I’ve always dreamed of living in New York and finding my happiness in a man who could really see myself, behind all the masks, a man who wouldn’t consider myself crazy or complicated. For awhile, I thought that I meet him, I thought that I know what love means, I thought I left my past behind, but then, disappointment has hit me.
I am alone now, happier than ever, right in the heart of New York. I love the city, people, crowds, skyscrapers, the whole universe in which I became who I am now. Only here I feel truly free, I don’t have to raise my voice for others to hear me and I can fall in love with a stranger, without being judged. I fall asleep every night guarded by the city’s lights, and I always wake up feeling its cold breath on my neck.
Whenever I miss my home I roam the streets in a yellow taxicab, in which every time, the driver nicely smiles at me, reminding me how far I have come. New York keeps you in a continuous movement, you are not allowed to stop on these roads not even while waiting at traffic lights, or when standing in endless lines, trying to buy the perfect present for a good friend, or when you got bored waiting for the waiter. You are trapped in a tango and you can not lose pace.
Sometimes I feel that I don’t have a dance partner, no one who can catch me when I am about to fall. But all those insistent horns, followed by a “Get Outta my way! keep reminding me how I learned to walk in here without any help, without staying in no one’s way. I learned to climb my way up to the top of the Empire State Building, with no man’s help.
That means I can dance tango all alone and also, I really dislike all those cheesy things involved in a relationship. I rather ask the saleswoman what would go with a blue dress, I rather spend my Saturday nights having a good time with my friends without having someone waiting for me at five o’clock in the morning, in the living room, ready to interrogate me.
I have everything I want here, the life I’ve imagined, the career I dreamed of and I am appreciated for my work, although I am afraid to admit that sometimes, I need to share everything and to have someone who would call me after each meeting. Loneliness, for me, never was a problem requiring a solution … at least until now.
- A glass of whiskey, please! I just used again this arrogant tone of voice. I really need to get rid of this habit.
- Of course, sir! Immediately! said the air hostess and smiled.
Lately, I’ve fantasized about air hostesses. A few years ago while I still believed in stereotypes of American films, I would have tried my luck and followed her in the plane’s bathroom, but life took care to show me that it beats the movie. I am just going to remain melancholic on this comfortable seat in Business Class and keep thinking about the past. These days, for me, the whole world became a stupid irony. That’s why I chose to leave. I hope that New York will heal me. One day, someone very close told me that New York has the power to heal the sadness and to maintain true love, in this way, prolonging youth. You’d be so proud of me if you would know that I listen to your advice. In two hours we land on JFK. I’m so excited. I have never been to New York, but it’s not only that. I didn’t come here just to visit it, but I am going to settle in the city that never sleeps. I’ve always said that i have insomnia. The truth is that creative people sleep less.
I am an screenwriter. At least, that’s what I like to answer when asked. It’s not actually a job, but it sounds really good. We are the kind of people who can make money out of some papers written in different emotional states. I only wanted to write, not to become screenwriter. I started writing since she left. My every night nicotine smelled of ink. All my depressions left a bitter taste, but creative, just as the particles of perfume from her neck or the ear lobe. I miss everything so bad, but I learned how to keep the sorrow inside of me and kill it when my favorite music plays quietly in the background and words are printed on the paper. Only that some holes in our souls can never be filled as long as you’re missing somebody. I wrote about distance, about hot and sweet coffees, about the barely squeaking floor when she used to walk barefoot. I wrote about distance, about hot and sweet coffees, about the barely squeaking floor when she used to walk barefoot. About smiles and tears, the sound of heavy breathing when we made love, unconditional love, the dreams we shared, future plans, the clear sky, presents…falls into the void, depressions, delusions, empty roads, nights full of demons, cold nights, nights without her. Pain, withdrawal, dry lips, loneliness, darkness and prison bars. The distance between us took as a prize all those beautiful moments and the left warm feelings got lost on cold lips, lips that could never been her equal. I wrote about me and her, our story with no such thing, as an happy ending. Somebody bought my writings for a million dollars. Pain and love are sold very well. That’s exactly why for me, everything has a ironic touch. I keep writing and selling to movie studios. I made a lot of money, and spent many buying useless things just to fill the holes she left behind, but a long time ago I told her how special she is. Nothing can replace her.
I couldn’t write anything for an year. My inspiration disappeared with her last sign. I know nothing about her, I barely know something about me. Who I become, who I was? I only know that this plane is landing on JFK and that I came here to help myself in my career. New York has always inspired me, even from apart. I want to live in the city of lights. I want to get lost on the streets with a vintage atmosphere and listen to classic jazz in a famous cafe. I want to read in Central Park and the noise of this urban jungle to wake me up every morning. I’ll be happy to be called a New Yorker.
We landed safely. I inhale the new air and take the first steps towards the airport exit. It’s a cold air and very foggy. Tomorrow is a new day. A new life.