Edge of the Ravine

24

Chapter Twenty-Four

I still hadn't quite believed Margo when she suggested that I come with her and her friends to New York. It seemed like a sick joke to be played on the unsocial person. But it wasn't, and we left Boston a week before I would have to pay my rent for another month.

At first, when we found ourselves on the crowded streets of New York City, I couldn't quite believe what I was doing. As soon as we entered into the maze of tall buildings and skyscrapers and people who swarmed the sidewalks like ants on a mission, I felt a panic attack about to set in. I was never good with people. And I'd never seen so many people all crammed together in my life. There was no grass and very little tress to shed some life on this otherwise cold, cement place. For a recluse like me, it was utterly terrifying.

Of course, no one was more surprised than myself at how quickly I seemed to adapt to city living. In the portion of Boston I had inhabited, the crime rate was low. But after hearing all of the horror stories of NYC, I was the most paranoid person within a ten-block radius. Which, actually, made it really easy for me to live there. I trusted no one and no one trusted me. It was perfect.

When this venture was first suggested, it was only meant to be an early-week trip. We'd leave Sunday night and come back Wednesday morning. The diner was usually slow those days and could be manned by two people, three tops. But that changed the minute the four of us entered the city. Two went home. Two of us stayed.

Karen Hale wanted to be a star. New York City was the closest place to make that happen. In fact, she was the whole reason we were even in the city: she was moving here and we were helping her unpack. That, alone, was probably the whole reason I was invited.

Never did I expect for the sultry, honey-blonde Karen to ask me to stay. I intrigued her, she'd said. I was so sad. So lonely. She wanted to help me. Like I was a stray puppy. That, alone, was reason enough for me to say no.

But I didn't.

Instead, I found myself calling my landlady back in Boston and informed her that I wouldn't return. She could help herself to anything in my room or throw it out. Nothing much mattered to me anymore, and the really important stuff was always kept on my person.

Some days, I look back on that decision and wondered just what in the world I was thinking. Other days, I couldn't be more grateful. It was the beginning of a life that was mine. Even if I couldn't see it yet.