Colors Between Us

The Meet Up

The aesthetic of New York is something that I haven't gotten used to yet. I know, I know, "But Lia, isn't it just a city full of tourists and locals that make fun of the tourists?" Well yeah, but there is much more to it. When you see pictures of New York on Pinterest there is a reason why people dream to travel to somewhere so local instead of saving up to go to a foreign location like Paris, London, or Italy. As soon as you enter the busy roads and covered sidewalks of this city, your perspective of life changes. You are a stranger in a city of millions of people with a dream. A dream to be something bigger, like the people you see on the billboards scattered around Times Square. I won't lie to you; I am a victim of falling into the "New York dream" mentality. When I sat down at an indie café where plants and inspirational quotes on walls were always in sight, I decided that my life would consist of mimosas at brunch with friends and late-night wine with friends on a couch in an unaffordable apartment. I am an introvert who thinks that sleeping in until noon regularly is ideal, make that make sense.

Today New York is living up to its high standards. Honking cars and taxis cover the streets while people who are all simultaneously in a rush cover the sidewalks. Even though it's almost midnight the roads are packed full. But the one thing that ties the aesthetic all together is the lights that illuminate the streets of the city, leaving a spotty walkway for anyone out this late. Before calling a taxi, I make sure to wave at the old lady that gave me a free iced tea when I got lost on the way to my hotel after a late-night bar visit. She smiles in my direction and walks back into the quaint bodega she runs.

A bright yellow taxi heads up the street next to me, so I shoot my hand up in the air and wave at the driver. The car pulls into a parking spot and the driver steps out to grab my bag. I open the taxi door and step inside. The taxis reeks of what smells like a mix of old takeout and... piss? Instead of putting my canvas bag to the side of me, I put it on my lap to avoid any extra contact I can make with the car.

The driver's door shuts, and an older man sits down. "Where to?" he asks.

'"The Coffee Nook" near Union Square." I respond. I know this isn't my actual destination but the only name I remember from yesterday was the name of a coffee shop that was miraculously open after the show.

The meter lights up and we begin heading toward the venue. As we drive down the busy streets, it hits me that this is going to be the last time I can enjoy the privacy of being alone until the tour is over. There will be times when I can be alone, but it's not the same as the beauty that lies with loneliness here. I'm not meaning to romanticize being alone, but here it's not as dreadful as it was when I was home. Being alone in Arizona meant you had no one who wanted to hang out with you, but here you're seen as any other person walking along the narrow sidewalks.

I look out the taxi window and the buildings become slightly familiar. I notice the small shops that fans stood outside of, waiting to see the band. We approach the coffee shop and I hand the taxi driver the money due on the meter through the plastic screen dividing us. I open the car door and grab my luggage from the back of the trunk. From where I am on the street, I notice something in front of the venue. I begin walking closer to the commotion that lights up the area. Wait. Is that... Paparazzi? What reporter would be out searching for a scandal this late at night? Unless something else happened with the band. Specifically involving Jameson.

The tour bus waits in an alley to the right of the venue, giving me room to wait for the band and be nosey at the same time. I peek my head out from behind the wall and I spot a black Mercedes. There must be someone important inside due to the crowd around the lonesome car. All of a sudden a woman steps out of the car. She's dressed head to toe in black, but not just plain black clothing, her body is hugged with black skinny jeans and a matching corset top. She looks expensive and familiar now that I think about it. Her face reminds me of someone I've seen on Instagram. Oh my god. It's Jameson's ex, Milania Johnson.