The Truth & Other Lies

Dear Hunter: From, Normalcy

It's not until we're outside that I realize I have no idea where to go. Despite having lived in this city for two months, I've never been to this part of town. Which is my fault, I know, because it's not like I haven't had the time; I just enjoy having familiar surroundings, which means that once I find somewhere I like, I tend to go there a lot. But now's a good a time as any to begin new explorations.

"Confession," I smile sheepishly, sticking my hands into the front pockets of my jeans as we begin our stroll down the sidewalk, enjoying the fresh air and smell of oak trees. "I don't actually know any food places around here."

She's completely unperturbed, as though she expected me to say that, and shrugs casually. "That's okay. I know a place."

She doesn't say anything else and after we've walked in silence for a good minute, I decide that since I was the one who barged in and interrupted her morning, I should be the one responsible for making sure the conversation flows. "So...have you lived here long?"

It's a lame question, but at least it gets her talking. "In that apartment? About five years. I moved in when I was still in college and it just sort of made sense to stay once I got the job at the magazine, since it's close enough to where I work."

She doesn't maintain eye contact with me for more than three seconds at a time, averting her gaze to the sidewalk or passersby or a window or really anything but me when she feels like we've been looking at each other for too long, her cheeks turning bright red. I don't remember her being so shy last night, but maybe those were just extreme circumstances, or maybe the alcohol made her brave. And maybe she'd thought we'd never see each other again, so she'd changed the way she'd acted around me. I guess I can't blame her. I change who I am all the time. I'm working on it, though.

"Do you drive out to the suburbs a lot?" I ask, remembering her saying something about her parents living there.

She shakes her head, looking a bit more flustered than she has been the past couple minutes, as though what she's going to say next is extremely embarrassing. "I don't have a license."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow in surprise, because I assume most people in their twenties can drive. Which I now realize is a stupid assumption, seeing as there's plenty of reasons not to.

"I just never really needed one," she shrugs, and with each word she speaks, I can see her relaxing a little more. She's getting used to my presence and she's holding eye contact for longer and longer and the smile playing at her lips is widening slowly but surely. It's kind of beautiful to watch; like a flower blooming in the spring. "I lived within walking distance of the high school I went to and I lived on or near the campus during college, so if I ever needed to go somewhere far enough that driving was necessary, I'd just ask a friend to take me."

"I understand," I reply, wanting her to feel comfortable around me, "I didn't get mine until I was nineteen."

It's her turn to look surprised and she holds eye contact with me for four seconds this time. "How come?"

"Well, I don't really need one, I guess," I admit, though it's weird to say out loud, "because we pretty much get driven everywhere, plus it's hard to find the time to do the lessons, but for me, it was kind of a rite of passage. Getting my license was something that teenagers do and standing in line for hours to get it was kind of an amazing experience because it made me feel normal."

I haven't felt normal for more than ten minutes since our third album went platinum, so I tend to revel in it when it happens.

I can still remember getting my license like it was yesterday: the DMV where the air conditioning wasn't working and the old television that only played the weather channel and the digital display showing the number being served which moved at an achingly slow pace and how I'd been so afraid that my eyes would be closed in my picture that I'd kept them as wide as possible and ended up looking like a deer in headlights. It was simultaneously one of the best and worst days of my life.