Too Close for Comfort • jdb ( #wattys2016 )

(1) Girlfriends and Guitars

(1) Girlfriends and Guitars

Justin

I hate New York. I've only been here for a little over an hour, and I already hate it. It's hot here. And not like the kind of hot it is in Miami or California.

New York heat in the late of August is made up of 98% humidity so it feels hotter than any other place you've ever been. I can't imagine how I ever used to live in a place like this.

The air just reeks of feces and marijuana. It's disgusting. Especially for a recovering addict like me. Every time I get a whiff of my surroundings, I instantly wanna crawl up into a hole and die.

A little dramatic, I know.

I walk out of the terminal and instantly see my dad's driver, Ivan, waiting for me with a sign that said "Mr.Bieber"

Same old dad. Couldn't come pick me up himself, so he always sent the driver. I think I've become better aquatinted with Ivan than I did my own father the past 20 years.

I lug my suitcase along the lane and behind the security rope to where everyone was standing, waiting for their loved ones to arrive.

"Hello, Ivan." I greet almost robotically.

"Hello Mr.Bieber, it's been quite a long time." He responds with his thick British accent.

It really has been. The last time I was in New York was about 10 years ago, the day of my dad and Luisa's wedding. After that I went to live with my mom in California and well, the rest is history.

"I know." I retort. Ivan looks like he's aged about 50 years. His once red hair is now whiter than my complexion, and his face drooped down like an old dog's did. 

"Well, you've become quite a handsome young man." He speaks taking my suitcase from my hand.

"Oh Ivan, don't make me blush." I crack making him chuckle heartily.

"Still the same sense of humor, Mr. Bieber." He points out, dragging the suitcase on the ground behind him as he opens the door for me.

"Always." I say back.

The drive home is silent, making me believe that dad had probably coached Ivan not to ask me about my time away, knowing it would make me uncomfortable.

When we get to my father's apartment building, Ivan steps out and offers to open the door for me, to which I shake my head and open it myself. The building is kind of smaller than I remember, but than again everything seems bigger to you when you're just a kid.

We enter the lobby, which resembles that of a luxury hotel. It's large and wide, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and light music playing from the speakers.

Typical Upper East Side residential.

Ivan tells me that while he brings my stuff downstairs, I should go to the front desk, because my father has a "surprise" for me there.

The last time my dad had any kind of 'surprise' for me, him and my mom had gotten a divorce.

So excuse me if I'm kind of worried about what this 'surprise' is.

I walk over to the front desk as I was told and ask the guy behind it if there was something waiting for me. He asks me my name and when I tell him, he nods and goes to the back room.

There better not be a new wife waiting back there. I actually like Luisa.

When he finally walks out, he's holding a large case in his hand, seeming to look like a guitar case. He places it flatly on the front desk and waves his hands over it in a sort of "Ta Da" motion. I examine it for a second.