Harrison Avenue // H.S.

Harry

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Matt's voice rings in my ear over the phone as I wait for my guitar case to make an appearance on the rolling carousel at baggage claim. I didn't want to check it to begin with, but unfortunately I couldn't argue it considering it doesn't fit in the overhead compartment.

He does have a point. I'll give him that much. If you would have told me only last month that I'd be standing in JFK airport preparing to conquer the snow covered streets of New York City to find a girl who ran away from me when I told her I loved her, breaking my heart to the point where I left the country, I would have thought you were telling me some cruel, cruel joke. But this isn't a joke and maybe it isn't a good idea either, but there's no turning back now.

I didn't give myself much time to think this through. After my mum handed me a stack of mostly unopened envelopes with her name in the corner, apologizing profusely for meddling with my life, I stayed up all night reading the letters over and over again. Then I wrote one back, my heart thumping the entire time and sent it in the post the same day. But as soon as I started to write the letter I knew it wasn't quick enough, or enough in any way to make up for these last few torturous months. So I also bought a one-way ticket to New York City with plans of a grand romantic gesture that is probably too good to actually happen the way I'm envisioning it.

My one-way ticket here is a sign of exactly how I feel about this though. I can't half-ass this... if I'm going to do it, I might as well do it. And while my single bag with a handful of clothes and the guitar case I'm currently waiting on isn't suggesting anything of a permanently life changing moment, if all goes as planned I won't be leaving New York anytime soon.

"Harry?" I hear Matt's voice again when he finally grows impatient with my lack of response. He was already pretty annoyed with me for calling him at this time anyway. It's early morning in New York and it's even earlier in California, but Matt still answered my phone call still half asleep after the third ring. "You still there, man?"

"Yeah," I nod, moving the phone to my other ear. "Sorry... it's um, quite busy in here right now."

He doesn't say anything when I finish saying this, clearly waiting for me to answer his initial question. Am I sure this is a good idea?

"Err," I try to think of a way to answer him. This is difficult because I'm not even sure of the answer. "Don't know really, if this is a good idea. But I know I can't sit around waiting for something to happen now that I know... now that I know she really does love me. Matt, I'm still head over heels for this girl and for some reason this feels right. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing... but now that I'm standing here it feels right."

"Okay," he sighs out, sounding somewhat relieved but not fully convinced. "Yeah... you're probably the one who knows her best, honestly. I'm just a little worried about you-,"

"You think I'm mental for putting myself in this situation again, huh?" I interrupt him before he can finish his awkward stumble of words to say that he cares about me. "You're worried about what's going to happen if this doesn't go well."

"Yes," he admits and I notice my guitar next to a line of luggage. I snake my way through a few people to grab it as Matt continues to express his concerns. "I don't doubt that she loves you... the only thing I've ever seen her look at with a fraction of the admiration in her eyes when she looked at you is her art and maybe Ethan. But Harry, this is Elle we're talking about. You're probably going to scare the shit out of her when you randomly appear in New York."

I am absolutely going to scare the shit out of her. There's no way I can convince myself otherwise, especially considering we haven't had any kind of communication in the last three months, apart from our separate phone calls to Matt when we were worried about each other. But I'm hoping the other feelings will outweigh her tendency to be scared of this sort of thing.