I have written 12.5 novels. (The thirteenth one is a work in progress). This is the space where I share my stories with the world. There is so much to say in this life, and so little time...



Thursday, May 9, 2013

Rugged Heart

While planning a trip to San Francisco next week, I slipped into the abyss that I so easily slip into these days.

Let's call it "San FraNostalgia."

Ugh! It's impossible NOT to miss that city! I never really stood a chance, to be honest. SF is basically the epicenter of excitement. It taught me so much about myself, others, friendships and the importance of community.

So, in honor of my one true home, I'm posting this short story about life in the city.

San Francisco, you led me to lots of personal growth. I'm definitely coming back, baby...it just might take me a little while...

Love,
Lisa


Rugged Heart

She lifts her bags, one in each hand, and ascends the stairs. Although her arms shake with the weight of the over-sized suitcases, she hardly notices. She's done this before. It's completely normal by now. As natural as the smile she will unveil once she arrives at the airport, in fact.

Coins jingle while sliding into the meter. "Money box," she has come to call it. When friends visit from other cities, she warns them that the money box on the bus is temperamental. "Be careful with the money box," she always says. "It works about half the time. Put in each quarter slowly." She rarely takes her own advice, though.

She's good at giving it, but not so good at obeying it.

With a sigh, she grabs a seat in the middle of the bus. Then she adjusts her bags so they don't block the aisle. A man with black hair and wire-rimmed glasses glances at her. She finds herself thinking that he should've been at the party on Friday. After all, she looked much more better that night; the flight attendant uniform currently sticking to her rain-soaked skin isn't flattering. And she didn't straighten her hair this morning.

Doesn't matter, she muses as the bus enters the Mission. I'm turning over a new leaf, anyway. Those days are over.

Friday night is nothing but a memory. It's indicative of the person she was, but not the person she will be. Of that, she is certain.

Her headphones echo the lyrics of her current favorite song, which is subject to change in a week or so. You're my headstart, you're my rugged heart, you're the pulse that I've always needed...

A flood of people enter through the double doors. Suddenly, everyone is crammed inside the vehicle. Elbows brush against elbows, and someone's leg presses into her side. She moves an inch, but it's a futile effort; contact can't be avoided. She is fine with this. Once upon a time, she was bothered by a stranger's touch. Now she craves it.

The bus stops on the corner of Mission and 16th, with the BART station on the right and the best Mexican food in California directly ahead. She hauls her suitcases down the stairs, noting that she was just in this spot a week ago. The breaks are beginning to feel shorter and shorter. However much time she spends at home, it's never enough. She's never quite ready to return to the vagabond life.

The doors fly open. She maneuvers toward the exit, reaching it just in time.

Boots click against pavement as she hurries toward the BART station. Mental calculations put her at SFO at nine o'clock sharp. She will be at the gate shortly thereafter, giving her ten extra minutes to stroll through the terminal and look at all the travelers.

It's her favorite part of the job. Always has been. She's a daydreamer at heart, which explains most of the horrible mistakes she has made lately. Idealism led to the belief that she could change reality with a single glance. She'd hoped to defy gravity with simply a grin.

She didn't even come close.

"Thank God for second chances," she thinks as she waits for the SFO/Milbrae train.