Crashing Into Blue

Epilogue

Winter isn't as glamorous as all the movies make it out to be. In the movies, everyone is always wearing cute little peacoats that are loosely buttoned and a scarf thrown whimsically around their shoulders. They have perfect hair because they never wear hats, and somehow the snow just never seems to land on them.

In reality, winter is a lot harsher and unforgiving. I quickly realized that I was woefully unprepared for the true winter experience once the temperature started dropping and my first Atlantic winter was peeping its head around the corner. Soon enough, I was dragging my guitar case through inches of snow while bobbling around like a clueless snowman in my parka. But even with static electricity being my worst enemy and taxis throwing up slush onto the sidewalk which always seems to land on innocent pedestrians, it couldn't curb my love for my new home.

The first few weeks were a major adjustment. Everything was too loud, too close together, and too busy. You didn't have an inch of space to walk on the sidewalk, taxis never stopped honking their horns, and it never got truly dark. That was the strangest thing at first. I remember my first night I laid awake in my dorm room for hours, watching the lights play over my popcorn ceiling. But soon enough, with the help of my awesome roommate Brooke (who's a cellist), the city started to become my home away from home.

Indigo and I decided not to be roommates; we didn't want everyone to think of us as a unit. We wanted to be able to branch out a little and explore for ourselves. But of course, we couldn't go cold turkey. We agreed on living in the same residence, that way a piece of home was never far from reach (and so our twinstincts remained intact). Indigo's roommate was an aspiring actress names Julie, prone to the dramatics, and I think they drove each other a little crazy, but I liked Julie; she didn't shy away from Indigo's confrontational and mildly in-your-face-nature. That small southern belle definitely could hold her own.

As the semester began and I was pushed to my limits, my bleeding fingertips as proof, I had my moments where I was pulled under by feelings so strong of missing home. I would think about our mom, who was completely blissed out in an artists' paradise after the success of her gallery show. The gallery ended up keeping First Breath as a part of their permanent collection; people just couldn't get enough of it from a one night only viewing. The word around town is that it's becoming the stuff of legends, everyone coming up with their own story for the girl in white. Then there's Bingo, who's enrolled in a community college right near the ocean, where he can surf between his classes. I can just picture him dropping into his seat, moments before a lecture begins, salt water dripping from his hair onto his crewneck t-shirt and grains of sand peppering his skin.

In those fleeting manic seconds, I knew exactly who I wanted to talk to; he was only a subway ride away, a push of a button and I could hear his voice. But, I never did. At first, it was so hard to not reach out. He was like a phantom limb, creating a sense of yearning I could barely ignore. There were so many things I wanted to share with him. I wanted to tell him about my wildly passionate professors, how I found a new love in ramen, and how I thought it was crazy that Indigo and Bingo were actually committing to a cross-country relationship. But I couldn't. As the weeks passed and I melted into my new landscape, it got easier to ignore that feeling, until one day, I didn't feel it anymore. Or at least, that's what I let myself believe.

"So, are you going to text Josh back?" Indigo asks me while lying flat on my roommate's bed. Brooke already left for the Christmas break, heading home to her family in Chicago. I think about Josh; he plays the bass, has dark black hair and almond eyes. He makes me laugh, has a sweet smile, and crazy soft skin. But there's just something missing.