Finding Fraser(4)
So, just about like usual. A bit better than my driver’s license, actually.
As I stepped into the elevator, mentally calculating if the money I got from the bed would justify a stay in a New York hotel instead of a hostel, someone touched my shoulder.
It was the woman with the Kindle.
“Are you a writer?” she blurted, looking pointedly at my notebook. She had one hand buried deep in her handbag.
I started to shake my head, and then re-thought it. “Well—I blog a bit,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes and shot a look at my abdomen. “Mommy blogger?”
“I’m NOT pregnant,” I said. “I just ate Indian food for lunch.”
She shrugged, but didn’t apologize. “So—book blogger, then?”
“No. It’s more of a personal journal. About a trip I’m taking. A—a travel blog.”
The doors opened. “Oh. Never mind, then.” She turned on her heel and sped off toward the entranceway.
I hurried after her. “Wait a sec,” I called, as she descended the front steps. “Why did you think—I mean, how did you know I’m a writer?”
She stopped on the stair below me. “Only a blogger,” she corrected, and then paused for a minute, staring up at me.
“You were scribbling in that notebook, is all,” she said, at last. “And since you knew the books, well—I thought you might be interested in this conference.”
She dug deep into her handbag, and then thrust a flyer into my hands. It was heavily creased, and in the time I took to unfold it, she had her hand on the front door.
“What is it?” I cried out, unable to read and catch up at the same time.
I could feel the rush of cold wind as she opened the door below me. I heard her voice, borne on a wave of city traffic noise. “Love Is in the Air!” she yelled, the slam of the door cutting off her last word.
I was left standing in the entranceway, clutching my passport and a crumpled piece of hot pink paper.
Feet Forward…
4:30 pm, February 19
Somewhere past Cleveland on the I-90, USA
I’m on the road, at last. The journey begins with a bus ride. First stop: Philadelphia. Heading east, toward adventure. Forward!
- ES
Comments: 2
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John Harrison, Houston, USA:
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Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love.
Why Philadelphia? Why not straight to New York?
All because of one little pink flyer containing one significant piece of information. Something that could change the whole nature of this journey.
Someone.
I closed the lid to my laptop. The truth was, adventure was less exhilarating than it was actually nauseating. The original plan—admittedly made in the heat of the just-been-fired-on-my-birthday moment—had been to grab the cheapest flight I could find. That it meant a bus trip across four states (five, if you count Illinois) didn’t even faze me. Part of the adventure, right?
And then Kindle Lady had come along and handed me a flyer that essentially said “Yes, Emma—this is the right decision. Follow your heart and you’ll find your Fraser.”
Amazing how reality can slide down your neck like a trickle of winter sleet.
My stomach was in knots. An hour earlier when I’d stepped off the slushy street and onto the bus, I’d remembered Sophia’s jab. She was right, too. This trip would be the first time I had traveled completely solo in my whole life. Pathetic for someone teetering on the scary precipice of thirty years old, but true. Then the bus had pulled out and it was too late to turn back. I was on the road.
To commemorate the event, I posted to my blog using Wi-Fi on a moving vehicle for the first time ever.
That was kind of nauseating too, come to think of it.
The only good part was that I hadn’t stopped to call anyone. Not my mother, not my sister, not even my friend Jazmin. I texted them all, instead. To say I was on my way. To say I loved them.
To say I was terrified.
I hadn’t actually typed out the last bit. Sophia would have had the police searching for me if I had. As it was, I got a cheery “Have a great time, check in when you can!” back from my mother. Sophia’s text held lower hopes for me. “Don’t expect me to rescue you if you get into trouble.” And Jazmin didn’t reply at all.
That was okay, though because, before I left, I’d told her about the blog. She was a huge Jamie fan, too, and she’d sworn she would have come with me if she’d had the courage. She’d even promised to follow the blog. Now, I love my Jazzy-girl, but she doesn’t know an RSS feed from her grass seed. (She’s a landscape architect. Really good, too.) But since she is too much of a Luddite to even return a text, I have a plan. Once I get off this rocking bus and into Philadelphia, I’ll find me some free Wi-Fi at a coffee shop, and link the blog to my Facebook page. Jazmin will be able to manage that, at least. She loves Facebook.