sleepy city [discontinued]

prologue | face tattoo

london

I think Seattle is meant for me, as a writer. It's quiet and I can think easily. The constant raining just amplifies these things, and it makes it much easier to fall asleep. I love reading and writing, and I aspire to write a book. So, for inspiration, I spend my time down the street in this massive bookstore with high ceilings. It has a coffee shop, too. This is where I do the majority of my reading, the bookstore I went to growing up is in Atlanta. That's where i met Jackson, who introduced me to Seattle. I really have to thank him for it; although I was already familiarized by the Internet. I knew this is where I wanted to end up after college. I had a perfect plan to get here on my own, but Jackson came and tweaked a few things.

I met Jackson in Atlanta, Georgia, my hometown. At that time, me and Atlanta were opposites. I was calm and quiet, loving to spend my time indoors reading or watching Netflix. Atlanta is a social city, so many opportunities and places to be seen outside your door. Everyone thought Atlanta was huge, when it was actually very small. I knew how to get around; it was so easy to do knowing where everything was. If I wasn't inside, I was either at the bookstore or a restaurant or Atlantic Station. In short, I only went out one or two times a week; not including the time I spent at the bookstore.

When I was in my early teenage years, I was depressed. On one of those days, I had a dentist and doctor appointment on the same day. It was Spring Break, and my mom was trying to get everything done before I went back to school. Before i ended up at the bookstore, I was at my doctor's appointment, but I was actually seeing my therapist (I always called it the doctor, just in case anyone asked). I liked my therapist, she was a little taller than I, blond, very pretty, and married, as I could tell from her ring and the pictures in her office. She had the same name as my mom, but they were spelled differently.

After that, the car ride with my Dad was silent. It was silent while waiting for the car to be washed at the car wash. The only conversation was:

"Can we go to Barnes & Nobles?"

"Yeah we can do that."

The rest of the time spent was me looking out of the window. I was silent because I was enjoying the time away from my siblings.

Before I walked inside the bookstore my dad said he was going to Lowes for half an hour. I nodded and closed the door. I heard his truck drive away as I pulled open the heavy door. I found the book I wanted to get from last time I was here, and sat at a table y the window at the Coffee Shop (it was actually a Starbucks, which was stupid because a few months back I tried to use a gift card but the barista said that they only take Barnes & Noble cards).

I'm pretty sure Jackson was there before me. As I was sitting at my table with a Naked juice, Blondie Blast and book occupying the table, I observed Jackson. I didn't know his name then, of course, but I do remember what he was wearing. His grey skinny jeans were dirty and they had stylish rips in them, just enough to see some of his pockets and knees. He was wearing a beige graphic tee, his short sleeves barely hiding the tattoos on his upper arms. His hair at the top of his head was matted; his dreads covered by an old Dodgers baseball cap. The curls were similar to mine but smaller in size.

He also had a very interesting yet peculiar identifier.

Really, a face tattoo?

I had always said that I would never date anyone with a face tattoo; that would be the first thing I would see in a boy and would be the final strike against any guy I saw. But this tattoo was oddly attractive and concealing. The way the arrow swooped under his right eye made it look like he was Egyptian, like it was supposed to be there and he was born with it.

Jackson;s face was extremely captivating and mesmerizing, he reminded me of one of my followers from Twitter. But he was limited edition, only one had been sent out for someone to find and be opened to an amazing and crazy world full of possibilities; my own golden ticket. All I could do was hope that his tattoo was eyeliner.

@jonpontiac as Jackson Pontairre, picture provided