little compromise? I’m heading to a café down the street, do you want to come?”
The girl gave a little nod while she murmured, “Sure.”
Jean got up and pulled the girl to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”
They walked in silence to the café. Jean figured it was because the girl was ashamed.
Constant wringing of the hands proved her point. She relaxed once she heard the bell announce their arrival into the building. A round faced woman with stark white hair looked up from the counter.
“Gina! What a surprise!” she smiled, dimples beaming.
Jean smiled back, “I’ll have the usual,” she said and then turned to her company, “Hey kid, what do you want?”
The girl remained stoic. “A breakfast combo too Phyllis,” Jean ordered.
As Phyllis rang up the total she asked Jean, a devilish smile sneaking onto her lips, “No man today?”
“Phyllis you know there hasn’t been a man in years,” she responded. The two laughed at the comment.
“Your order should be up in fifteen minutes. Grab a seat while you wait,” Phyllis informed them.
Jean looked beside her at the empty space. In a split second of shock, she looked up and noticed her stylish entourage had already slipped into a booth. Sliding in across from her, Jean released her harbored sigh.
“You don’t have to keep referring to me as ‘kid’. I have a name,” the unanimous teen spoke a few syllables.
“I’m not stupid. I know you have a name, but you haven’t acknowledged me at all. You need to voc-a-lize,” Jean retorted smoothly, trying not to allow the surprise escape her eyes and then asked, “So, what is it? Your name I mean.”
“Stephanie,” she responded, playing with the nearby fork.
“Great, my name is-“
“I know, it’s Gina. I heard the lady call you that,” Stephanie interrupted.
“It’s Jean actually. I haven’t been called Gina in a long time.”
A prolonged silence fell over the two. “So, what’s your story?” Jean asked to break the ice.
“What do you mean?” Stephanie answered warily, gripping her cutlery.
“Well for starters, why are you in New York?”
Stephanie resumed twirling her fork as she responded. “I ran away from home,” she mumbled, giving total attention to the piece in her hand. She was most definitely embarrassed, Jean thought.
She saw Stephanie look up from her lap after a moment or two. “You’re not going to scold me? Tell me I should go back?” Stephanie asked cynicism thick in her speech.
“Why would I do that whenever you’re clearly old enough to make your own decisions? You’re about fifteen, right?” Jean assumed.
“Seventeen.”
“Go figure,” Jean chuckled, rolling her eyes.
“Why did you say ‘Go figure’? Am I a nuisance to you?” Stephanie asked, anger sizzling underneath.
“No no, of course not; I had quite the opposite reaction,” she spoke a smile quickly forming.
“I thought people over forty were supposed to be extremely prude,” Stephanie fumed, her frustration slowly dying.
“Thirty-nine Stephanie, I’m thirty-nine. Besides the point of my age, I saw a little of myself in you. ” Jean explained. “I was your age whenever I ran away from home.”
Stephanie put the fork down. “Oh…when?” she asked, looking Jean in the eyes.
“It was the 80’s I think,” Jean stated.
Leaning over the table Stephanie asked, “Why did you do it?”
“I left for the same reason most people runaway from home: my parents,” Jean said, without batting an eyelash.
She leaned farther in anticipation, all thoughts of her own problems vaporizing, “Please, continue,” she breathed.
“I guess I should start from the beginning,” Jean stated, eyebrows furrowing together in concentration. “Most stories begin with ‘Once Upon A Time’, yes? Mine is one of the rare in a variety that doesn’t,” she began, struggling to remember the early years of her adult life. “Ah yes, it was the winter of 1984. That was the first year we got snow in Seattle…”