The heavy white door slowly sank into its folded hinges as a young teenage girl leaned against it, locking it behind her. She stood at the very end of an L-shaped hallway, a closet door facing her like she was in some duel. After two seconds of just leaning against the door, the girl took a deep breath and pushed herself in the direction of her room.
"Natoya? Is that you?"
The first thing she felt was her feet dragging against the light brown laminate flooring.
"Yes, ma''am..." she replied, dropping her duffle bag right beside the inside of her door. She picked her shoe up, lifting it to her hip as she began to untie her laces to get ready to unwind after such a long day of traveling.
"Natoya Los, you will put that duffle bag in the closet immediately. I am well aware that you''ve returned from your father''s, but you''d best understand that his house rules and mine are far from similar." Mrs. D''Angelo''s words poked her like a stick as they brought her back four years into the past. She took a deep breath to compose herself, then set her half-tied shoe on the ground.
"Mom, I just got back." Natoya sighed and leaned down to pick up her bag. Suddenly, it felt like thousands of tiny ants were crawling through her muscles, forcing them to rebel against her, as if she were telling them recess was over. She quickly stood back up, failing to grab the handles of her duffle bag as she did. "...I''ll pick it up in a second," she exhaled.
Her mother didn''t look too happy about that. In fact, she looked quite angry. Natoya closed her eyes, and all she could hear was her energy being directed into the pan of sizzling onions as they popped and hissed.
"Natoya Los, I don''t have the patience for games at the moment. You will promptly pick up that bag and place it precisely where it belongs." Her mother spoke in a sharp tone. When Natoya looked back over to her, it almost felt like the knives she was using to cut that same onion were now being directed at her.
"Just give me one second." Natoya thought she sounded like this, but she must have said something incredibly vulgar toward her mother because not two seconds later, she exploded into a hissy fit about disrespect and how she was always so kind to her dad but so rude and hateful toward her.
"Dad doesn''t yell at me two seconds after I enter the door," Natoya cried, her voice raising and lowering. She was trying her very hardest not to blow up on her mother. She knew that it wouldn''t lead to anything, but her entire body had been screaming at her for the past 10 hours, and now so was her mother.
"That''s it! Go to your room and think about what you''ve done!"
"I''ll go back to my room, alright," Natoya said, gritting her teeth as she walked back to her bedroom. She couldn''t help but feel incredibly annoyed at how she was already being targeted, although she had just gotten back home.
"What was that?!"
"As you wish, Your Majesty ~" Natoya shot back at her, doing a curtsy bow as she turned around to look at her. She could see her face growing red with anger, but she didn''t care. A tiny part of her felt like she was acting like some spoiled kid. Maybe hanging out at her dad''s place for the past week did make her more of a brat. Or perhaps it was just the sudden change from being able to chill, to suddenly being punished just for putting a bag in the wrong place.
"You''re grounded, young lady!"
Natoya rolled her eyes at her mother''s threat. It wasn''t as if she would let her go outside anyway. New York City was too scary and dangerous for a "little girl" like her. Her dad thought differently. He thought the only way she''d grow into a strong, brave woman was to let her roam around on her own. He thought she was old enough, and he figured the self-defense classes he had her take during the summer would be enough. And she agreed. If she hadn''t had to come back ''home'' today, she would be watching some street fight in an abandoned parking lot.
But she wasn''t at her dad''s house; instead, she was walking into her bedroom, hearing her mother shout at her, and her anger began to slowly grow more and more as she could hear her footsteps growing closer to her.
"If you liked it with your dad so much, why don''t you just stay with him!" Her mother''s threat was empty. She always pulled that card with any argument they had. Her voice quavered as she shouted; it echoed through the apartment, and it felt almost as if the floor trembled out of fear like the first time Natoya, herself, heard those words. But today, four and a half years later, she stood unfazed.
"You know what?" Natoya said tremulously, finally losing her composure.
"What?" Mrs. Los scowled back at her. Natoya reached down and grabbed her duffle bag and a little black school bag that was hanging from her door handle. She was surprised her mother hadn''t thrown it out after she left during winter break. Her mother knew this bag as "the drama queen bag." It had all the stuff she needed when she ran away: non-perishable snacks, bottled water, hygiene items, a light blanket, and most importantly—money.
"Oh, sure. Run away!" She screamed as she shoved past her door, throwing the school bag over her shoulder and gripping her duffle bag.
"I will! And I''m never coming back!" she shouted at her, her voice quivering as she did. She stormed out of the bedroom and began heading for the stairs, feeling too angry to wait five seconds in an elevator.
Her feet stomped down on the metal, and her school bag bounced up and down, switching between being too high for her shoulders and too low for her back until she finally reached the first floor. She slammed the metal door that separated New York City from the apartment complex her mother lived in and began walking down the street, filled with anger, frustration, and just outright tiredness. Normally, she''d just stop by a friend''s house, stay the night there, and return in the morning. If she was more angry at her than usual, she''d go as far as to stay there for the weekend, but this time was different. This time she was so stuck up with her attitude that she wanted to do something different, something she could have never expected.
She wracked her brain for an idea, dancing around the concept of going back to her dad. But she didn''t even know if she had the funds for that. From what she understood, plane tickets were well in the hundreds—and that wasn''t even including bus tickets. She continued walking down the street, spotting a tiny gas station just on the other side of the road. She might not have enough money, but there was only one way to find out.
She entered the gas station, pushed open the door, and walked straight to the restroom. There, she pushed the stall door open and locked it behind her. She dropped her duffle bag on the top of the toilet bowl and unzipped the first pocket in her school backpack. Inside was a tiny stuffed animal her dad had given her when he and her mother first got divorced. It was coated with long, thick fur wrapped all around its exterior, and on its back was a tiny, hidden zipper. She pulled open the zipper, revealing a thick wad of cash—the money she had been saving up ever since she was 11 1/2 years old.
She began to count how much money she had. $25. $50. $100. $250. $257 and some spare change, a ton of quarters. The money was composed of everything she had been selling to friends and pawn shops, the gifts she didn''t want, or the toys her mother told her to throw away. The paintings she made or the bets against boys who thought beating a girl in physical activity would be an easy $5. All hidden within the tiny stuffed animal her dad gifted her before he left.
Her mind was racing, and her thoughts came in bundles, being unpackaged like a child who was anxious to see what they got for Christmas. It was still freezing cold, being the middle of winter. She looked down at her watch and saw the time—it was almost 5:00 p.m. She knew the streets were going to be busy with people walking to and from work or visiting family. She stared at the cash for a moment, considering the idea of actually listening to her mother and visiting her dad again. He always said if she ever needed a place to stay, he''d let her for as long as he legally could—but how long would that be? Did it even matter?
She pulled out her phone and quickly opened Google. "NYC to LA flights." A menu popped up, and she saw a variety of flights ranging from $150 to $300. The only thing that mattered was whether or not she could make it in time. She opened the cheapest one and looked it up online. The only issue that it had was baggage. She looked up to see what the extra fee would be, then sighed a breath of relief as she read that personal items were free. That breath of relief was quickly sucked back into her soul as she noticed that carry-ons were $50. It didn''t matter, as long as it was less than $250, she would be fine.
She shoved the money back into the stuffed animal and zipped it back up, covering the zipper once more with the fur. She felt a bit of resistance as the zipper got caught here and there. Nevertheless, she shoved the small toy back into her school backpack and threw it over her shoulder. She bent down and grabbed the duffle bag, her heart racing as she began to realize what she was about to do.
She opened the stall door with the words "H + G FOREVER" carved on it and shut it behind her, leaving them forever staring at the brown tile wall. She began walking through the candy aisle, finding a small brown pouch of chocolate candy. She shook her head and just walked out of the gas station, almost feeling guilty about not buying anything and wasting the cashier''s time.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
As she walked out of the gas station, she was hit with the sudden winds, which almost convinced her to turn around right then and there. Nevertheless, she looked back at her phone to find directions to the airport.
"Newark Liberty International Airport..." she breathed out, typing in the address while she tried to remember it from the website. It would be an hour bus ride from where she was standing, and it would get her there at 5:53—but it would leave at 5:20. It was about to be 5:06.
She quickly began speed-walking from the gas station to Pennsylvania Station, where she boarded the 5:20 p.m. bus and stopped at New Ark Airport Railroad Station. She almost didn''t want to leave the warmth that the bus offered, but she was pushed out as several others didn''t have the same hesitation. It seemed like the majority of people who got off at that station were all also heading to the airport. She got onto her last train, which was a brisk drive to the airport.
After she had climbed out of the bus, she followed a large group of people into the airport until they all split ways, and she was left standing next to a Dunkin'' Donuts Express. She made eye contact with the worker and quickly looked away, to a nearby escalator that would lead to the next floor.Think of a story... Okay...she thought, taking a deep breath before turning back to the cashier who had been finishing someone''s order.
"...Excuse me..." she spoke. At first, her voice was a small, quiet whisper, but she quickly raised it to grab her attention. "My mom and dad were supposed to buy a ticket, and... They both got too busy and forgot about it... I really need to get on board a plane, and I don''t know where to buy a ticket..."
"Oh, sweetie. Rolland? Rolland, could you come here for a second?" Natoya looked over and took a look at some blond-haired teenager who looked like retail service had sucked the soul out of him. His eyes were lying on top of eye bags, and his hair looked like a 2017 Californian girls'' magazine.
Rolland proceeded to explain to her how she was only going to be able to pay for tickets online, through a credit card. She stared at him wide-eyed. How didn''t she already think of this? She could feel a great sense of fear enter her lungs.Do they even believe her story?
"Well..." Natoya gulped and took a deep breath, then looked back at the two. "Is there... Anything I can do...?" she asked, feeling herself beginning to shake. Rolland looked at the cashier, who looked back sympathetically.
"I really, really need to get back," she practically whispered, almost forgetting that she was in the middle of an act. "I can''t miss school again, my dad will kill me!" she whispered in a partial shout.
Rolland and the cashier looked at each other for a long moment before Rolland took a long, deep breath. "Can you cover me for a minute?" he asked. The cashier nodded, and Rolland walked behind the counter toward her.
"I''ll take you to the Ticket Counter. We''ll see if we can get you a flight," he said softly, putting his hand on her shoulder. She nodded briskly and quickly began to follow him through the airport. Her backpack felt like bricks weighing down her shoulders, and her arms were getting tired of holding her duffle bag all day. She followed closely behind Rolland until they approached a large center with receptionists standing behind a desk.
Rolland walked up to them, still dressed in his uniform. The two conversed for a minute or two before Rolland pulled out his wallet and flashed his ID to the receptionist. She turned to her computer, and she could hear the sounds of clattering against keys on a keyboard. Rolland looked at her and opened the palm of his hand, hiding it from the receptionist. She only noticed this seconds later, trying to figure out what he meant.
Finally, she realized and dropped her school bag. He looked down at her with a confused look as she pulled out the tiny stuffed animal and pulled down the zipper on its back. She then took out the wad of cash and slid it into his hand. He nodded his head, and she closed the zipper, shoved her stuffed animal into her backpack, and stood back up.
"Your flight will be at 6:50 p.m. in..." The receptionist broke eye contact with Rolland and turned to her computer screen. "One hour." Rolland nodded and then took her back to the restaurant where he worked. After they left the sight of the receptionist, Rolland gave her the change for the transaction.
"Thank you so much," she said to him as a breath of relief washed over her.
"Don''t worry about it," Rolland replied. He looked down at her with almost pity. "I''ll have to walk you to the airplane since it has your name on it, but after that, you''re on your own. Have you done this sort of thing before?"
"Yeah..." she replied, thinking back to the last time she had traveled from New York City to Los Angeles. She knew everything that she was going to have to do. The only thing that was different this time was that it was a different airport than what she was used to, and this time, she''d have to take a bus to her dad''s apartment. "My mom and dad got divorced four years ago. I''ve just never actually bought the ticket on my own yet."
"Well, if you want, you can hang out with me and Carol until the plane arrives." She squinted at the name Carol; perhaps she was the original cashier she had been talking to? They continued walking, eventually growing closer to his workplace. Her eyes widened at how many people were surrounding the counter, and Rolland quickly sped up into a jog to help the first cashier—Carol.
She watched as Rolland and Carol tackled the wave of people they were trying to serve. She leaned against a wall, watching the mob of people all standing in a single-file line, being organized by temporary fences, which helped a lot with crowd control. Every now and then, she''d pull out her phone and check her messages. She didn''t expect anything from her mother. Her last message was two weeks ago when she left for her dad''s house. Her dad''s last message was "Did you get home safe?" to which she replied, "Yes! Thank you, dad!"
6:10, the crowd grew heavier with every minute. At 6:20, there was an announcement for an airplane that was about to take off. At 6:30, several people had left, and the hallway they stood in was practically empty.
At 6:40, Carol walked over and handed her a chocolate donut and a small drink. "Have a safe trip, sweetie," she said, brushing her hair out of her face.
"Thank you!" she said, smiling as a bit of her heart hurt. She felt herself having grown attached to this nice lady, and now she was going to have to leave, probably never to see her again.
At 6:45, Rolland walked over and led her through the hallways to the section where her flight would be. She finished her drink and threw her trash away in a nearby trash can before they entered a large tunnel where a lady checked her—technically Rolland''s—ticket and ID. That original sad feeling worsened as she came to the conclusion that this was going to be the last time she would ever see Rolland.
"Good luck, kid. Stay safe." He ruffled her hair and offered her another soft, almost genuine smile.
"Thank you!" she repeated, her voice almost getting choked up. She knew he noticed, but didn''t say anything. It could only make a person wonder: Did he also feel this way? Or was this a regular occurrence?
She grasped the ticket in her hand, searching for the seat she would have to sit in for the next 6 hours. This was it, no turning back now. After four years of saving up money to be able to do this, and now she wasn''t even sure if she would be sent back to her mother''s house or not. She felt a wave of heat crash onto her face as she began to overthink. She had been on a plane several times a year; why was she only now becoming anxious?
The very first time she got on a flight to visit her dad was during Christmas break. It had been a few weeks since her mother and dad finalized their divorce—her mother regularly degraded her for wanting to visit him after he had left them to live on the other side of the world. On top of being scared that she was on a plane to a place she had never been before, she was conflicted about whether or not she even wanted to visit her dad or just stay home. Now, she realized it was the best thing that could''ve ever happened.
The plane began to rapidly shake, and she looked outside the window to see it slowly rolling down a wide concrete road. She could feel the resistance of the wind against the airplane. She could see the airport off in the distance, separating roads from the bright blue and cloudy skies of New York City. It took longer than she expected for the airplane to take off, but when it did, it quickly rose from the ground to a slight degree. She felt gravity almost pulling her stomach to the earth and clutched onto her seat as the airplane began to turn into the sky.
Goodbye New York City, hello seven-hour flight.
09:58 p.m.
The plane flew over a neighborhood in L.A., rows and rows of buildings all neatly organized by roads that converge into larger roads. The airplane was slowly lowering until they reached an area full of concrete and parking lots. She grabbed her school bag from under the seat in front of her and waited for the plane to fully land on the concrete strip.
The plane finally made contact with the ground, a slight jump as it slowed more and more to a halt. She stood up and followed the group of people out of the airplane and into Terminal 5. From there, she briefly walked to LAX-T5-II, where she would board the bus at 10:08 p.m. She could feel herself growing more and more tired, starting to go on autopilot, just following the instructions on her phone, which was slowly running out of battery. The bus reached Union Station FlyAway, and she walked for three minutes until she reached the Metro D-Line. That bus would take her to Pershing Square, where she would get off and breathe in the downtown L.A. air. She sat behind two men who looked like bikers. They spoke in low voices about a street fight happening tomorrow evening. She tuned in to listen to what they were saying.
She got off the bus and looked around. Across the street from her was a Walgreens, and she would continue to head down that direction for another 13 minutes. She memorized the name of the street where her dad''s apartment complex would be, and she quickly realized she knew the area.
She continued walking down the street for 13 minutes until she reached her mental landmark—Brownstone. From here on, she would turn the corner and walk down San Pedro St. And finally, in the middle of the night, she was here.
The building started off as a store, but directly above it was the Tailor Loft''s apartment complex. Brown brick walls and red-framed windows, which you could push out to bring in the polluted air into your industrial-style apartment, almost looked like an unfinished construction site. To the right was a sketchy store that she, herself, never entered. It was boarded up with wood, with the decal "Sale" written on the windows and a little white sign that said, "WE are O P E N."
She pushed the door that would lead her into the apartment complex open and began climbing up the stairs, clutching her school bag and duffle bag. She climbed up the first, second, third, and fourth fleet of stairs until she finally reached the floor her dad lived on. She walked through the long, deserted hallway and finally reached her dad''s unit, knocking on the door.
"I''ll be there in a minute!" she heard his voice call from the other side of the apartment. She wondered what was going through his head. Maybe he was expecting someone? A girl he met at a coffee shop? A repair worker to fix the broken knob on his door? Girl Scout cookies?
He opened the door and stood in confusion, startled as he stared at her, his 14-year-old daughter, who he thought had left his house almost 20 hours ago. Perhaps she was the very last person he was expecting to see at 11:08 PM.