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hapter 43
Chapter 43
CHARLOTTE
I opened my eyes the next morning, a few minutes before the alarm went off and the memories of the previous night danced through my mind. I smiled wistfully, content with the decision I had made, but still feeling like I had lost something.
I tried to shake it off and focus on the fact that I had given myself quite the experience. I turned off the alarm and got out of bed. I looked around the hotel room and realized that I had forgotten to check for cameras or get an extra lock for the door.
“Need to make better decisions,” I muttered, eyeing the room’s disarray, a reflection of my current state of life.
It wasn’t terrible, but I had a flair for the dramatic. Clothes were strewn about, my notepad upside down–it all amplified my self–criticism. I had to remind myself that this wasn’t Milan; littering didn’t mean I was stressing the person cleaning up after me. This time, I had to take care of my mess. It felt good and terrifying at the same time.
I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth and started picking things off the couch and floor. Waking up early had given me the advantage I desired. I could get my things in order and still make it to the airport in record
time.
A few minutes later, I was boarding the plane and settling in. I watched as the other passengers got on and found their seats. I felt better being settled in early and tried to ignore the voice in my head that kept insisting booking first
class was a bad idea.
Before arriving at the hotel, I gave in to my desires and upgraded from business class to first class. The experience of flying economy from Milan to Newark taught me a few valuable lessons. Firstly, I never want to be in that situation again if I have the means to avoid it. Secondly, since this was a one–way trip and I could afford it at this point, why not treat myself to the luxury of first class?
I listened to the flight attendant as she cheerfully provided information to the passengers about the flight and wondered if she genuinely enjoyed her job. I had read about it some time ago. The pay was great, but the constant travel made me uncertain if it was something I wanted to pursue.
As snacks were passed around, I found myself intrigued by the idea of traveling the world and making money at the same time, but I wasn’t completely convinced. I grabbed my notepad and wrote down the job title on a new page. I began jotting down the qualifications mentioned in the article I had read and shook my head in contemplation.
I had already exceeded my initial budget by purchasing this ticket for the flight and staying longer than planned in Newark. Maybe this time I needed to stick to a routine. I tuned out her voice and the whirring of the plane’s engine as I flipped through the pages.
My eyes found their target: a section in the middle where I had written my plans for Los Angeles. A new life awaited me in a city I used to call home, but I didn’t expect it to be kind or familiar to me. I hadn’t been there in a few years, and denying that anything had changed would be folly on my part.
I tried to prepare myself for whatever lay ahead of me: getting an apartment, finding a job, and getting into school
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Dancing into the Heart of Mr. Ce
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were the first items on my list. I attempted to list out places where I would like to work, but I only had experience working as a bartender. I didn’t feel very confident that I would be able to get back into that line of work; I was rusty and might need bartending classes, which would mean spending more money. “Nope, not doing that,” I whispered, chewing on the tip of my pencil.
I glanced at the list of establishments I had jotted down. I needed to create a resume promptly to apply to these places. I was open to working as a secretary or a waitress in a restaurant. The specific job role didn’t bother me; I was a quick learner and just wanted a steady income. As I looked at my school plans, I let out a sigh. A frown creased my face as I realized that whatever job I chose, it had to allow time for my studies as well.
Working and studying simultaneously was not going to be easy, but I assured myself that I could manage it. I decided to give it a try, at the very least. “If that doesn’t work out, I’ll try something else,” I said as I put down the
note.
I looked at the flight attendant, who had stopped talking and stepped out of the way for the last passenger to board the plane. I tried to hide my curiosity as he walked down the aisle and settled in the seat opposite mine.
He had an air of familiarity around him, which left me feeling intrigued, as I couldn’t recall where I had seen him. The pilot’s voice boomed through the aircraft, and I forced myself to listen and stop staring at him. It was rude to stare anyway, and if I couldn’t place where we had met before, I might just be overthinking it, as I was during the
interview.
As the flight attendants passed warm towels around and showed some passengers the location of the requested items, my thoughts drifted back to Milan once more. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have entertained the idea of moving to a different city, but here I was, on my way to an entirely different continent.
Despite the feeling of uncertainty that lingered at the back of my mind, it felt like I had taken a huge leap, and I needed to appreciate myself for being brave enough to do it. I sighed and closed my eyes as the plane started to ascend. I tried to conjure up old memories of Los Angeles, but my mind seemed to come up with nothing.
At first, it felt great to be unable to remember memories of my life that seemed traumatic, but after a while, I started to feel unsettled by the idea. I had lived in Los Angeles as a child, up until my early teenage years when my parents died. Then I spent the next few years in and out of foster homes, learning the city by heart as my life unfolded terribly before my eyes.
A family that lived outside L.A. had once opened the doors of their home to me, but I ran back two nights later when I witnessed the husband beating up his wife. I was terrified for myself; if he could do that to his wife, whom he was supposed to love, I didn’t want to find out what else he was capable of.
I remember reporting the case to the social worker, but they shelved it, throwing a tantrum because I didn’t want to be with a foster family. When the woman wound up dead a few weeks later, I pleaded to be left alone to care for myself and get a job while living in an orphanage.
The offer had been met with some opposition, but a few weeks later, they agreed to give it a try. They never told me why they had suddenly changed their minds, but I heard among the older kids that someone had sent in instructions on my behalf.
I was intrigued by this information, but not being able to verify it left me feeling frustrated. If there was someone who cared enough to ensure I remained in foster care, why didn’t they come to collect me? After a few weeks, I stopped dwelling on the thought and decided to take control of my life.
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I secured a part–time job as a waitress and, after graduating from high school. I began working double shifts to save up enough money to leave the city. My mind had developed a mechanism to suppress the traumatic memories, but as we neared our destination, some of them started to resurface,
I tried to focus on something else, but my eyes flew open of their own accord as the sound of a barely audible baritone voice filtered through the space. I turned my eyes in the direction of the voice and found the familiar man staring at me intently. I blinked in confusion as we locked gazes for a few seconds. Then he turned and looked at the person sitting behind him. They engaged in a friendly conversation for a few minutes, and then he turned around and picked up a book.
I lowered my gaze and stared at my feet, resisting the urge to initiate a conversation with him. I was certain I had seen him somewhere, but I had no idea how to bring it up without seeming like a creep.
Especially since he had just seen me staring at him. It felt like doing anything else would be undeniably creepy, so I reached for the sleep mask and covered my eyes. If I couldn’t get myself to sleep, I could fake it till I made it; that seemed a lot better than embarrassing myself.
A few moments later, I slipped into a dream that left me feeling like I should have stayed awake throughout the flight.
