Where I Am

posted on: January 20, 2009

I sit now wrapped in a blanket, typing to the drip-drop of drizzles on my window, occasionally glancing up to admire my mountains veiled in mist. And I envision...

I walk stone-faced down congested 6th Avenue blending into the crowd in my black trench and oversized sunglasses. I am an elegant sophisticate writing impressive journalism for a major city paper. On drizzly Saturdays the ink of the same paper, held above my head, will drop-drop at my side as I run from my small, comtemporary loft to the waiting taxi. Abstractly wandering the Met in an oversized grey sweater allows me to escape close to home. I will sit on a bench, preferably accompanied by a friend, for hours. In silence. Simply because it's lovely.

I scrape drying jam from the counter as my knight in shining armor dashes out the door, barely stopping for his briefcase, a kiss, and a harried look. I almost see the brilliant orange of Alpine autumn before the door slams again. Little ones gallop about, dotting the floor with jelly beans and bumping walls as they go. Shrieking joyfully and waving their stubby arms to catch my attention, a half-empty bowl of milk teeters on the countertop and crashes to the ground. Amidst shards of glass, kicking limbs in my arms, and drip-drops of milk on the stools, we laugh.

I absent mindedly brandish my chef's knife, crush potent garlic cloves under its weight, and toss sizzling flavor into my screaming pan. Six new orders catch my eye. Chef sees them too. Through the steamy haze, he barks something about slow knifes and still hands and I hastily turn back to my station. At 7 o'clock, the dinner rush on Sunset is hardly over. Sweat drip-drops at my hairline, then joins tomato puree and pomegranate juice on my sleeve as I move to wipe my brow. I sigh at the clock, then smile smally as my hands restart thier work.

In any city, whomever I am with, I hope I will remember the 19 year old clattering away on her keyboard, terrified to choose. I hope she is who she's always wanted to be. I hope she lives exactly how she has always wanted to live. She will be happy. She will have settled for nothing and she will continue to reach for everything.

3 thought{s}:

  1. you, my dear, are an excellent writer :)

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  2. Hi Brittany!

    I was that 19yo, and I went down a few paths before I finally found my way back to the right one - writing. Stick with it, follow your gut (not other people's opinions) and you'll go far.

    So refreshing to read a fresh voice. :)

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  3. Brittany, I had no idea you had such talent with a pen. I'm enthralled with your posts. Thanks for sharing this little piece of yourself.

    ReplyDelete

She's a piratey soul, full a' vinegar and glitter.

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