Hartwood

The wheels of the car glided above the wet asphalt, winding every which way to go along with the mountainous terrain. The windshield wipers acted as a metronome, keeping the rhythm of some unknown song. The grayness of the sky mixed with the deep, wet colors of the forests and hills around me became something I can only describe with the word, "safe". Though I was accelerating over roads uncharted by myself, the world could not have felt more familiar. An overwhelming calm had come over my car. Discovering places I had never seen before, some as little as service stations, and some as big as whole new towns. I toyed with the fact that these places have been here for years, and yet they were completely new to me. The rain continued to fall, racing and dancing for a short moment on the windshield. Without my grasp on where I was, I was intrigued to see that it was no longer trees that dashed by my window, but now small houses, sheltering people who have their own lives as complex as my own, that flew by instead. The rain fell harshly off of the roofs, causing big puddles to appear just below them. I was so enthralled by these houses that I barely recognized a stoplight ahead of me.

With the flash of a red light, my car came to an abrupt stop. My field of motion finally still, I was able to look around and truly get a sense of where I was. I sat at a four way intersection, with small buildings on either side of me. On my right, there was a small wooden sign that read "Hartwood" in a reddish brown lettering. Ahead of me was a small shopping plaza, whose colors of white and gray stood out peacefully against the saturated backdrop of the wet forest behind it. Left of me, stood a small, half concrete building atop a small hill. A small blue and red neon sign hung in the window, and the lights by the entrance shown dimly as to try and fit in with such a serene setting. The silence was broken by a car horn blaring behind me. I had gotten so caught up in this little village of Hartwood, I hadn't seen the light turn green. I raised my hand, trying to apologize. My car went straight, towards the shopping plaza. Almost by instinct, before I even knew what I was doing I had pulled into the plaza. My car was parked. I caught a glimpse of the clock on my car's dash. It read 11:30. I was taken aback. What started as a pleasant morning drive has turned into a 4 hour expedition. My eyes wandered around my surroundings. Taking in every little detail, such as the metallic garbage cans, and the different plants used in the landscaping.

An idea swept over me. What if I was to get out of my car? For a moment, I felt as if it would all fall apart if I was to exit my car. That I would disturb this centuries old peace that laid outside my car window. After a deep breath, I pulled myself together and flung open the door. The cold, Pennsylvanian air rushed me, flowing over every part of my body. The rain droplets created soft taps on my face, causing me to smile. The air had a smell of a soft, wet forest. What felt so far away in my car, was now surrounding me on all sides. I now stood in this mysterious place, feeling every inch of what it was. This small town that probably isn't even on the map, now felt like it was huge. It felt like I was a part of it. Even though I haven't a clue of where I was, this cold place felt warmly familiar. It was the middle of the day on a rainy Tuesday, so I sat alone in the wet parking lot. I spun around, taking in the shops before me. There were bookstores, coffee shops, mixed in with an occasional medical office. My feet had started moving to and fro, following the path laid out before me by the sidewalk. I compared myself to my car.

Through all the shop windows, I see people mindlessly going about their day. These people, who see this town everyday, most likely feel nothing special about where they live. That bewildered me. As I watched these employees and patrons in their shops, I began to feel invisible in the most magical way possible. I began creating stories for every person I saw. I imagined their lives, hopes, dreams. I began to feel this whole town was a scene from a storybook, and I was the author.

I was pulled out of my daydreaming by a sudden shiver being shot down my back. It was still raining, and I was now soaked to the bone. I didn't want to leave my own imaginary world, but I reluctantly navigated my way back to my car. I turned the keys in the ignition and was shocked at the feeling of nostalgia I already had for this place. It hurt my heart to leave. An incredible sense of dread filled my chest, similar to the feeling you get when you know, deep down, you'll never see someone you love again. I pulled my car out of the parking lot, and continued down the road. The houses that lived on either side of the street eventually turned back into the forests and hills that it was before. The whole thing didn't even feel real. I thought about turning around, and going back, just to prove to myself that it actually was.

All people have an escape. Some dream of vacation spots, others dream of family. We, as humans, need something in our minds that keeps us sane, keeps us grounded to the fact that we have somewhere to go. Most of time, we choose this place to escape to. Rarely, the place chooses you. When I had wandered into Hartwood, I stumbled upon something extraordinary. I stumbled upon a home I never knew I had.