somewhere || George Russell

seventeen

November 21, 2019
New York City, New York

Laurel let out a deep sigh, still wondering about the doubt she had in her rehearsal while singing with Richard, and that odd feeling of nervousness. Of course, she has performed before, but never in an actual Broadway theatre, with more than a thousand people. She stared at the car's window as George drove through the Brooklyn Bridge in their way to Manhattan, and a familiar song started to play.

She squeezed her eyebrows together. I have never heard Moulin Rouge soundtrack. She glanced at the screen of the car and remembered that George had his cellphone connected via Bluetooth on her car.

"Come what may?" she asked. George was surprised for hearing her voice. She didn't say a word since they left.

"Oh...ahh," he babbled and blushed, moving his hand trying to change the song.

"It's fine, leave it," she said.

"I really liked this song yesterday," he admitted.

"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace,"she started to sing, leaning her head on the window.

"You know this song?" he asked, smiling and a little bit surprised.

Laurel just nodded and continued. "And there's no mountain too high, no river too wide, sing out this song and I'll be there by your side, storm clouds may gather, stars may collide..."

"But I love you..." he sang, making Laurel laugh.

"I love you..." she continued with the song and took her head off the window.

"Until the end of time," both sang at the same time, bursting into laughter, "come what may, come what may, I will love you..."

"I thought you didn't like it," he laughed and lowered the volume of the song.

"I don't feel personally attracted to it, but is a great song," she shrugged, "I hope you don't think I hate love, because I don't. I'm just aware that love is a neurological process that occurs in the brain, causing a sudden state of happiness and excitement. Serotonin levels plummet and the brain's reward centers are flooded with dopamine. The effect is similar to a drug. It's science, that's why I don't understand the point of making love look cheesy."

"Okay," George nodded. "Listen up: love cannot be explained by science or religion. It's beyond the mind, beyond the reason. You can't explain love, you just feel it."

"I just explained it to you, with science," she nodded. He sighed, losing his patience. "I mean, how are you going to know how it feels if you don't explain it?"

"I didn't ask for an explanation," he shook his head. "You just said it: love is happiness and excitement."

"Triggered by neurotransmitters such as adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, or vasopressin."

"You are an artist; you shouldn't be explaining things with science."

"I also like science. Science is cool," she cheerfully said and thumbed up. He laughed at her expression. She doesn't even know how amusing she is.

They arrived at a mall and parked the car, finally going out to New York's cold air. Mid November is messy, because it rains all of the time, and if it doesn't rain, the air is freezing. Both took their coats out of the back seat of the car and George locked it after putting his coat on.

Laurel adjusted the ribbons of her pink ballerina wrap sweater and put her grey coat on, introducing her cellphone on the pocket of it. 

"I empirically made an assumption about you," George said as he pointed with his finger at her red Murano. "Red is your favorite color. Both of your cars are red, your cellphone is red, and you have tons of red pillows in your penthouse."

She laughed and nodded. "See? It's funnier to guess instead of asking,"

"I didn't have to do much guessing, I've been driving red cars these past four days," he chuckled. "Why are we using this Murano instead of your red Camry, by the way?" he emphasized the color.

"Because I never use this car, and my abuelo says that if you leave a car stopped for a long time the tires lose air and the battery goes down," she explained, pretending to know a lot about cars. "I think I have never said the word 'tires' before."

He laughed and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

They walked until they reached the beginning of the walkaway of the Brooklyn Bridge. Are they really willing to cross the bridge and then come back because their car is parked on the other side? Yes, they are.

"I heard," George started to say, and Laurel had a hint of what he was trying to say. "That you can put padlocks on the bridge, like in Paris."

She pressed her lips to hold back her laughter, "as far as I know, is no longer allowed and they can fine you for a thousand dollars."

"That's way too much money," his eyes widened.

"Yes, it is," she nodded, "but people still do it and I haven't heard about someone really getting fined."

He chuckled and looked at her. She might say that is pointless to do interrogatories, but he wants to ask her things, to know her better. "What is your favorite holiday?" he asked, out of the blue, curious to know in what she believes, because if she explains things the way they are, she probably doesn't believe in Santa Claus or ghosts.

"Día de Muertos," Laurel said and smiled. "It is a Mexican holiday that celebrates friends and family members who have died, with the believing of their souls coming back from the Mictlán to reunite with us."

George thought about it for a second. "Like the Disney movie, Coco?" he excitedly asked, thinking that he finally understands one of Laurel's references.

Laurel frowned and shook her head repeatedly. "Just to be clear, Día de Muertos is not based on Coco, Coco is based on Día de Muertos," she explained.

"Oh, yes, sorry," he mumbled nervously. Not his best performance. "You really believe in souls?"

"Kind of," she shrugged. "The first law of thermodynamics states that energy is neither created nor destroyed. So, when we die, all that energy has to go somewhere, right? I believe that if we die with an abundance of this power, it can become forever imprinted on the immediate environment."

"And that imprint is the soul?" George looked at her. Laurel nodded. "You believe in ghosts, but you don't believe in love?"

"I don't believe in ghosts, I believe in energy," she made clear. "And I believe in love the way it is: a secretion of hormones," she turned to see him, connecting her green eyes with his. "Adrenaline is segregated, it causes the heart to race, the mouth to dry out, and the hands to sweat as part of nervousness or the body's normal reaction to stress."

George smiled at her, making her heart skip a beat. "God. Is there anything more stressful than love?"

Laurel swallowed hard, and without noticing, she cleaned her slightly sweaty hands on her coat. Yikes, she seems very stressed.