I'd been working with the production for all of 3 months and had met more celebrities than I could count. I had pictures with Justin Bieber, Drake, Johnny Depp, Robert Pattinson, and other stars that came and went for the show. The show exactly I can't name and I'll be changing my name in the story for public relation reasons. I don't want people knowing what happened between me and the infamous "womanizer". Gosh, if people knew who I was, or my story with him? I would probably wake up tomorrow with death threats. I've seen what those preteen girls say about potential love interests in their favorite star's lives. It's disgusting. Girls that are 12 or 11 talking about grown men the way they do? Honey, where are your parents? But I guess I could handle it if I really had to. But I don't have to handle it, cause even though it happened... it's over. So here it is. The story of how I caught, loved, and lost Harry Edward Styles.
With the exception of a few songs done by the Boys, I didn't listen to One Direction all that much. I was in high school when they won X-Factor. I didn't even watch the show. So when the 5 new faces came together to make One Direction, it was little more than a passing fad for me. Of course a lot of my friends talked about them. How hot they were or how incredible their singing was. I gave into peer pressure and watched an episode with my friend at her house one night. Yeah they were cute, and they sang like angels. But what were these boys going to do for me in the real world? The last thing I remember about that night was falling asleep on my couch, the curly-haired one belting out a beautiful note and singing me to sleep.
I graduated top of my class, and I left. Just like that. I broke up with my current boyfriend and I ran away. In the most serious of sense. I ran away. From home. From my friends. From everything that tiny town could never give me. The promise of marrying a successful man and being his wife and raising his kids. Hell no that wasn't for me. I wanted to be my person. To "bring home the bacon". I was strong, independent, and constantly searching for more out of my life. I was smack in the middle of the USA, so where could I go? I could head East and go for the Big Apple, or I could head West and surf the coast. It was the biggest decision in my life. I spent a month staying in some random city, working as a waitress trying to make up my mind about which way to go. My money saved up from working the past 2 years and babysitting since I was 12. It kept me alive and as I was reaching my limit I knew I had to choose. So I closed my eyes, I flipped a coin.
Heads: West
Tails: East
That coin must have been in the air for hours. I couldn't breath, I could barely see. Where would I go? What would I do? How would I make myself? It landed, and I screamed. I screamed so loud that the people next door came over to check on me. The Big Apple! New York!? How could fate be pushing me into one of the meanest, loudest, and craziest cities in the world? I imagined all the horrible things first. Every episode of Law and Order of some girl being raped or killed in New York. I imagined walking down the street and being pulled into an alley or having a gun pressed against my back. The horrors of starting college or a job and being looked down by some snotty bitch with rich parents. Then the good started flooding in and I was sold. Ice skating at Rockefeller! Strolls in the spring at Central Park! Visiting the Lady Liberty in the summer! All those gorgeous looking cafes where I could brunch with a hot date or my girls in the fall. The possibilities were endless for someone who could make it in that city. Who else could make it but me? I was deterred at first and then as I thought about it my ego grew and my resolve to take New York by storm. So I grabbed my backpack, my money. Everything I owned on my back and I walked, thumb out hitchhiking across the East. Was this dangerous? Infinitely, and I'd never ever recommend it to any 18-year-old fresh out of high school.
But with my less than modest clothing, freckles and tan skin from walking in the sun and long black hair months grown out, I got plenty of rides across the cities that lead to New York. I met probably dozens of people. Families. Truckers. People like me trying to get away and people trying to get home. I even got a few creeps, but somehow I always got away unscathed. Something that surprised me as I hit the Pennsylvania border. I was sitting in the back of a mini van when this happened. A quiet sleeping family in front of me. Why they would pick me up when they had 2 kids and a Chihuahua on their way to Maine was beyond me. But I got my answer a few miles later when they dropped me off in Pittsburgh and took their time praying for my safety. Religious folks were probably the majority of the people that picked me up. In fact it was pretty half and half as far as creeps and religious families goes. But I made it safely to Pennsylvania so I had high hopes for the rest of the trip. There was a lot of walking, a lot of stopping at gas stations to assure my mother I was safely where I wanted to be. They'd threatened to call the cops several times while I was traveling from home, but because I was a legal adult it was my decision to leave. My money I had saved and my life I was putting on the line to be independent. Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I was naïve, but looking back now it was the greatest decision of my life. I hit the Big Apple on the back of a motorcycle. A truck stop I hit up had a whole gang and one rider in particular was being real friendly. HE was perfectly sober, which was odd. But he was also terribly fond of my necklace I wore. An owl, which he said reminded him of his daughter back home. When I brought up New York he seemed almost sad and promised me a ride the entire way, free of charge. His name was Robert, but he made me call him Bob. He was probably the nicest and most accepting person I met on my trip. My arms were placed on his waist when I laid my eyes on New York for the first time in my life. The bridge, the skyline. No one ever lied to me. It was huge. Everything seemed so much bigger than myself and I wanted to pull off the helmet he insisted I wear and scream out that I made it. I was home. My heart felt it too. I was where I belong. In New York.
I asked Bob to drop me off right in the heart of the city. Central Park. He gladly obliged and my last real memory with Bob was of the walk we shared in the park. That's where my story truly began, was with an end. My goodbye to Bob.