Pillars

Chapter 9: Room To Breathe (Lorin)

I felt invisible in the big city, and this relaxed me. When mom told me about her diagnosis, I wanted to stay home, but she wouldn't let me. 

"Are you sure?" I asked several times before boarding the bus. "I could ride with you to get Kelci."

"I'm fine. Really. I know you wanted to get settled before classes get started," Mom said. 

"Okay." I studied her expression. Mom was always hard to read. 

"I insist." Mom placed her hands on my cheeks like she used to do when I was little. We had been spending a lot of time together that summer, and surprisingly we were getting along fairly well. "I love you. You know?" Her eyes swelled with tears.

"Love you too, Mom," I said. I just knew she was going to be okay. She never let anything keep her down. "Tell Kelci I'm sorry for missing her showcase."

The 21-hour bus ride from Terre Haute, Indiana to New York City gave me plenty of time to get my thoughts in order. Stepping off the bus in New York City felt like starting a whole new life. 

Every wall of my new campus apartment was painted NYU purple, and trimmed in white. The unit was on the 7th floor of Carlyle Court tower overlooking Union Square Park. The smell of burnt toast leaked from the kitchen. I ducked my head in to inspect the source, but the kitchen was empty. The tiny space was half the size of my closet back home. Backing out into the hallway, I ran into my new roommate, Jen.

"Hope you don't mind. I took the room on the west. I just hate waking up with the sun in my eyes," Jen said. I had gotten to know Jen through an online portal that the university used to match up roommates.

"Oh, no that's fine," I told her. "I'm an early riser." That was a lie. At least it used to be. But now that I was in New York, the new me could very well be a morning person. Energized by the thought I tossed my bags onto the twin sized bed in the other room.

I had brought my journal for the long trip, but I couldn't bring myself to write in it. So instead I doodled. Flipping through it now I came to a design that looked like a dragon morphed into a butterfly...sort of.

"You drew that?" Jen asked, joining me on the rock-hard sofa. "Ow!"

"Yea, probably should have warned you," I laughed, patting the firm cushions.

"No shit. Fred Flintstone's couch is more comfortable than this." Jen hopped up and down with a thud, thud, thud.

"I was just doodling on the bus," I said.

"Cool." Jen inspected the drawing. "That would make a bad ass tattoo."

"You think?" I bit my lip, considering this bold move.

A quick Google search told me there was a tattoo shop three blocks down on the right called Mr. Ink. It had a four-star rating, so it must be legit. Armed with $50 and my one of a kind drawing, I marched into the shop determined to reinvent myself with fresh ink.

The shop was surprisingly clean, not like the dingy shacks you see in the movies. You probably don't find those in a Google search. There was no one at the front desk, but someone called from the back room.

"Hang tight!"

The bright yellow walls were filled with framed artwork, and a glass case housed an assortment of rings, jewels, and spikes that I did not want to know what body parts they were being shoved into. A mannequin in the corner decked out in Roman soldier attire eyed me sternly. His authentic armor and red cloak looked like something out of an old movie.