Crossroads
682 Words
Each day, I kept roaming, pushing forward all the time – hanging around the city limits. I sang songs, recited poetry to myself, alone, under the Welcome sign. I wasn’t brave enough or ready enough to walk straight out of town, but each day my mind travelled further.
The heat didn’t bother me; I was too focused on other things. All I could do was fantasize a future as I stood on the edge of the world, though I never thought that it was my world at all. I couldn’t help but wonder who I was going to be.
I imagined a series of roads stretching out in front of me endlessly, as I grew dizzy from studying the yellow line until it disappeared into the distance. One road led straight to a modest but artsy New York City apartment, jazz clubs and antique bookstores. I could almost feel the snow falling from the sky and gathering in my eyelashes.
Another road led to Paris – cigarettes and black turtlenecks. French lovers and pastries. Champagne and late-night walks down the Champs Elysees. Whenever I shut my eyes, I felt my very essence drifting away to a distant land.
I could see a road, a golden pathway, drawing me towards Las Vegas, the dream that taunted me from the horizon. Under the blue sky, I wanted to walk straight towards fame and fortune – if the world was full of winners and losers, I wanted to lose with diamonds around my neck and drunken hope drifting through my mind.
Another road could lead me to Venice, where I could be by myself – with the exception of a cat, perhaps. I imagined sealing myself away from prying human eyes, keeping myself company with a typewriter and a view of the canal. I would write myself into my right mind. I assumed I wouldn’t need anyone who wasn’t a famous writer beyond my reach.
The last road took me to San Francisco – the city where I was born. If I ever have a family of my own, I decided, my family will be there. Much to my disgust, I could picture it so clearly, and it made me smile.
I would marry a man with kind eyes, or a girl with a friendly smile, if it was legal by then – above all, someone that I feel that I could learn something from. We would have a little house on a hill, overlooking the bay. Our children would play in the back garden, chasing each other around an old oak tree and taking turns on the swing held by the strongest branch, and we would watch over them and drink lemonade, thinking that we have it all together and the whole world is right.
My partner would take the cable car to work and I would stay and write my words in a study at the top of the house, sunlight streaming in through the curtains. As I would type my poems, I would hear my children’s laughter from downstairs, echoing through the house. I would smile to myself and think, What a wonderful life.
I knew that that was the future I was meant to hope for, long for, lust for above all. Admittedly, a part of me did. A part of me wanted the stability, the promise of eternity.
But if it was meant to be all I ever wanted, why did it make my gut twist, as if someone had stuck a knife in me all of a sudden?
It’s impossible to know where any of us were going. The thought was terrifying and liberating. I can do whatever I want, I thought to myself, the world is rich with possibility – I have so many futures, so many people I want to be, and I can take my pick of the ripest fruits at the top of the tree. All I had to do was climb.
Too bad that I was always afraid of heights.
- Writer
