Miles From Home (9 page)

I enter the large office building and suddenly feel out of place in my jeans and t-shirt; everyone is dressed in professional suits and dresses. When I step onto the elevator, I punch the button to the eighth floor for Marissa’s office. When the doors open, I immediately see the sign for Metro Leasing. As I walk in, the young lady at the desk smiles. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Maggie Taylor and I am here to see Marissa Brown.” She quickly types on her computer.

“Oh, yes, Ms. Taylor, she’s expecting you. Her office is the first one on the left.” She points her well-manicured finger towards a hallway.

I smile and say, “Thank you.”

The door to Marissa’s office is open and I go in. “Hi, I’m Maggie, you must be Marissa Brown,” I say, walking towards her desk.

She stands and smiles. “Maggie, it’s so nice to meet you.” She points to the chair in front of her desk. “Please sit down. Can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee?”

“No, thank you.” I shake my head.

“Well, let me get the papers for you to sign. I just need a few signatures and the keys are all yours.” She lays the lease agreement out on the desk in front of me.

The studio apartment is eleven-hundred square feet. It was newly remodeled six months ago and is fully furnished with a large balcony overlooking a small park. I feel a sense of relief when she tells me there is a parking space that comes with it and I’m not surprised to see that the monthly rent is three-thousand a month, with a six-month lease and the option to extend it. Marissa had warned me that the majority of the apartments around Barnard College were fairly pricey, so I’m thankful my mother put my name on her trust fund before she passed away. My father was too proud to let her use it after they were married, so she specifically said in her will that it was to go to me.

After I sign all the required papers and Marissa hands me the keys, I smile and shake her hand.

“Thank you so much. I’m really excited to get moved in.” I pick up my purse and walk towards the door.

“Good luck, Maggie. Enjoy the apartment,” she says. I turn and wave goodbye.

When I unlock the door to my apartment and open it, I can’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs, “Look, Mom, I made it!” I know she would be so proud of me. I close the door and float room to room, taking it all in. This will be my home for the next two years, maybe longer.

It took me two days to get my apartment the way I wanted; bright curtains, a bright colorful comforter, and pillows to match. It was really starting to feel like home. Being a Texas girl, I never knew how difficult it would be to make friends here in New York City. Everyone is always in a rush to get somewhere. I had come to the conclusion that they just were too busy to form friendships, until I met Nadia. She moved in next door to me a week after I moved in and we quickly became friends. I felt so bad for her while I was sitting on my balcony the day she moved in. I saw that she was alone so I offered to help her. As we carried box after box to the elevator and up to the sixth floor, I couldn’t keep from staring at how beautiful she was. Her accent, dark brown eyes, and long shiny black hair made her look exotic, so one evening while we were sitting on her balcony having a glass of wine I asked her where she was from.

“I’m from Morocco; I came here to work for my uncle who owns several boutiques here in New York City,” she said.

“Wow, Morocco. That’s a long way from home. How do you like it here so far” I asked, listening to her replies, enjoying her accent.

She smiles. “I love it. I love having my freedom. My family was wanting me to find a suitable man to marry and have children. I am not ready for that, so I came here to help.”

I am very thankful to have her as a friend, especially being next door. We hang out a lot over the first several days.

Over the next few weeks Nadia introduces me to some of her friends and co-workers. Debra is one of them. She and Nadia work at the boutique together, and since we are all around the same age, we have a lot in common. The three of us meet at a small coffee shop around the corner on the weekends, and on occasion, we go out to one of the bars close to the apartment for a drink. I really enjoy their company, but there are times I become depressed, thinking of Sam, and curious why he never contacted me. Even though are nights that I miss him terribly, I keep myself busy with decorating my apartment, exploring the city, and spending time with my new friends.

When Sydney tells me she is planning on visiting before summer is over, I am so excited. I think about telling Sydney about Sam and the time we spent together, but I choose not to because I know she would think I was being reckless and stupid. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t invade my thoughts. I wonder what he is doing and if he is happy. I could never have imagined meeting someone that would be so hard to say goodbye to.

One evening, Nadia, Debra, and I sit on my apartment balcony enjoying a bottle of wine when the conversation topic quickly turned to men. Nadia tells us about Abdul, a Moroccan man that she was seeing before coming to New York City. “He was an amazing lover,” she says. Of course my thoughts immediately go to Sam. It isn’t hard to tell that my mind is elsewhere as Nadia continues to tell us about Abdul.

“Maggie? Hello? Are you okay there?” Debra asks, waving her hand in front of my face.

“Oh, sorry. I guess I zoned out for a minute.” I feel the rush of heat spread over my face.

“Okay, Maggie, spill it,” Debra says, as both girls are looking at me, waiting.

“Spill? Spill what?” I stall. I know what she means, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

“Maggie, that look on you face was not that of a woman zoned out. That was the look of a woman in love,” Nadia says, in her raspy Moroccan accent. I look between the two of them.

Nadia and Debra are waiting, waiting for me to spill my guts about Sam. Nadia even speaks in Arabic regarding it. “Habib alby, love of my heart,” she says. And each time, as my thoughts drifted back to that weekend in Hermann, my heart would beat just a little quicker and I would smile just a little bit longer.

“You two are insane. Okay, yes, there is a guy . . . but he’s in Chicago and I’m here. Long distance relationships do not work. Besides, I have a plan and I’m sticking to it. I start school in a month and I don’t have time for anything but what I came here for.” Hoping they are satisfied with my answer, I stand and gather our wine glasses, walking into the kitchen to set them in the sink. Nadia and Debra follow me.

“Tell us about him, Maggie,” Debra says “What’s his name? Is he hot?” Seeing that she will not give up until I dish out some info, I take a deep breath.

“His name is Sam and yes, he was hot. It was brief, romantic, and fun, but it’s over, so there you have it.” And there’s that little twinge, deep down, that I feel every time I say his name. The girls don’t press the issue and the subject quickly changes to the topic of where to go for dinner.

Over the next few weeks I settle into a regular routine, attending a couple of workshops at Barnard as well as yoga class three times a week. I meet the girls for dinner regularly and I talk to my Aunt Virginia almost daily.

And Sydney finally decides on a date to visit. She plans her trip for the end of August, two weeks before school starts, and I keep myself busy as I prepare for her visit. And then there are the days where all I do is think of Sam and wish he would call. Those days are when I usually end up in my bed watching TV, eating Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Finally, on the day of Syd’s arrival, I take a taxi to JFK airport to meet her. I’m excited because this is her first visit to NYC and I have a lot of stuff planned.

“OMG, Maggie!! I can’t believe it’s been three months since I’ve seen you,” Sydney squeals, coming through security towards me.

“I’ve missed you so much, you look great,” I say, hugging her.

“You’ve cut your hair, it’s so cute,” I tell her, picking up her luggage and walking out of the airport.

“Thanks, I wanted to do something different, something sexy,” she says. We wait for the taxi to pull up.

As we’re riding through the city I can see that Sydney is in culture shock. New York City is a far leap from Hearne, Texas. I think I had the same look on my face the first time I saw all the people, buildings, and cars.

“This is incredible, Maggie. How in the world do you find anything?” Sydney asks, staring out of the window.

“It’s intimidating, isn’t it?” I giggle. “But I’ve really gotten used to it for the short amount of time I’ve been here. I pretty much stay in my neighborhood.” The taxi pulls up to the entrance of my building. After I pay the driver, we lug Sydney’s bags to the elevator and to my floor. And as we walk into my apartment, Sydney spots the balcony and squeals.

“This is so awesome! You’re so lucky that you got out of Hearne, Maggie. People just dry up and die there.” She opens the French doors and walks out while I follow and we both just stare out over the edge in awe of the flurry of people below.

“I think you should move here, Syd. Just think of all the fun we would have,” I say to her, with excitement.

“I wouldn’t survive here; this place would eat me alive!” she says. “You have a purpose for being here, I don’t.”

I watch as Sydney marvels at the different shops and boutiques that line the street outside the balcony.

“Sydney, have you talked to my dad?” I don’t really wanting to know the answer, although it would be nice to know he read my letter.

“Yes, he called twice,” she says, facing me. “Maggie, you need to call him. He’s worried.”

I look down as the crowd of people rush to get God knows where. “I know, Syd; I’m just not ready to hear how disappointed he is in me. He hates me, I’m sure of it.” I step back and sit down, suddenly feeling homesick.

“Oh, Maggie, he doesn’t hate you, he’s your father. He could never hate you.” Sydney pulls me into a hug. “He said he found your letter, and asked me to let him know when I hear from you.” She pulls back to look me in the eyes. “Don’t be mad but I told him you were fine. I had to, Mags. He sounded so sad.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s okay, I would have done the same thing.” I hug Sydney to let her know I’m not upset.

Over the next few days Sydney and I spend every waking minute sightseeing, shopping, and eating at trendy cafes and restaurants.

On her last evening before catching a flight home the next afternoon, we meet up with Nadia and Debra for a girl’s night out. We hit a few clubs around our area, dance, drink, and have a great time. I am really dreading saying goodbye to Sydney.

The next morning I wake up feeling nauseous and dizzy. I am surprised because I drank very little the night before. Thankfully, Sydney suggests we hang out in the apartment until it is time for her to leave for the airport. Sydney stands in the doorway of the bathroom as I kneel in front of the toilet with the dry heaves.

“You look like death, Maggie. I drank far more than you did and I feel fine. You’re such a lightweight.” She laughs as I glare at her from behind my hair.

As I help Sydney pack, I start to feel much better, so I let Sydney pick a place for lunch. Knowing that I love the deli down the street, she decides that’s where she wants to eat before her flight leaves. I hail a taxi as we hug and say our goodbyes. “I’m gonna miss you, Maggie. Please come visit soon.” I kiss her cheek and she gets into the back of the taxi.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Syd. Please call me when you get home and have a safe fight.” I close the door and watch the car drive away.

Later on that evening, I decide on soup for dinner. My hangover is still lingering and I don’t want a repeat of earlier this morning. I grab a pillow and blanket and got cozy on the couch while I watch
Grey’s Anatomy.
My mother loved that show; she was a nurse up until I was born but after I came along she was a stay-at-home mom at my father’s insistence. We would watch it every week and she would laugh and say, “That’s not the way it really is when you’re a nurse.” I miss my mom when I watch this show.

Today’s the first day of classes at Barnard. I barely slept the night before, since I was just too excited and very nervous. This was one major accomplishment and I wasn’t about to mess it up! I walk to the coffee shop to grab a latte and go over my schedule before class.

8:00 a.m.—Dance History

9:00 a.m.—Movement Science

10:00 a.m.—Composition

11:00—1:00 p.m.—Lunch

1:00 p.m.—Biomechanics for the Dancer

2:00 p.m.—Applied Anatomy for Human Movement

This is crazy!
Looking at the different classes that I am required to take, I am feeling completely overwhelmed.

My first day goes by so fast that I don’t even have time to digest it all. Since I barely had time to eat lunch, my stomach is letting me know it’s hungry. I’m not really up to cooking so I text Nadia to see if she wants to have dinner.

Me: Hey girl! I’m starved, wanna go grab some dinner?

Nadia: Sure, meet you at the elevator in five minutes.

I throw on a pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt, and race to the elevator. Just as I get there I feel dizzy and lightheaded. I lean over and put my head between my legs. “Hey, Maggie. Are you okay? I hear Nadia’s voice while I hold on to the wall to steady myself.

“You look pale. Maybe you should sit down.” She grabs my arm as I slide down the wall and draw my knees up to my chest.

“I think I just got in such a hurry that it made me dizzy.” I stand and ride the elevator down, still feeling a little dazed.

After dinner I can barely keep my eyes open. I try to go through my class synopsis, but I can’t focus, so I climb into bed and close my eyes. The next morning, after fourteen hours of sleep, I still feel queasy while I pack up my things up for class.
This is not a good time to get sick!
By the end of the week I’m beyond exhausted and ready for some downtime. I decide to spend the weekend lounging around my apartment in hopes of getting rid of this lousy stomach virus and to prepare myself for the next school week.