The Cold City

As the plane hit the tarmac, I could feel the exhaustion of the travel day in my bones. New York City, my new home. The place I will spend all of my days, nights, afternoons. I shrugged on my jacket and nudged the burly man next to me to see if he would open the window. I was met with a loud snore. I sighed, and turned to look at the sleeping baby on the other side of me, finally pacified in her mother’s warm embrace. It seemed that everybody could sleep but me.

The seat belt sign blinked off, signalling that it was time to go. I gathered my duffel and my headphones, and waited on the family in front of me to get off of the plane. As I walked into the airport from the jet bridge, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of new beginnings. 

“Nobody here knows you.” I whispered to myself, “It’s time for a fresh start.”

Instead of standing wistfully in the middle of the gate, I decided it was time to get my bags and get to my brand new apartment. As I descended the stairs, I took in all that was around me. It was pitch black outside, so I glanced at my watch to check the time.

1:00 AM? I thought to myself, Is my clock right?

I approached a woman next to me once I got off the stairs and asked her what time it was. I was met with a nasty glare, and she swiftly got up, taking her luggage with her. I was taken aback at her rudeness, but nevertheless I would persevere. I practically tackled my luggage as it was coming off of the carousel and I made my way to hail myself a taxi for the first time.

“Alright, this shouldn’t be too hard…” I mumbled to myself, “TAXI!” I screeched at the top of my lungs, disturbing the people around me. I was met with uncomfortable looks, but regardless a small, yellow car pulled up in front of me. 

“Hey there! I’m headed to the Apartments on 18th.” I told him. He grunted in response, and began our forty-five minute trek into the city.

When we reached my apartment, I awoke with a jump. Had I been sleeping that entire car ride? I thought. I hopped out of the taxi, and took my bag, looking up at my new building. I sighed, and walked into the lobby, greeted by a short, grumpy woman. I approached her with a cheerful smile on my face, hoping that her attitude would shift when she witnessed mine. My hypothesis was incorrect.

“Name?” she asked shortly.

“Rebecca Danton.” I said confidently. “I am supposed to be on the third floor, I think?” I received an unenthusiastic “huh” in response. Did I have the wrong number or something?

“I’m sorry, Ms. Danton, but we don’t have a place for you.” She stated, giving me a blank stare. I blinked at her, mouth agape, unable to form a response.

“What do you mean that there is not a place for me? I just put a down payment on this apartment last week!” I realized I was yelling when she flinched, and my voice echoed throughout the empty lobby. “What I mean is, I have an email confirmation that I have an apartment in this building! There must be some sort of mistake. Did you misspell Danton, maybe?” I asked her. She shook her head no. With no battle left to fight, I sighed and walked out of the lobby doors to the cold, damp street. 

Well, if I have nowhere to go, I might as well get a hotel and try to get some rest, I thought. I walked to a nearby Embassy Suites, praying for one open room. The receptionist met me with a blank stare as she told me there was one room left. I practically leaped with joy, and realized that I was receiving more weird looks from those around me, so I stopped immediately. I slammed my emergency credit card on the counter and told her to put the room on it. I was desperate for this room. She handed me my keys, and I took the rickety elevator up to floor 16. I opened the door to the odor of old food and cigarette smoke. I sighed, put my bag down, and changed into more comfortable clothes. As I got into the bed, I stared up at the ceiling. Right once I sat down to rest is when I realized that I wasn’t tired. Not one bit of tiredness stirred in my brain. I got out of bed and made my way to the door with my purse in hand, not knowing where I would go or what I would do. So, I approached the Concierge, and asked what fun things there are to do in the city. He scowled up at me from his desk, then got up, acting like it was revolting to do his own job. 

“Well, Chinatown is always a big hit with the tourists.” He looked me up and down. I thanked him for his time, but felt self conscious as he thought that I was a tourist. Did I really look that stupid?

I attempted to navigate the Subway, but I failed miserably. I left the station in who knows where and called a taxi. I stumbled in, requesting that he took me to Chinatown or wherever that man said. He obliged and drove me there. I got out of the car, and walked through the streets of Chinatown, lost as ever. That is, until I found myself going into a bar. 

I sat down at the bar, and ordered myself a drink. Two girls came in and sat right next to me, ordering their drinks. I looked at them and smiled, and they met me with the biggest grins I had ever seen. 

“Hey there! I’m Mya. And this is my best friend Sasha!” She stated, holding out her hand eager for me to shake it. I took it, so happy that I was finally receiving some friendliness in this cold, cold city. “It’s great to meet you! Wanna hang with us tonight?”

Before I even knew it, my eyes were welling with tears. I nodded, and at that moment I knew that I was home.