I've decided fiction is not my cup of tea; it's hard!
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Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling. I finally sat up, threw off the sheet, and walked around the boxes to reach the window. Pulling aside the blinds, I soaked in the view. The lights twinkled, beckoning me. My first night in Boston and all I could do was sleep? I wanted to do something! I wanted to explore, to absorb, to know my new town. “No adventures tonight. You have class tomorrow,” I told myself sternly, turning from the window. Sitting on the bed, I switched the lamp on and reached for my laptop. Logging onto the Internet, I checked my class schedule for the zillionth time. I had to get on the subway by 11 so I could reach my first class, Art of the Western World I, by 12:15. That meant leaving around 10:30, since I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I glanced at my backpack, mentally running through everything I’d need for the next day. It was too far to come back to the apartment between classes—I should take a water bottle.
I grabbed a water bottle from the box on top of the small refrigerator. Opening the fridge door, I studied the contents for a moment. I tried to be healthy when I went to the small convenience store at the corner: yogurt, carrot sticks, grapes, cheese…but nothing suitable for a midnight snack. The door slapped shut and I reached for a bag of chips. Opening them, I crunched on a handful while I stared at the bed. “I really need a chair,” I thought.
I stood still for a moment. Reaching into a box at my feet, I pulled out a book with my free hand, flipped through the pages, then dropped it back down with a clunk. I thought about calling my mom, but didn’t want to admit that I was bored—and a little lonely—already. I contemplated watching a movie, but I wanted to do something! The room was too small and dark and empty.
I tossed the chips back in the box (I’d been more bored than hungry) and grabbed my shoes, keys, cell phone, wallet, and camera. Flipping off the light, I headed out to stroll through the streets. “My adrenaline will keep me awake in class. Besides, it’s only, 10:30,” I told myself as I checked my cell phone for the time. I hesitated in the doorway to my building for a moment, one hand on the door. “It feels so good to be outside! And Dad helped me choose a safe neighborhood…”
Making up my mind, I ventured into the night. I took a deep breath and felt a cool breeze from the river blow against my face. When I passed a couple walking and said hello, they didn’t seem to notice. The busy street was lined with streetlights, the headlights beamed along the road, and all of the restaurants spilled golden light across the sidewalk, illuminating the scene gaily. The light was vibrant, different from anything we had back home in Clovercroft.
The streets were busier than I’d anticipated. The cars growled past; a large truck snorted exhaust. People filtered onto the streets from restaurants and homes, laughing, shouting, holding hands. I nodded to them amiably. A few nodded back, but most of them were too wrapped up in themselves to notice me. Starting to feel lonely. I started to realize how different Massachusetts would be from home in Tennessee. Everything was bigger, flashier. People didn’t smile and wander leisurely. Instead, they hurried past on their own schedules.
“This is what I’ve always wanted,” I told myself. “All those books I read, the adventures I dreamed of. It all starts right here. I’m independent now. I can do all right by myself.” Walking down the sidewalks, I continued my personal pep talk. Reaching the shore of the Charles River, I stood at the railing above the water, not entirely sure what I was doing here at the river—or in Boston.
I snapped some pictures of the skyline reflecting off the water. It was beautiful, but predictable. Walking down the concrete stairs to the shore, I stood in the gravel, listening to the water and watching the boats glide through the darkness. Small figures, silhouetted against bright lights on the decks, stood quietly or walked back and forth. I wondered what they were doing.
As for me, I was searching for a new perspective. Climbing back up the steps, I wandered along until I reached a platform. The platform set about six feet high, several inches above my eye level. “There would be some new perspective,” I thought. I don’t know what the wooden platform was for. It looked a bit like scaffolding, but it wasn’t next to a building. It just was, next to the water, sturdy and enduring. I walked a circle around the structure, but I didn’t see a ladder or steps. There was a large rock behind the platform. I secured my camera around my neck and made sure the lens was on tightly, stepped on the rock, which lifted me slightly higher, and placed my hands on the smooth floor of the platform.
I dug my fingernails into the wood, finally hoisting myself to the top and stood. It’s funny how just 6 feet can feel so high, so empowering. I stood triumphant, poised at the beginning of this adventure. Just like when I was young, I wished I had wings to lift me from the ground and bring me the unencumbered freedom of flight. I was ready to take on Boston. At that moment, I would have taken on the world.
But the next day, it wasn’t that easy.
My alarm sounded at eight. Crawling out of bed, I grabbed my robe, and tied it at the waist. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail while I stood at the window, studying the morning sun over the city. Turning from the window, I grabbed a towel and shampoo, and hopped in the shower.
I was out of the shower by 8:30 and, wrapped in my robe, stood at the mirror to blow dry my hair and put on my make up. Forty-five minutes later, looking at the outfit I had chosen for the day, twiddling with the end of my robe. It didn’t feel right anymore. Digging through a suitcase, I searched for something else. “What do people wear in Boston? In art school?” I said aloud. My voice echoed in the room.
Finally, I decided on my favorite indigo skirt and dug out a coral t-shirt I’d screen printed over the summer. “Now for a jacket,” I thought. I dug around for a while, finally settling on a cream cardigan. When I grabbed my brown sandals, I could only find one. After a few moments of frantic searching, I spotted the missing sandal poking out from under a t-shirt.
I glanced at my clock. “10:15! No time for breakfast!” Looping a multicolor scarf around my neck, I snatched my purse and backpack, double-checking for my map and keys. “Sunglasses!” I exclaimed, spinning around. I spotted them next to my jewelry bag and a snagged a pair of gold hoop earrings as well, hooking them on as I hurried out the door.
I arrived at the subway station, a bit out of breath and feeling bewildered. The system seemed so simple when I’d come for a visit with my parents, but now all of the lines on the map looked tangled and frustrating, like a pile of necklaces that had been in a jewelry box too long and were hopelessly snarled. I knew I needed to get on the Red Line, but wasn’t sure which red light to follow. I pulled out my subway pass and swiped my way onto the platform.
I must have looked really confused as I studied my map, glancing from the map to the signs and back, trying to decide which platform I should wait on, because a woman stopped next to me and said, “Honey, do you need any help?”
“Oh no, I’ve got this,” I told her, glancing up and flashing my biggest smile. “I’m just, um, double checking!”
“Well if you’re sure…” She wasn’t convinced.
“Positive, but thank you,” I told her, confidently.
I looked down at my map again. “Why didn’t I ask her where red line is?” I thought. I glanced back up, searching for her to ask, but she’d disappeared and the everyone else strode through, determined, poised, and distant. I didn’t want to interrupt them. The businessmen stood on the platform in their suits, jabbering away on the cell phones, a couple ladies were walking their dogs, and one mother was braving the subway with a baby in her stroller and a toddler walking beside her. I finally spotted the train I wanted and boarded just before the doors slid closed, worrying because it was now 11 o’clock. The ride felt endless as I sat on the edge of my set, waiting and straining to hear the names of the streets, terrified that I would miss my stop.
When I finally heard my stop, I stood and exited quickly. “There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I told myself.
I looked for the signs and easily reached campus. I followed my map until I found the building that held my first class. Room 326. I stepped inside the doors, greeted by swarming activity. “But where are the stairs?” I thought, standing on my tiptoes and craning my neck, searching. The crowd moved quickly. I was jostled out of the doorway and I stood to the side, peering around the large lobby. How was I supposed to find anything? “You’d think there would be a sign or something,” I mumbled.
“Do you need help finding something?” A voice said just behind me. I spun around quickly, nearly toppling into the speaker standing just behind me, a young man with dark curls and piercing blue eyes.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said, recovering my balance and smiling. “Just looking.”
“All right.” And with that, he shrugged, smiled, and disappeared quickly into the crowd.
I mentally scolded myself. “You should have asked where the stairs are! Who cares if he thinks you’re a freshman—you are! There is nothing wrong with asking for help. And besides, it wouldn’t do you any harm to make friends, either.” Shaking my head, I continued further down the hall. I finally located the stairway and climbed the two flights of stairs to the third floor. Breathing hard, I reached the top of the stairs. My cell phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Sliding my phone open, I noticed two things: my mom was calling me, and it was now 12:08, which meant I really needed to find my classroom.
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “I have class in a minute; can I call you back?”
“Of course, dear! I forgot about the time change! Just let me tell you…” She kept talking and I scanned the room numbers as I walked past. I found my room and, walking in, set my bag next to the closest desk and sat down, worn out and slightly overwhelmed.
“Ok, Mom. I really have to go. I’ll call you back after class. Uh huh. Yes, yes I will. Ok, bye.” I slid my phone back into my pocket and reached for my notebook and a pencil, slapping them onto the desk. “What am I doing here?” I thought. “This is crazy; all these people and I don’t know any of them.”
I turned when I heard a vaguely familiar voice. “And so we meet again!” The voice said. When I looked up, I again gazed into a pair of deep blue eyes. The boy who offered to help me downstairs now sat in the desk in front of me. I noticed that he had a very nice smile when he turned around in his desk chair to speak to me.
“Hi,” I said.
“I see you found your destination,” he said.
“Yes, I did,” I answered, suddenly shy.
“I’m Timothy,” he said, offering his hand.
“Ali,” I said, setting my pencil down and reaching to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s great to meet you, too. What year are you?” he asked.
“Freshman. You?”
“Sophomore.” He started to say more, but at the front of the room, the professor began welcoming us to class. He flashed me another smile and turned around to face the front.
After class, I gathered my things, waved good-bye to Timothy and walked outside as I called my mom back.
“Hello,” I said. She immediately started in with questions about my day so far. “Yeah, everything’s going fine,” I said. “Yes, yes, I rode the subway. Yeah, it was a bit confusing but I figured it out. No, I didn’t ask. I found it; I can do this, Mom. The campus is pretty big, lots of people. Well, I guess you saw it last spring. Uh huh. I’ll be fine, it just may take a while to adjust. It’s all really exciting.” I wasn’t sure I was convincing her, but then again, I wasn’t sure I’d convinced myself at that point.
As I started down the second flight of stairs, I told her good-bye and closed my phone. When I looked down to slide the phone into my pocket, my sandal slipped on the stair, twisting my ankle backwards. The next moment, my feet flew out from under me and I slid down the stairs on my backside. My arms flailed around, hands clutching at anything they could reach, but the only thing I grabbed was air. I slowed and braced myself with my foot. Mortified, I attempted to stand. My left ankle buckled and left me sitting on the stair again. Hot pain radiated from my ankle and I felt my throat tighten. “I cannot cry,” I told myself. But despite my valiant attempts against tears, my nose burned and a few tears escaped and rolled down my cheeks. I swiped at them quickly, hoping my make-up wasn’t running down my cheeks with the tears.
Several students stopped to help me. They handed me my bag and sunglasses, which I’d dropped when I fell, and asked if they could help me. I shakily smiled my thanks. Fighting back more tears of pain and embarrassment, I reached for the handrail to pull myself up so I could hop to a bench and figure out what to do. At that moment, I felt a hand gripping my arm, helping me stand.
“Ali, Ali, Ali, what has happened to you?” I heard a teasing, yet compassionate voice say.
“Timothy!” I said, relieved to see a familiar face.
“Let me help you,” he said kindly. He reached for my backpack and purse, slinging them over his shoulder, then took my arm, leading me to the bench.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “ This is so embarrassing.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, things happen.”
“Thank you. You are very kind. I’ll be fine, really,” I told him as I sat. I really just wanted him to leave so I could figure out what to do next. He sat next to me and set my bags on the floor.
“Are you sure? You should go over to the health and wellness office and have your ankle looked at. Get some ice for it. Do you know where that is?”
I shook my head no. “I can look on my map,” I replied, reaching for my purse.
“It’s all the way on the other side of campus,” he said. “Several blocks from here. My car is around back, let me drive you.”
I shook my head. “I’ll figure it out. I don’t want to bother anyone,” I said. “You probably have a class or someth—class! I have another class right now! I don’t have time for this,” I groaned and fought the tears again. This time I won and my voice stayed strong. “You can go, I'll be fine, really I will. I’ll get over there and then try to meet with my professor to explain. I don’t want to mess up your day too.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Timothy said. “I don’t have another class until three. That’s plenty of time to drive you over. And just e-mail your prof about the class. I’m sure he’ll understand. The profs are great around here. Besides, I can’t leave you to fend for yourself on an ankle like that, now can I? So are you going to let me help?” he said, smiling.
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. “That would be wonderful,” I said. “Thanks again. I guess I did need help today after all.” I smiled sheepishly.
“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m glad to help.” He stood and picked up my bags again, then offered his hand to help me stand. Bracing against him, I rose carefully and together we made our way slowly to his car.
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