Author's Note:

So...no surprise, this is my first published story. Exciting, but anyways, I am looking for a beta to review each of my chapters before I publish them, so PM me if interested! I'm really excited about this piece and have a lot of ideas, so this is definitely going to be a long-term project!

Sorry about the short length, I just wanted to get my ideas out as fast as possible! This first chapter is most definitely a little slow, but I promise it's going to pick up soon!

I'm open to any thoughts and critiques you have, please let me know what you think. Like I said, I'm a rookie and I need all the help I can get lolololol (but seriously).

Anyways...enjoy! :)

Memories are a funny thing.

They are so distant, yet sometimes it seems they're all we know.

Now, I don't have an amazing memory. Only a few scenes stick out in my mind: being carried by my grandmother in what I think was a toy store, being stung by a bee on my tongue (intentionally), and my third-grade teacher telling me, "What has not been can never be lost".

Interesting, right?

But as my 10:30 AM Amtrak train from Detroit to New York pulled out from the station, I found a new memory to be tucked away: my father, smiling a soft smile, waving as my mother clung to him, sobbing hysterically for her "baby girl". A little embarrassed, I glanced away and gave a look towards the others passengers, as if to say "Sucks to have parents like that , am I right?".

I was heading towards a once-in-a-life opportunity: a chance to start my residency at New York Hospital. For a 26-year-old med student (who's been stuck in the Midwest her entire life), it was better than going to heaven.

In all honestly, I had absolutely no idea how I ended up with that residency. Yes, I did alright in med school; I always showed up to class, but in no way was I the best neurosurgeon in the University of Michigan. During my undergraduate and even through the four years of studying after, I never once thought that I would end up in the Big Apple, learning under some of the greatest surgeons in the world.

But nonetheless, there I was, stuffed in the friendship seat of a beaten-down train, slowly chugging towards my future.

Breathing out a sigh, I turned my attention away from the diminishing image of my parents and to shoveling my phone out of my backpack. 10:36. Great, fourteen more hours. I plugged my earbuds in, clicking my phone on to scroll through. After a minute or two of tedious debating, I finally settled on the White Album. Leaning my head on the frosted windowpane, I let my thoughts take over as the outside rushed by.

You might be wondering why I would ever dream of leaving the Midwestern dream-world of suburbs, where everyone is safe and happy. A world like that, however, has never interested me. I wanted adventure, I wanted city-lights at night, I wanted the smell of smoke mixed with gasoline, I wanted crowded streets, concrete clouds, the feeling of never being alone. I wanted life.

And I wanted Doctor Strange.

The words look strange and conjure up some sort of romantic fantasy, but don't be mistaken; I barely knew the man. But what I did know was that he was an excellent surgeon.

I first saw him when I was only a sophomore in college, balancing unsteadily on the fence between pursuing a degree in neurology, or in poetry. Polar opposites, I know. My organic chemistry class was hosting a guest speaker; my professor warned us we might fall asleep. When I arrived to class that day, I planned on doing just that day.

The speaker showed up just before the heavy doors swung closed. However, instead of the depressed, balding, and sleep-inducing man I had imagined stood a genius. He gave off a sense of superiority, elegance, and even excitement. He was an excellent speaker and from what I gathered, even more of an excellent surgeon.

I sat on the edge of my seat the entire lecture, despite some of classmates using that time to doodle in their books, or to drool on their desks. He made me love the practice of neurology so much that I spent the next seven years of my life dedicating every space in my mind to it. As I went from undergraduate to med school, and then to the scramble to find residencies, I knew that I had to work under someone like Doctor Strange. So, why settle for anything else?

Mind you, I am not some sort of exceptional intellectual. Humbly put, I would say I was slightly above average. Slightly. I got into New York Hospital purely based on my charm and shining recommendations (from my calculus professor, who also happened to be my aunt). But I wanted to learn. I felt an urge to be more than I was, and I could only do that with the help of the man who had inspired me to follow the path I was on.

"Next stop: Grand Central Station."