Signed, New York
Chapter One
OUR STORY begins in New York.
Retrospectively, obviously, I had no idea that it would. Or even that there was a story to tell. That’s the funny thing about life sometimes, though.
See, when I was younger, I believed there was something magical and whimsical about bigger cities. They were easy to romanticize – easy to get lost in a daydream about. California and Seattle were the objects of affection for my childhood best friend and older brother, respectively.
But I was convinced New York was that place for me.
And it would turn out to be, just not in the way that I planned. But it seems nothing works out the way you expect it to, and that’s a lesson that I’ve had to learn a few times in the past year.
It started my first semester of college, after my particularly first shitty day of classes. Because I wanted the entire college experience (and because I knew even the less than desirable apartments were completely out of my price range), I opted for a dorm on campus.
I was in the middle of a particularly dramatic phone call with my mother, ready to call it quits and fly back to my little town in Florida where it virtually never rained and people were nice enough when a letter slid underneath my door.
The girl directly across the hall from me had gotten the same one, and it’s how we ended up becoming best friends. I thought nothing of it and was ready to write the entire thing off to chance when I got another one but Grace didn’t.
It ended up leading us to London’s journal, and I only call him that because that’s how he signs the letters. Oddly enough, too, his journal.
What transpired from there is a story all on its’ own.
And it wouldn’t be a story (or a good one, at that) without a little drama, romance, and red eye flights that somehow lead you everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.
So now that it’s in your hands, reader, I’ll leave you to it.
Happy reading/crying/laughing.
Don’t forget to pass it on.
Signed,
New York
Retrospectively, obviously, I had no idea that it would. Or even that there was a story to tell. That’s the funny thing about life sometimes, though.
See, when I was younger, I believed there was something magical and whimsical about bigger cities. They were easy to romanticize – easy to get lost in a daydream about. California and Seattle were the objects of affection for my childhood best friend and older brother, respectively.
But I was convinced New York was that place for me.
And it would turn out to be, just not in the way that I planned. But it seems nothing works out the way you expect it to, and that’s a lesson that I’ve had to learn a few times in the past year.
It started my first semester of college, after my particularly first shitty day of classes. Because I wanted the entire college experience (and because I knew even the less than desirable apartments were completely out of my price range), I opted for a dorm on campus.
I was in the middle of a particularly dramatic phone call with my mother, ready to call it quits and fly back to my little town in Florida where it virtually never rained and people were nice enough when a letter slid underneath my door.
The girl directly across the hall from me had gotten the same one, and it’s how we ended up becoming best friends. I thought nothing of it and was ready to write the entire thing off to chance when I got another one but Grace didn’t.
It ended up leading us to London’s journal, and I only call him that because that’s how he signs the letters. Oddly enough, too, his journal.
What transpired from there is a story all on its’ own.
And it wouldn’t be a story (or a good one, at that) without a little drama, romance, and red eye flights that somehow lead you everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.
So now that it’s in your hands, reader, I’ll leave you to it.
Happy reading/crying/laughing.
Don’t forget to pass it on.
Signed,
New York
♠ ♠ ♠
thoughts, comments & concerns are welcome