December 24th [COMPLETED]

Chapter 3: Twenty-Two

George wasn't sure if she was awake or just hallucinating, her jet lag was that thick. Good thing she had Sydney with her or George would have gotten lost somewhere between the airport and Brooklyn. Surely Sydney was just as jetlagged as George was but somehow, between the two of them and their few remaining brain cells, they were able to carry their two large black boxes of recording and music-producing equipment up the narrow staircase of Anton Kaufman's Brooklyn studio, Trick Studios, to figure out which room Anton meant for her to use as storage, place the boxes in said storage room and then leave the studio locked up behind them.

Anton Kaufman ended up giving George several gifts that year. Life-changing, life-altering gifts. The first? A chance. He listened to Felix's album. That alone would have been enough. But Anton did more than just that. He also gave George incredible advice, feedback, and invaluable critiques in his response to Felix's album. Again. That would have been enough. George wouldn't have asked for anything else from THE Anton Kaufman.

But Anton liked George, he wanted to see her succeed. And so, the single most important gift Anton could have ever given George, the one thing she didn't even know she needed until he offered it to her, was space. More specifically, storage space, a place in New York where she could store her equipment. George wouldn't have had anywhere else to put it otherwise, not as the only Burns left in New York.

Neither George nor Sydney said a word between them during their trek from the airport to the studio and then back across the river to the Village. Sydney didn't speak much as it was, a plus in George's book as far as Sydney working as her assistant/travel manager went. Because of the drowsy silence, there was no discussion about whether or not Sydney was going back to George's apartment with her in the cab ride across the bridge. George barely had the energy to blink as she followed Sydney and their luggage up the three flights of stairs to end up in front of the door that led into George's childhood home.

If Sydney had anything to say about how the apartment looked (sparse, empty, perfectly staged for a realtor to show it to a multitude of clients), she didn't bother. Instead, she stored the suitcases in the corner near the dining room table, took off her jacket, grabbed the throw blanket that had been placed perfectly over the arm of the long gray couch, and fell straight into its deep cushions, sleep falling right on top of her.

George didn't have enough brain power to look around at what was now her apartment. She didn't see the decorations that were unfamiliar or notice the complete absence of any trace of her or her family. The apartment was devoid of personality. But George was devoid of sleep. Sleep won.

George's feet led her to her room down the hall, the one right next to what used to be her dad's office. They led her past the first bed and threw her down onto the second, not even pausing to realize she could sleep in the first bed if she wanted to, Lily didn't live here anywhere. This room was hers and hers alone, for the first time in George's entire life.

George didn't have any mental awareness to think about any of this. If asked, she wouldn't have been able to tell you where she had flown in from so early in the morning, or even when the last time she had slept in a bed that wasn't on a tour bus or in a hotel room was. She would have been too busy falling asleep on top of her bed covers, fully clothed, shoes still on, her hair still in a ponytail. The world faded to black as soon as George's head hit her pillow. And as she fell asleep on that early Christmas Eve morning, the city outside her apartment started to wake up.

*

The first thing George was aware of when she finally did wake up was the smell of coffee. That one smell kept her from falling back asleep. The second thing George was aware of was a tight pulling on one specific part of her scalp. It hurt. A lot. George's hand slowly made its way to her head blind as George had yet to open her eyes. She found a mess of hair waiting for her. That got George up. She slowly woke up while untangling the mess sleeping in a ponytail had made. There was sound coming from the kitchen and George made her way in that direction, finally pulling off her sneakers just inside her room, letting her tired feet free for the first time in over twenty-four hours. Sydney was the source of half the noise, the grocery bags on the kitchen counter the other half. Sydney nodded a greeting and George managed a grunt/nod in reply.