How They Met

     

 The two brunettes have lived in Miami for most of their childhoods. The lighter one, a true “Miamian”, has lived there her whole life- Dolphins fan, Marlins fan, Panthers fan. Miami is her home. The darker brunette, however, was originally a New Yorker. She moved to Miami at age 10 and can still vividly remember the day she did. Miami never felt like home to her, as it did to her best friend. At age nine, when her parents told her they would move just after her tenth birthday that was just around the corner, she didn’t cry or throw a fit as most nine year olds would upon finding out they would have to leave their friends. “That’s okay, Daddy. It’s only twelve years until I graduate college and I can move back here and get a job in fashion” she responded, to her parents’ greatest suprise. 

Upon entering her first day of fourth grade at a small Miami elementary school, she stated her name to the class and continued on to say “I’m from New York. My family just moved to Miami. I like it here because it is cool to live by the beach, but in twelve years I will move back to New York City and work there”. 

At recess, she sat on the far right swing in the corner alone, her new school uniform uncomfortable and unfamiliar. The lighter brunette came up to the swing, “Hey, you’re from New York? I want to move there too! We can be roommates one day!” and introduced herself with a smile. Their friendship started that day and grew from there, stemming from both of them never feeling at home. Their relationship with New York, though not as obsessive at all, could be compared to that of Nadja. They both found New York mysterious, intriguing, and surreal all at the same time. And now, the two of them living in New York together twelve years later, and that is the most surreal of all. 

"Downtown Miami at Night." Photo of . Photos from Florida, United States. N.p., n.d. Web. 14 Oct. 2012. <http://www.etravelphotos.com/photo.php?pid=508>.

Before the Nighttime

They have been in the city for two weeks now. All have moved from beach-side towns along both the coasts of California and Florida. The city is a contrasting image from what they are all used to- fast, bustling, crowded, fast, concrete, oven-like-hot, fast. 

Their train leaves at 9:27 AM. The lighter brunette, lenient as she is, is always late so they have told her that it leaves at 9:15... just to be on the safe side. The darker brunette, a stickler for timeliness, is already in line at Starbucks at Penn Station at 8:53, her ticket purchased and tucked safely into her heavy black leather wallet.

9:10 AM. The early one waits by the ticket booth as the blondes walk in together, coffees in hand and brightly colored towels poking out of their beach bags. They each split up to go to a ticket machine and purchase their $17.25 round trip off-peak ticket to Babylon, where they will get off at Jones Beach. They wait patiently for the last brunette. 

9:23 AM. The three stand by the train furiously texting and typing in her cell phone number to call, “WHERE ARE YOU?!” “I’m almost there, I swear!” they hear, like they have a million times before. They roll their eyes at each other and their phones.

9:26:07 AM. “I’m buying my ticket!”, the voice of the light brunette yells to them at the platform. “Hurry! We’ll leave without you!” they shout back, but they all know that isn’t true. They have been each other’s source of comfort, a sense of home, in this city. The brunettes best friends from Florida, the blondes from California, they all are sharing their first real world experiences together, like buying train tickets, or rather hoping that you can buy the ticket and that your debit card won’t get declined at the train station for lack of funds after going to that East Side bar last night. 

9:27:56 AM. They have found their seats and as the conductor begins to close the doors, the last brunette comes running down the center aisle of the car in her late, mixed up usual fashion. “Thanks for getting me a coffee”, she snarks. They all roll their eyes once again. 

10:16 AM and they can hear muffled sounds of the waves and smell the sunscreen through the loud train rolling into Jones Beach station. As they step off and head onto the beach, they all breathe slower, deeper. It smelled like home and sometimes, even in “the real world”, everyone needs to feel at home. 

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