Somewhere Only We Know

One

    It’s not easy doing things for yourself, especially if you’re one of those people who’ve lived with their parents right up to the point where you’ve graduated college. We were born based on the support of others, having this mentality that in order to survive we need others to lean on. That was the world I grew up in — it was a world where I didn’t mind living in because the world, or my world, wasn’t as bad as it was through the eyes that had yet to see what had yet to come. And if I could go back and tell my eight year old self who couldn’t wait to grow up and do all the things that adult could do, I would say: “Go back and watch your Disney movies.”

    Back then, I never took into consideration that life isn’t always going to be talking animals, catchy musical numbers and happily ever after’s. I just assumed it was because that’s how every story ended and that the problems in our life would wrap up within the hour. Walt Disney never prepared me for real life. In Disney movies, they don’t show how characters can be towards the death of a loved one that can’t be fixed with True Love’s Kiss — there is no grieving process, Eulogies or a wake with a few dozen of your merely acquainted relatives.   There’s just a side note that a loved one has been lost.

    I was ten years old when my dad was killed in the rain on his way home from work.

    I’ve pushed back the details of that night for as long as I could. There was nothing I couldn’t forget — I remembered everything. Every night, I would stay up past my bed time, even when my mom would tell me to go to sleep every now and then after ten, because I couldn’t sleep until both my mom and dad said good-night to me. But on the day he died, it was nearly thirty minutes till midnight and I was wide awake. I don’t remember what was going on through my head at the time, but I just watched the clock until there was a knock on the door.

    At 11:40, I watched as the shadow stood outside of my door. I thought at the time it was my dad, but the minute my mom walked in with her face tainted with tears, I never watched another Disney movie.

    If my life was a Disney movie, I would have moved on with my life and tried to live accordingly to what my dad would have wanted, even if it meant dealing with a step-mother, or in this case, step-father. But my life isn’t a Disney movie, I know that now. There wasn’t a Prince or a Princess waiting to meet me to help me change my life forever. There probably was, but I just never stuck around home to find out.

    “Are you on the clock?”

    The best part about New York City — it never stops moving. Everyone you see has somewhere to go to make something out of themselves. And that’s pretty much what I had to do; hauling taxis off the curb, riding underground trains to the unknown and going as far as money and charisma could take you.

    “Yeah, where you headin’?”

    “The nearest bus terminal.”

    Not even a confirmation and the guy was already letting the meter run before he told me to get into the back seat. I had my sights set on a trip even if I didn’t have much on me except a jar filled with tens and twenties I’ve saved and hid for a few years, that plus a few spare clothes. Who leaves home and decides to go on a trip with only a few extra clothes? Someone who doesn’t know when they’ll come back, or in my case, if they’ll ever come back. But the minute I sat in that cab and listened to whatever crap the driver was blasting, I felt guilty.

    I wasn’t just leaving my home; I was leaving my mom with her new husband, my step-father. She had already lost the love of her life and her life after my dad died was heading down a dooming spiral with no return. I only know this because she got re-married to the lowest of the low with the addition of a serious drinking problem. I could ask my step-father to help me talk to her about it, but that would mean he cared for her and for the well-being of our “new” family, but he didn’t. Leaving my mom was part of the reason I felt guilty. The main reason was that I never told her that I was.

    I wasn’t kicked out of the house or moving out because out of the three of us, I was the one who made sure there was still a ceiling over our heads, food in the fridge and running water and electricity. The mentality that I used to grow up with — how we needed to depend on others in order to survive, well, I was better off surviving by myself. I didn’t want to live in that world if it meant going at it alone and feeling as if the entire world is depending on me. If circumstances were different, I would go above and beyond ends to make sure that starving children in third world countries were sponsored a sound education and nutritious meals. I would make sure that on Christmas Eve that the homeless were in shelters and given a holiday miracle they’ve been waiting 363 days for. But I couldn’t live in that world where the people I depended on were falling apart. If I had to learn to stand on my own, I felt the only way to do so is to be alone.

    Sometimes you need to get away from everything and put yourself first to be happy. I wasn’t happy with how my life was and somehow I thought running away was going to fix that. But no matter how far you run away from your problems, even when it feels you’re million miles away, your problems will catch up to you — I just wished someone reminded me before I decided to hop into that cab.

    “Going away for a trip or going back home?”

   “Obvious” I sighed as I glanced up once to meet the driver’s eyes in the rear view window. “Huh?”

    That was the thing about New York. It was the place that everyone wanted to be — you don’t run away from New York, you run to it when things go wrong. You run to the place with the bright lights and the daylight sleepers and nighttime greeters, in hopes that it’ll make everything better. Everyone has big city dreams in a small town. I just had mundane dreams handled with unorthodox actions while heading straight to oblivion.

    The driver smiled “New York isn’t for everybody. People may think it’s the place to be, to be somebody and it’s where they belong, but when they find themselves up in a loft in Brooklyn…” He sounded as if it’s happened one too many times. I only wondered how many times he had to pick up someone who spent the entire ride crying their eyes out because they felt lost — wondering if they should call their parents they were coming home or if they should get away until things started to turn back around.

    “I’m going…”

    Hopefully an honest answer would clear my conscious.

    “Going?”

    “Not exactly leaving but not exactly going home. I’m just going.”

    “Do you know where? I had my fair share of hide-and-seek with teenagers finding their drunk friends in the city and the last thing I need is having you stranded somewhere and have the blame on my ass.”

    “I’ll know when I find it. You don’t have to worry about me; no one is going to look for me.”

    I could already feel the concerned stare through the reflection. I spent the past six and half years without sympathy, the last thing I needed before I left this city is sympathy from a complete stranger. With that, it made me much more eager to hop out of the cab and haul another cab, or hijack a car. I had all I needed in my bag, I didn’t need any more baggage. The minute I leave, it’ll be a brand new world for me — my world.

 ------

A/N - I know, right? What happened to this story? Truth is, I didn't like how it was going and how I last ended it off. I honestly didn't know how to start the next chapter, so I sort of pushed it away and worked on other stuff for the time being. It wasn't until I had to submit a portfolio for this class that I stumbled upon it and read it. I twerked — literally, don't even laugh about that — the prologue up a bit and completely decided to just rewrite the entire story. My writing has really changed a lot and I mean, I'm literally staring at the original first chapter and I'm cringing. 

Anyways, I hope you enjoy and hopefully, I get this right this time! :)