1
Anna
My face is pressing against the cool glass of the window as the taxi slows down in front of the biggest building I've ever seen. I tip my head back as far as I can, and I can just barely see the top. It must have twenty stories, maybe more. I've never seen anything like it.
Back home, you can look out for miles in any direction and only see rolling fields, cows, and crops of corn. The center of town is made up of a few mom-and-pop shops. There’s the grocery store, the drug store, a small library, a coffee shop and bakery. There's one elementary school, and one high school that house every child aged twelve to eighteen. All one hundred and six of us.
I feel like I'm on another planet. I've seen images of the big city in magazines and movies over the years, but to actually be smack in the middle of it all is leaving me breathless.
The taxi driver opens my door, then moves to the back, and takes out my bags. He drops them without caution onto the sidewalk, then checks his watch. His left foot taps impatiently as he grunts “Uh hm,” as if to say, “Come on, I don't have all day. Get the hell out of my cab.”
“Thank you,” I say, handing him what I owe him for the ride. “Have a good night.” I give him a smile, and he grumbles something back under his breath as he climbs back in his car and leaves. The taxi peels back out into traffic, causing a few angry honks at the same time.
Boston. . . I'm actually here in Boston.
I can't believe I'm doing this.
I tip my head back and look straight up at my new home. The brick facade looks old. It's full of cracks and chipped mortar, with long ivy arms that stretch and crawl up the surface. The front door is thick pained tinted glass. I can see stacks of small metal mailboxes attached to the interior wall on the left side of the door.
People are walking past me in both directions, bumping into me like I'm not even standing here. The street is full of cars and city buses. I inhale a deep breath, taking in all the different smells. The exhaust is thick in the air as a bus drive by ejecting a puff of gray smoke.
I wave a hand in front of my face, coughing a few times before I take another breath. I can smell the pizza place across the street, and the Thai restaurant adjacent on the corner. They both smell amazing.
My excitement and nerves collide in my gut like a tsunami. I've never done anything like this. Ever since I was a little girl, I always wanted to live in a big city. Now I'm here. I'm doing it.
I grab my bags and lug them up the crumbling set of steps to the front door. The bags are heavy, full of all my clothes and the things I'm going to need to start building my life here in this new world.
The building isn't as pretty as the picture I saw on Google, but the apartment is fully furnished. A girl named Betty Carter put out an ad online looking for a roommate. It was the perfect opportunity for me to do this. We chatted for a few weeks, and she finally said if I wanted the other room, she'd be happy to have me.
There's so much we have in common; I can only imagine we're going to become great friends.
A woman is coming out of the door, and holds it open for me. “I got it,” I say, pushing my shoulder against the glass, and awkwardly shifting my suitcases and bag inside. The door clicks shut behind me, and I'm met with the daunting task of navigating the flights of stairs. The apartment is on the fifth floor, number sixty-two.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
The suitcases slam each step, drawing a few sets of eyes from random doorways. People poke their heads out into the hall on the second floor, giving me an angry stare. I smile and wave, continuing up on my own. No one offers to help, and I'm okay with that. I wouldn't accept it anyway.
I've always been a bit stubborn about doing things on my own. And I don't really care if these people are annoyed, I'm too excited to be frustrated or angry at the looks I'm getting. But I'll have to get used to living this close to other people, where any noise I make might draw attention.
I'm breathing heavily as I hit the landing of the fourth floor. One more, I think, taking a second to wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead. Moving up the last flight of stairs, I can't help but wonder how the hell I'm going to do that every time I have groceries or anything else to carry up.