Page 13 of Perfect Strangers

Typical Dylan, always chasing after the wrong guy. And look where it left me; alone in hiding. The stunt in Atlantic City happened so fast and to be honest, I barely remember it all. I was so drunk and high on life, I don’t know the whole story. All I know is I was with a guy who got into trouble and couldn’t pay his way out of it. And of course, we ran.

We ran back to Connecticut and I went back to my life as normal, hoping things would die down and our stunt would mold into the past. And it did. For two months, I thought we were safe.

The morning after my night with Major, I saw one of the henchman sent after us. I had never been so terrified before and knew I had to escape. Once I got back to Connecticut, I told the guy, Brian, that I’d seen one of the henchman.

He paid no attention to it, but I imagined something worse. I left school and didn’t turn back. Of course, I couldn’t tell my parents and sold them some story about traveling for a journalism internship. After four years on my own, and nothing bad happening to Brian, I decided to head back home and confront my family.

It wasn’t easy returning home, especially with a child. My parents were pissed and I came clean; hoping they would understood why I did it. Of course, they said I was irresponsible and should have asked for help. But I was young and stupid; my only excuse. I thought running would give them a chance, but I quickly learned that you can’t always run from your past.

“Mommy, you’re going to be late.”

A sweet soft voice, brings me out of my trance. I turn toward him and nod with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll get dressed and then we’ll leave.”

We walk, in hand, toward the school as the cool fall air blows in the wind. His small fingers unravel from mine as I bend to give him a kiss on the cheek and pull my son into a hug. “Have a good day sweetie.”

“You too mommy. Good luck with your new job.”

My boy is my lucky charm.

I stand and watch as he walks toward the front entrance of the school. Before he steps inside, I shout toward him. “Crew, I love you!”

Crew turns to face me and waves with a smile.

I watch as he enters and then race toward the metro. I glance at the time on my watch, hoping I don’t miss the train this time. After frantically rushing with a quickened pace, I make the train just in time and grab an empty seat. An hour train ride into the city, gives me enough time to apply my makeup, fix my hair, and prepare for the interview of a lifetime.

To even get asked to come in, was may more than I even expected. A chime from my cellphone rings and I glance down to read the text message. One of my good friends, Juliette, sends me a ‘fingers crossed’ emoji with the words ‘Good Luck’ written beside it.

I smile at her message and send a quick reply. I met Juliette years ago in the city. I had scored tickets to the New York City Ballet and she was their principle dancer.

Seeing the ballet was always a dream of mine and her performance took my breath away. I just had to meet her and congratulate her on her amazing talent. Since then we kept in touch and when I returned home, I reached out to her. My phone chimes again displaying her response.

See you after the interview! I can’t wait to squeeze you again.

I let out a deep breath, mentally relaxing myself as the nerves start to kick in. The train continues its descent toward the city just as the skyline comes into view. New York.

My second home, well hopefully, one day.

5

Luce del Sole

A deep breath escapes my lips as I hit the button for the tenth floor. Nerves build inside as my palms begin to sweat. I bunch up my fists, forcing myself to relax and breathe like I’m in a Lamaze class.

The elevator dings, opening its doors of my destination. I glance around the halls, stepping off the elevator, praying I don’t screw this up. I’ve worked so hard to get here at this moment. And even though my plan went off course for a few years, I managed to get it back on track.

I step inside the office and greet the receptionist with a smile. “Hello, I’m Dylan Gellar. I’m here for an interview.”

The receptionist motions me to have a seat and I follow, taking a seat at the corner chair. My legs tap impatiently so I place my hand on them, forcing them to stop shaking. A few minutes later, an older gentleman greets me with a handshake.

“Dylan Gellar?”

I stand, placing my hand in his, and shake firmly. “Yes sir. That’s me.”

“Hello, I’m Tim Paxton.”

“Nice to meet you Mr. Paxton.”

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