Until I'm Home

February 2, 2017
By GraceIAm BRONZE, Sherborn, Massachusetts
GraceIAm BRONZE, Sherborn, Massachusetts
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

6:00 AM. I can’t remember. At least I thought I couldn’t. The only times I had ever thought about “how life had been” was when I was paying bills that were way too high or when I was taking a hot bath, but that’s another story. And here I am sitting on my still warm bed. I looked around the room surrounding me. The familiar musty odor and dull gray walls of my apartment looked the same. I sighed and tried to bring my short legs to a stand. I noticed the tan had left them, as well as my hands. As I walked over to pull aside the dusty, yellow curtain, I prayed that today would be new and different.

A strong gust of cold, wet wind blasted my face, sending my greasy, brown and blond hair to the back of the room. Once I got a chance to open my eyes, my high hopes were crushed, just like every morning in Cincinnati, Ohio. Before me lay the streets of a city, it had everything a city could have, except it didn’t. The streets weren’t exactly lifeless, buildings had lights shining through the windows here and there, and a child cries in the distance. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

I longed for the palm trees, the taller buildings, and the bustling city streets of Hollywood. But I couldn´t have that. Four million other people could though. I was there before, but as I said, the memory was dull. I was needed by my parents for the last 2 years to run their local Bookstore, a drag. It´s almost like I am forced to call this home. The pay wasn’t very good either. When I did live in Los Angeles, it was on the boulevard, I got up lively at 8:00 every morning, walked a few blocks in the streets to a cafe in town. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still hear the coffee brewing sometimes, the constant drone of customers coming in and out, chatting lively. I can smell the comforting aroma of coffee beans being poured into the grinder. Friendly faces would come up to the counter, saying hello, and thank you. My uniform was always washed and ready to go for the morning, and I always had my fancy clothes for a few drinks at the bar sometimes. Man, that was the life.

I was then jerked back into reality by an obnoxious truck driver beeping his horn from about 40 ft below. I strode over to my mirror and wardrobe. Ugh. I was a mess. My hair was a matted nightmare, especially since I was a heavy sleeper. My hazel green eyes looked glassy and dull, and- Oh my god is that a pimple? I just shrugged it off this time. THIS time. My outfit today consisted of skinny, denim jeans and a lemon yellow sweater, that is the best I could do for this morning. Throwing my hair into a messy bun, and lacing up my boots, I checked my apartment once more, but this time, I stood where I was.

Unmoving. I scanned my bag, my keys, my phone. My eyes ran over my closet, to the many pairs of pumps and fancy high-tops that I never was happy enough to wear anymore. Then I gazed at the walls. I never thought I would stare at a wall for so long. For a moment they looked a lightish blue, with sun glinting off of them. But then it was gray again. I looked outside, there was no sun either, just a cloudy day. Well, that explains the cold air from before. Feeling confused and a bit groggy, I grabbed my bag, phone and keys and started towards the door. My longish, non-painted fingernails hovered above the door knob.

A strong feeling struck my brain, suddenly giving me a huge headache. I didn't have to be here. And yet I did, for a petty reason though. I´ll be home soon. Then I can pick up where I left off. Until Im home. I could never call this home. Happiness had been numb to me for some time, but I felt it. And then something happened. I did something. Something I hadn´t done for real in 2 years. I Smiled. Finding new energy for the day wasn´t hard after that. I opened the door, and left for work. I´ll be home someday. Someday.

The author's comments:

This piece is told from a 24 year old girl'spoint of view, her wants, wishes, dreams, and hopes. She fns herself thinking it will be a normal morning, but this time is was full pf hope. Hope that she will soon get back to her beloved home in LA.

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