New York [harry styles au]

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE
New York, 1972.

My next stop; a place I had wanted to visit for many years. My mother and I were always wannabe travellers, nothing excited us more than the idea of her and I discovering new cultures and places differing so much to our home in Idaho.

Winona, she'd say, Just you wait. I'll get out of this bed, and we'll see the world. How does that sound, eh? You and I, against the world. Nothing will stop us.

We never left Idaho, and she never left her deathbed either. That was two months ago now, it sure didn't feel like it; it had never stopped burning in my mind. Everything I had fantasised about doing with my mother had been wiped away, but an independent spark forced me to keep on going and I'm sure glad that I did.

It was the summer of 1972 and I had just jumped from a bus in down town New York; I couldn't afford to live in the more expensive parts, not even for a short while. The sun almost cracked the stoned side-walks and I could feel it beaming down onto me as I wandered around the fresh streets. Every place that I visited became a fresh start for me, almost a new chance to redeem myself; a chance to meet people that I would never forget. I had travelled East across America for the past two months, keeping myself distracted and hoping for a new discovery that would cleanse my mind.

My last stop, in the spring of 1972, was in Chicago and it hadn't enriched my mind like I had hoped it would. I met many people, specifically those who worked on the streets, selling themselves for money; I almost joined them myself in an effort to earn some money but decided to leave for New York instead.

As I stepped around New York, small backpack at my shoulder, my eyes couldn't stop peering at the different sights surrounding me; the two large towers in construction yet to be the Twin Towers, the empire state building and the statue of liberty as well as central park. My little tour was as fulfilling as I thought it would be; seeing these sights was an unforgettable experience. One thing I noticed a lot was the huge stacks of signs and banners, protesting against the Vietnam war, that I would pass at corners of alleyways; they were left there in haste.

With every new town, I would search for vacancies or needed employment in stores nearby. I saw a store that looked friendly enough and entered to find that it was a general grocery store. There was a man with a receding hairline and grey moustache behind the counter, his tag read manager, and a smile found his face the moment he saw me. That smile soon faltered when he discovered the real reason behind my entrance; acknowledging that I wasn't a customer aiming to pay his wages.

"Hello, how may we help you today?" He asked, his cheery visage not disappearing for a second.

"Hi there, do you have any vacancies?" This was the point that the visage he held exited, and I found myself wishing for it to return.

"Not at the current moment, no."

"Could I give you my details and I'll drop in at a later date for anything available?" I ask, desperation unwillingly laced through my tone, and he sighs before answering.

"What is your full name?"

"Winona Woodford." I tell him.

"I'll let you know if any jobs become available. Have a good day." Needless to say, I never got a job in that place.

While we're at this point of the story, I can tell you about the origin of my name. My mother always adored the name Winona and she had always wanted it to be the name of her daughter if she were to have one. It just so happens that her future husband, my abhorrent father, would have a surname beginning with W; this was completely coincidental. But she thought, hey, what better time to use the name that I've always wanted to.

For the second time that day, I stepped back out into the streets of New York and was hit by the culture of long flowing skirts and colourful shirts that were many sizes too large. It was a culture that I could easily get used to.