Disclaimer: Without Prejudice. The recognisable characters herein are the property of Warner Brothers, Michael Crichton and Amblin Entertainment, all of whom have more money and power than I ever will. I don't own them and I never will. Please don't sue, all I own worth having is probably my toaster, and even the ownership of that is in some doubt. Honestly, I don't own the house I live in, the car I drive or even the laptop I write this on. I also don't own the lyrics used – they're from Boston by Augustana, a song I'm currently in love with.
A/N: Clearly, not American. Researched what I could, but I've never been to Boston, hence no idea about weather etc. The rest is just what I imagine the city to be like.
"I think I'll go to Boston
I think that I'm just tired…"
She has a nice life now.
The city is nice. It is homely, strangely peaceful compared to Chicago. It feels more human.
The climate suits her better here – the seasons less extreme than in the Midwest. The winters are more bitter, but the summers are somewhat less stifling.
She can breathe here.
"I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,
I hear it's nice in the summer, some snow would be nice..."
It's beautiful today, blending into the early autumn. The city streets are swathed in faded greens, golds, bronzes and russet reds, trees beginning their winter cast off already. Changing in preparation for the months ahead. The muted colours are somehow glorious to her, especially against the pastel, hazy dusk sky.
This notion of newness, of change, isn't alien to her. She revels in it, in fact, in her anonymity in this city. Geographically, she's only a thousand miles, but emotionally, she's much further. She's another face here, that's all.
She likes that.
"I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name…"
It suits her to be someone else. It hurts less than being who she is – was – in Chicago. She can practise medicine here alongside people who respect her for her abilities as a doctor, not pity her for being a widow or despise her for…for…her denial.
Her facelessness is a comfort. Her identity can be reshaped, remoulded, and she'll come out of it feeling beautiful again. Feeling like herself, feeling new and refreshed, unbroken. She can explain the scar away and not have to delve into open wounds.
She can heal, or at least, she can try.
This city allows her to close doors on her old life. The life before him, before the accident, the life that fell down around her ears. She isn't proud of doing it. She should have been stronger. She should have stayed.
She should have fought.
The early autumn evening doesn't allow her to feel shame. The East Coast air in her lungs cleanses her. She has been shamed and she has felt guilty and she came out of it ragged and exhausted.
There is no shame in breaking free.
"I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name."