To me, New York is synonymous with the word dirty.
The smog is thick and clogs my lungs.
The lights are too bright, dimming the stars that I strain to see every time I sneak into an Empire State Building tour.
There's always noise. So much noise. The sound of cars honking, people yelling, babies crying; I just want to get away from it all.
I want to go somewhere where it's so silent I can not only feel my heartbeat, I can hear it pumping blood through my veins, like a running faucet. Right now it's just a dripping tap.
"Taxi!"
I lift my hand up trying to get the attention of the dozen, sunshine yellow cars. I get into the first one that pulls over. Swinging my bulging backpack onto my lap, I try to make myself comfortable behind the scratched, faux glass screen.
The driver coughs a deep, hacking cough.
"Where you gotta go?"
He's a rough looking man. Tired. The wrinkles on his face dip like canyons, making his complexion less than friendly. The beer belly and graying, unkempt beard make me squirm in my seat.
"Pittsburg."
He puts the car back in park, and without even turning around, speaks to me in a serious, almost threatening tone.
"Get outta my damn cab."
"But-"
Now he turns, no trace of amusement on his weathered down face.
"I will pull you out if I have to."
I groan a little under my breath but get out nonetheless. I slam the door as hard as I can before he drives off into the crowded streets.
I stomp my foot in frustration and try to hail another cab. I get as far as telling them where I'm going before I get kicked out. At some point, I lose count of how taxis I've gotten in.
I sit on the disgusting sidewalk and rest my head on my knees. I'm only slightly aware of the car approaching me. I'm not scared. I grew up fast, I know what to do if anything goes awry. I lift my head up slowly, peeking over just enough to see a pair of glaring headlights heading my way. The illuminated taxi sign resting on the top reassures me. I stand up quickly, almost losing my balance on the slippery curb. Frantically, I start waving my arm trying to get the driver to stop.
The car slows to a stop in front of me. I go to open the back door, but find it to be locked. I keep pulling but to no avail. The passenger side window rolls down slowly to reveal the face of the driver.
He's a lot younger than the other drivers I've dealt with today. His hair is a dark brown, covering his forehead and curling around his ears. He has a 5 o'clock shadow and a straight nose that lifts slightly at the tip. His eyebrows are knitted together in a stern expression, his lips curving down, making him look older than he should.
"Are you drunk?"
I'm taken aback by his question. Why does he ask? Do I look that disheveled? Is my eyeliner smudged?
"No. Why?"
He looks me over once more before unlocking the doors. I climb in swiftly.
"I don't drive for drunk girls. They always end up crying or puking in the backseat and I don't get paid enough to deal with that."
I give him a bewildered look but he ignores it.
"You do realize that you drive a taxi in New York City, right? The drunk, emotional girl capitol of the world."
He shrugs his shoulders gruffly and runs a hand through his hair.
"Whatever, where are you going?"
I swallow and start curling my toes inside my worn down chucks.
"Ah, Pittsburg?"
It comes out as a question, involuntarily, but he just nods.
"Are you crazy or are you drunk?"
"Crazy, yes. Drunk, no."
"Do you know how much that's gonna cost?"
"$740, give or take."
Now its his turn to look at me with bewilderment.
"If you're gonna be riding for that long," he says as he unlocks the passenger door, "you might as well sit up front."
I'm stunned at this point, but nevertheless I get out. I round the car and situate myself in the front seat. He turns to me, holding his hand out.
"Flynn."
I grab it and shake it.
"Waverly."
He nods and puts the car in drive, peeling away from the curb.
This is the beginning.
