Fragments

1.5

1.5

            Things quickly turn into the same old pattern at home. I zone out or sleep through class, mindlessly walking the halls from class to class – that is, if I wake up in time for them. Then as other students go back to their dorm rooms with friends or out to have fun, I retreat to my own room and do my homework as if I was programmed to do it.

            I solve questions, write essays, all while absentmindedly distracting myself from my infected, numb mind. By the time I’m done for the night, all caught up on today’s homework and even going ahead for tomorrows, my eyes drift out my second story window and into the chilly day. It looks like the sky is ready to let go of its rain at any given moment and despite that fact, people still litter the streets.

            My pencil falls with a quiet sound onto my notebook as I rise to my feet, smoothing over my jeans in the process. I’m still inattentive, going through the motions of putting on my fall jacket and Converse as if someone else is controlling me.

            When I’m out the door and down the steps, I barely blink.

            The cool wind kisses my cheeks, turning them a faint pink as I hug the fabric of my coat closer to me, underestimating how chilly the New York air really is.

            My feet carry me the same way I walked with Adam only a short time earlier, and though I don’t remember all the correct turns and crosses, I know the general direction of that part of town we went, and for some unknown reason, I want to go there.

            As the crowds begin to thin and the sidewalk starts to crack, I start to wonder if I’m looking for trouble. A girl all alone in a big city with no sense of direction whatsoever sounds like a horror movie tag line. I can already picture myself being murdered and no one noticing, well, maybe except the people that do.

            But would it really matter if I was gone?

            I question if I’m going in search of Adam or not – whether I’m going to step into that bar and scan the stools and booths for an Australian head.

            He wasn’t in the lobby of Elizabeth when I left, and the last time I saw him was when he was leaving class, laughing with his friends as he did. His eyes barely met mine, but I know for fact they did. What I don’t know, is why he looked.

            It’s dark out by the time I realize that I’m standing in the middle of the shady part of downtown by myself and that there is no hope of me finding the bar, or Adam, if I’ll actually admit to myself that I’m looking for him.

            And when I turn around and look at the street signs, I realize something else.

            I’m hopelessly, despairingly lost. I’d ask for directions, but between beggars and obvious tokers, I know that asking either of them would lead me into a direction I don’t want to go.

            I’m more lost than I’ve ever been before, and for the first time in my life, I actually want to be found.