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September , 1995

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September , 1995.

Sure, I had been looking forward to coming back to New York City— It had been at least six years since I was able to enjoy the beaming heart and soul that is Manhattan; the smells of the exhaust from the many cars that filled the streets, or the lovely lights and thumping music that radiated off the intricate buildings of Times Square. My closest friend, Keisha, was surely full of excitement, probably even more so than I, to finally grab onto an apartment offer in the Washington Heights area. And of course, asked me to join in being her roommate, for as long as we were both able to afford living there.

My name? Jamilyn Mitchell, but everyone called me Jamie. I was now 25 years old at the time of returning to the city, but when I lived there before, I was just turning 18. The memories flooded back of my days in college, the time spent in the arts program at Columbia University. But those weren't very long memories (most of them I tried to flush away if I could) as I dropped out a year into my course of study. Not because of failure from grades, no, but because I wanted to focus on helping support my family financially.

Originally I was from the Middletown area, living with my younger brother, Eric, and mother, Shannon. We never knew our dad, so he clearly wasn't there to help support us, and I felt it was better if I gave up going into longer schooling, especially since my brother was still in high school at that time. Things were different now though. Eric was 23 and made more than enough money to help mom. So, with a lot of persistence, Keisha was finally able to drag me along with her in the travels back to NYC. If I hadn't, I definitely wouldn't have heard the end of it. She had always wanted to make a move like this since we were younger. But I was glad to help her cross off at least one thing on her crazy bucket list.

"Girl, if you don't hurry up with those boxes," she had said to me, with a hint of a teasing expression on her face, holding a box of her own items against her chest. We were on our way inside of our new apartment building, standing at the trunk of her 1990 silver Nissan Sentra.  Even though I wasn't exactly on the way just yet, considering the struggle I had lifting up my own box— It was heavy, I promise, I wasn't that much of a wimp.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I sang, rolling my eyes in a playful manner, "But it would be nice if you could at least lend me a hand, 'Ms. I Can Carry Two Boxes At Once.'"

"You're being dramatic. Maybe our first outing will be going to gym."

I blew a short, breathy laugh at her suggestion. It was funny to me how out of all the places in the area, our first stop would be somewhere we could've went to back at home. At that moment, I was sure the first place I would have gone was the new job I was supposed to be starting at. It seemed like it would be exciting enough— Well as exciting as pouring coffee and waiting on people could be. But I'd heard the money was nice there, as it was always packed with people. Plus the guy I had the interview with weeks prior seemed nice enough too... Although, his hair almost blinded me. I'd never seen hair that bright on anyone before.

remembering his name ☾ c. bing Место, где живут истории. Откройте их для себя