The girl traveled to the city most weekends. She made the drive from that tiny metropolis in the cornfields to the bustling city skyscape on coast of Lake Michigan... before long, she knew it by heart: the rhythms of Friday afternoon rush hour traffic, inbound towards the city. Congress to Lake Shore Drive--that long slow drive up the lakefront, the tremble of anticipation as she turned onto Sheridan. She was almost there. She was almost home... she felt like she was home, anyway, when she was there with him. And so, there she was, there 'til Sunday, trying to make every possible second count.
She was still so young. She was an English major, throwing herself into her studies. She was finally learning how to exist in this world she'd chosen for herself, her home (at least for the duration of her undergrad). Her hair was turning back to its natural color (after dying it rather earlier on in her collegiate studies: dark brown in a dormitory bathroom), back to a honeyed dishwater blonde, almost falling to her shoulders. Her eyes, a forest green especially vivid in the hours of the early morning, winking mischievously. Her lips were the color of pomegranates, a soft, dusky reddish pink, and her footsteps were careful and measured as she walked through his apartment, sitting on the couch, there in the late morning haze. Sure, she had reading to catch up on, homework to do, which she would either do on Sunday before leaving or put off until she got back home, late at night... after a drive she always enjoyed in such a sad way, it always hurt; miles heading the opposite way from the other half of her heart, a drive filled with longing and lingering memories of a goodbye until next time. One more kiss. Sometimes it was too much to bear. She told herself eventually that it would be worth it, that eventually... there would be no goodbye until the next time she held him.
It's been years since that girl lived in the city on the weekends... in fact, now she lives there full-time, living with him, now her husband. But you never know... walk by that two flat and you might still see her there: the reflection of her young, hopeful being, sitting next to him on the couch, long golden curls catching the sunlight.
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