Crave

2. Simona-3

Though excited to get to the bookstore, I still had another hour before they opened. I walked up Clark Avenue and turned right into the residential neighborhood adjacent to the shopping center. I loved the architecture of the old buildings, all recently renovated to attract the young, upwardly mobile power couples who were taking over the city. The park was close by and I could drink my coffee in peace.

Sitting on a park bench next to the pond, I watched while the men who owned the paddle boats started their day. Angry geese chased them, provoking laughter from me and the few other observers. Pigeons walked by in vain, hoping I had food for them, then made their way to the next bench a few yards away. They made their rounds, trying to make a living the way city birds did.

Everything boiled down to the survival of the fittest. I learned that years ago on the streets. Whoever hustled the most and kept their eyes on the prize would survive. People who expected things to just happen, for success to be a given, were in for a rude awakening. It was hard, focused labor that ensured success, not luck. Twenty restaurants in twenty years was possible because I sacrificed everything in order to achieve it.

Was it lonely sometimes? Of course, but that was the price you paid. Survival was key, at the forefront of my thoughts at all times. Anything, or anyone who could hold me back was shoved aside. All too often I’d seen dreams derailed because of a lack of focus. Drugs, booze, affairs of the heart, all had the potential to wreak havoc on being the successful business woman I was today.

If anyone had told me twenty years ago, I’d be in the position I was in now, I would have laughed in their face. The most I ever hoped for was a food truck of my own, a small diner if I was lucky. But luck had nothing to do with it. Seizing the moment, taking advantage of opportunities, and working your ass off, were how you won.

My cell phone vibrated in my coat pocket. I was greeted by a text message from my accountant. I ignored it, but noticed the time. Bartholomew’s bookstore was now open. Books were the one thing I indulged in that got me out of myself without the possibility of a hangover or divorce. The perfect escape.

I got to my feet, pigeons scattering in all directions. A block later I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a disconcerting thought jolting me.

What am I escaping from?