New York girl, you don't know a thing.

The first time I saw a sky full of stars, I was driving down a highway in Arizona, in the middle of the desert, at one in the morning.

I was born and raised in New York City. The lights of a city shine bright, brighter than any star in the sky. We don’t need your celestial lights, heavens; Times Square is good enough for us.

F**k off with your goddamn shooting stars, I don’t need a wish. 

I never thought I would leave the city. I didn’t even know what lay between California and New York. That whole Middle America thing doesn’t flow with me. The rest of America has nothing to offer a New York girl.

F**k off with your fresh air, I breathe car exhaust and cigarette smoke.

At a Starbucks on 34th and 8th, I met a boy with a southern accent and golden hair. His skin was tan and his eyes were blue and his soul was clean. With his plain coffee, milk, one sugar, he sat at a table across from mine. He looked at me over my Hemingway novel and said, “Tell me, angel, what’s Heaven like?” I told him I’ve never seen any heaven, but you could find Hell around 42nd street.

I took him back to my apartment with me. I was walking down into the subway when he told me he would rather stay above ground. We walked  to 14th street. He was from Avon, Alabama - population of 470.  He was traveling all across America on his inheritance money and found himself in America’s Mecca, the City of Superlatives, the Big Apple. He had reached 34 of the 50 states.

He was a man of America, but a boy in the bedroom.

We talked about his life, his home, his family, his past. He was fresh out of college with a degree in communications. He had been blackout drunk once in his life. He dated three girls, went all the way with only one of them.

We talked about my life, my home, my family, my past. I was out of college from two years with a literature degree. I had been drunk nearly every night of my life. I lost count of the men that have crawled into my bed and left before the alarm went off.

He asked if I had ever been to the South. I laughed right in his face. He said, “New York girl, you don’t know a thing.”

A week later, he called from his hotel to say he was moving on with his journey, going to stop in the other 16 states of the USA, and that his flight left at 7pm. I said I would meet him at JFK by 6:00.

First stop, Arizona. Land in Phoenix, 1:00am New York time, drive to Sedona, 2:30am New York Time. 

As the airplane went up, I felt myself going down.

We touched down onto land, but I never felt more up in the air. Grab our bags, shuffle off the plane, exit into the hot desert air. He rented an SUV and we were off. I fell asleep on the way there, until I woke to him shaking my shoulder. I looked around and realized we were pulled over, surrounded my darkness. He got out of the car, came over to my side to open the door, and pulled me out with him. 

He said, “Look up.”

I turned my head upwards. Stars flooded the sky. Infinite diamonds, tiny beads of light, more than the number of New York City inhabitants,  staring down on me. It seemed like the night would swallow me whole. 

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t look away. He held me close as I started to cry, still stuck on the sky. 

I said, “I’ve never felt so small.”

He said, “I’ve never felt so great.”

Reviews

[James Eugene]

I admire your earnest, humbled depiction of yourself. You've let us be a part of your revelation by being honest. Great job.

[Dane V. Loviel]

Well f**k, you're just awesome. To critique this would be twice as long as the story itself in praise. I thoroughly enjoy your writing style.