Chapter One

My eyes fixated on the blinking lights in front of me. Anticipation settled in the pit of my stomach, commanding my knots of nausea to whirl and sway in a sickening motion. The minutes ticked by loudly as I eyeballed the machine that held my fate in its greedy, archaic grasps; its lazy mechanics stretching its lifeless arms into action. 

 

I have never resented a printer so much in my life.

 

The hum of the cartridge moving idly back and forth seemed to mock my impatience as it leisurely spewed forth my document. Finally.  I touched the corner of the paper lifting it to glance at the text. The heat from the printer calmed me as I silently read the words that held my future in tiny, organized lines.  “Passenger Name: Lucy Eleanor Gilbert. Destination: London, England. Flight Number: 1851. One way.”

 

My eyes devoured each ink covered detail, reveling in the notion that my plan was personified, tangible enough to hold. My mind immediately flashed to my current home, perched cozily on a quiet street in my hometown. I began doodling on my appointment book, pondering the most efficient organizational system for packing up twenty-seven years of my life. I could label my belongings by metaphorical content only, much like the Dewey Decimal System.  Instead of pesky numbers, I’d use much more identifiable classifications like “smothering family issues” or “control freak seeking meticulously planned change of scenery adventure.”  I could just imagine the growing pile of my possessions labeled harshly with a black magic marker; the tidily packed duffel bag simply entitled “Terrified small town girl wildly escaping from her romantic past,” stacked on top a set of black luggage modestly labeled, “Baggage. Literally. Refer to aforementioned bags.” I sighed in discontent at the sight of my scribbles. Maybe I should purchase a label making machine. If I planned on shipping my belongings and my life halfway across the world, I might as well be organized about it.

 

“So did you do it?” A voice came from behind me, startling me from my thoughts. I quickly finished drawing a hat on the stick figure I doodled in the margin of my page and spun around in my chair to see Nina standing in the doorway of my office with an expectant look on her face. Her pin straight auburn hair was pulled back into a severe pony tail, showcasing the apples of her pale pink cheeks. Her almond shaped eyes narrowed questioningly as I handed my ticket over to her awaiting hand. I watched her scan the details of my impending flight, a frown beginning to pull at the corners of her mouth.

 

Nina looked up at me with a deadpan face, immediately inquiring about my choice of departure date. Her free hand perched on her hip, one of her fingers looped into the top of her cutting scissors. She shouldn’t have been surprised by my decision; three months gave me a comfortable window to sell my home, transition my budding salon business over to her, and emotionally prepare myself for a transatlantic relocation.

She took a seat in the empty chair across from me, leaning her elbows on her knees. “I’m happy for you Luce,” By the vacant look on her face and her stilted tone - it was clearly an empty sentiment.  I raised my eyebrows and cocked my head to the side, my blond curls spilled down my arm as I gave her a knowing look. Her blank expression began to crack, showing traces of a smile. “OK, I’m happy in the horribly selfish and bittersweet way where I don’t want you to go.” I smiled warmly at her, a pang sounded within my chest reminding me just how much I’ll miss her. “Is now a good time to warn you that I’m prone to having loud emotional outbursts at airports?” She joked as her shoulders shot up towards her ears, shaking in silent laughter.

 

I’ve seen her distinctive, albeit quiet laugh countless times since we first met on a sand filled playground just miles away from where we would one day open up a salon together. I remember imparting bashful glances in her direction, my blue eyes hidden behind the comforting denim of my mother’s jeans.  My father noticed my painful shyness through the visor of his navy Yankees hat and ushered me over to where she was standing, her pink sneakers dangling with ease from the rust covered monkey bars. It was there that our friendship formed over our shared love for Lisa Frank stickers, Joey McIntyre, and our hope to expand our ever growing Pog collections. We chatted endlessly with each other as our skinny little arms ambled back and forth across the metal beams.  

 

A sad realization began to wash over me. In three short months, I’ll be relying on long distance calls to hear her signature giggle, which for obvious reasons, isn’t something that translates well over phone lines. In high school, when our ears burned copper red from hours spent attached to the receiver, I would recap the events of Mr. Miller’s dreaded fifth period math class.  I shared a desk with the coveted Matt Thaler, my romantic obsession at the time and the quarterback of the football team. With his cropped blonde hair and dimples, he often sent the school’s female population whispering in delight as he sauntered down the hallway, his prized football in hand. I spent 180 painful days in the front row, subject to gray drops of liquid flying onto my open math book as Mr. Miller leaned over our desk; his dramatic lisp sending a smattering of spit from his wrinkled mouth as he bellowed “Solution Sets Miss Gilbert!” I would immediately look to Matt with hope that we could bond over our unfortunate seating choices, but his gaze was permanently affixed to the legs of the cheerleader to his right whose uniform skirt was conveniently hemmed two sizes too short. After my dire retelling was over and silence echoed from the other end, I would immediately think that Nina’s little brother had taken revenge against our marathon phone conversations, severing our connection with his camouflage print Crayola scissors. But within seconds, a loud gasp for air would resonate through the receiver, assuring me that Nina was just in a fit of laughter.

 

“I’m going to miss you so much Neens but after all that has happened, I really have to get out of here. I look around and all I see is him.” I sighed as I took in the sight of my supply cabinet, forcing myself to blink away the wispy image of him frozen in time, crouched on the hardwood floor of my office, a sharpie perched behind his ear as he helped me label each bottle of hair color.  I don’t know whose idea it was to coin the phrase, ‘You have to forgive to forget, and forget, to feel again,’ but I’d like to contact them for further elaboration and detailed advice on exactly just how to do that. Because here I am, one year post devastating break up and I can’t even use the bathroom without thinking about my ex-fiancé. I used to do the most gazing at my engagement ring while I peed. Now, the minute I sit down on a toilet, my eyes automatically shoot to my empty ring finger like a Pavlov’s Dog Experiment gone wrong. And while I’m painfully aware that I will still have to urinate while in London, I’m hoping that the drastic change in bathroom scenery will break my operant conditioning. Soon I hope to be able to sit on any toilet in complete and total mental bliss.

 

Nina shook her head in disappointment. “It’s been a year Luce, I think it’s safe to call him something other than a pronoun.”

 

“Gavin.” I bellowed dramatically as I widened my eyes at her. She nodded with satisfaction. “After all that’s happened with him, I owe it to myself to keep the one promise I made in the bleak days after he left.” I absent mindedly touched my left hand ring finger before snatching it away quickly. “It’s just time for me to do something I want to do for once, without having to think of all the grave consequences it’ll have on my relationship. Besides, you know I’ve dreamed of going to London since I was a little girl.” I stopped myself before rehashing my theory that I lived a past life in London as a nanny who had a scandalous affair with a married British man, and then died a victim of the Plague. For some strange reason, my friends refuse to entertain the idea that my past life theory not only explains my unconditional love for all things British and my strange attraction to Jude Law but also sheds light on the reasons for my crippling fear of vomiting.  If a mastermind scientist comes forward in years to come with shocking evidence that each human being carried with them past lives, I will rejoice for the mere fact that I can finally tell my friends, “I told you so!”

 

Nina sighed. “I get all of that, I really do. And I’m trying to be a supportive friend but I just can’t help but feel like you expect this permanent change to somehow…”

 

“Fix things?” I finished for her.

 

“Fix things, yes. And I can’t shake the feeling that this is your last attempt to show him you’re really moving on this time.”

 

I have to agree with her that my plane ticket purchase coincides suspiciously with Gavin’s recent engagement to the woman he left me for.

“I just hope you’re not uprooting your whole life just to get him to break off his relationship and come back to you.” Nina finished as she handed me back my print out.  

 

I felt my inner confidence balloon deflate. That’s the wretched thing about having a friend who knows way too much about the inner workings of your mind; they always point out the one thought you’re desperately trying to avoid having. So instead of owning up and confessing my true, bona fide intentions, I did what every twenty something, strong willed and stubborn minded girl does when faced with pointed uncertainty and self doubt - lie and hope you do a damn good job faking it.

 

“It has nothing to do with Gavin.” I raised my eyebrows and sat up in my chair confidently for added effect. “Honestly, I just want to start over, change paces and focus on me. That’s all this is, Neens - a change in location that will only benefit my future in the best kind of way. No hidden agenda necessary.”

 

Nina eyed me skeptically before she was called away to the front desk. I sighed. I shouldn’t have added that last part. I turned back to my desk and drew a large frown on the face of my stick figure, adding an exaggerated loop for a tongue. The pen dot eyes looked back at me, mocking me with an inky stare as if he knew my true intentions. I flipped my appointment book over, hiding his know-it-all stick face and leaned back in my chair. Of course I want to go to London for all aforesaid reasons. But if I’m being honest with myself and with Nina (and my sardonic stick man), I am secretly fantasizing about Gavin running dramatically down the airport walkways while yelling my name passionately and dropping to his knees in tears, all while professing his undying love for me. So in reality, I guess I didn’t actually lie to Nina. I don’t have a hidden agenda. I have a blatantly obvious one.

Reviews

[Cara Rosalie]

Danielle,

This was such a great read! In no way, shape or form, are you a sh*t writer. You are a wonderful writer, with a penchant for satiating my appetite with rich descriptiveness. Repeatedly, I was blown away by the intelligent choices you made. If I was only allowed to pick one thing, I would say that is your strong point – though, you have more than just one strong point. I am green with envy at your ability to transfer me into the most intricate of moments! While I read, I kept a log of things I loved and wanted to comment further on, so I will refrain from boasting of all your stupendous talents here :)

Your writing style is phenomenal. Most importantly, I found it easy to follow. You weren’t all over the place. You handled one section at a time, at a comfortable pace, resisting the urge to spew out everything single detail at once.

Call it personal taste, but I think opening a scene with your main character in a awkward, uncomfortable, or agitated frame of mind allows the reader to get a very real look at who they are at the core. It’s incredibly mundane to read a list of attributes and pet peeves. I have blue eyes. I like to sleep with my socks on. Overgrown cuticles bother me. Etc… You are like a painter and her brush, sweeping and layering information gently and without burdening the reader. In just a short paragraph, I felt as if I knew something about Lucy’s wit, character and emotional state.

The printer scene was great. The metaphors made me drool with envy once again. One of my MOST favorite techniques to implement in my writing is animating inanimate objects. You do this well. “ I eyeballed the machine that held my fate in its greedy, archaic grasps. Its lazy mechanics stretching its lifeless arms into action.”

You flawlessly unveiled information about Lucy without telling me anything. I learned she was shy, controlling, has family issues, comes from a small town, recently un-engaged, all inadvertently from a pertinent scene. It takes serious skill to be able to do this!

“Maybe I should purchase a label making machine.” I laughed out loud.

“She joked as her shoulders shot up towards her ears, shaking in silent laughter.” Massive relatability factor here. I have a friend who laughs like this! It’s hilarious to watch this happen, I never tire of the strange phenomenon.

The flashback to discuss Lucy and Nina’s friendship was perfect. I didn’t feel jarred at all and really had a good sense of who they were as friends.

“I remember looking shyly at her, my blue eyes hidden behind the comforting denim of my mother’s jeans.” Ah, you’re a master at imagery. Immediately I could see this little girl, arms wrapped around her mother’s legs, one eye peeking around her thigh. So good!

“It was there that our friendship formed over our shared love for Lisa Frank stickers, Joey McIntyre, and our hope to expand our ever growing Pog collections.” I’m completely dating myself here, but oh well. I was obsessed with Lisa Frank stickers and I maybe…um…might have…owned a NKOTB t-shirt or two…

I’m sure Jim has already mentioned this to you. You use many had (s) and that (s) that are unnecessary. When he pointed it out to me, I couldn’t believe how often I used the familiar cushion words. Thought I would double check, as it has improved the fluidity of my writing immensely to delete these little buggers.

“I used to do the most gazing at my engagement ring while I peed.” Again, I laughed out loud.

“absent mindedly” I think this is one word, no?

“I have to agree with her that my plane ticket purchase coincides suspiciously with Gavin’s recent engagement to the woman he left me for.” My heart kerplunked a little. What woman doesn’t know the feeling of being left for what feels like the smarter, thinner, better looking version of themselves.

“I felt my inner confidence balloon deflate.” Great visual.

“I don’t have a hidden agenda. I have a blatantly obvious one.” This sounds horribly narcissistic, however, I see many similarities in our writing and subsequently found so many things I enjoy. This “dry, tad sarcastic, punch” at the end of your chapter, is a tool I love utilizing. Nothing packs a punch like being pithy. I try and end most of my pivotal scenes with this sort of a leader.

If I could suggest one thing, it would be to provide me a clear picture of Lucy. I know she has blue eyes, but I know little else. I'm not sure if anyone else does this, but whenever I am reading a book, I match the characteristics given to an actress or actor so I can really SEE the character in the book. I enjoy having this right away to cement the bond. :)

I loved this, Danielle. I will absolutely continue to read!

[0_o Abbie]

I love this it's really cute! I love the humor in it!

[Eric]

This is great. It has just the right amount of description, as well as just the right amount of wit. It's a great beginning to a story. I haven't yet read the rest, but I'm about to.

[Kelley]

This was a great way to start off a story.