I could be standing on the corner of 44th St in New York City waving a cab to work in my black wool, pleated Prada coat and my new Chanel boots. I could be inside my two bedroom, two bath apartment in The Metropolis watching re-runs of Gilmore Girls. Or I could be dining with my boyfriend-ex-boyfriend-almost -fiancé at Murano Ristorante or clubbing at Zanzibar. I could be, but I'm not.

Call me crazy, but I'm not. I didn't even grab my things. I just bolted.

The night is cold and stingy on my legs at I exit the ground floor onto 44th St. By now, he is probably on the 10th floor, bouncing nervously in the elevator, still holding it in his hand. Still holding it. And I am wearing my D&G sateen bustier dress that I bought from Saks 5th Avenue with my black Christain Louboutin pumps. My Neiman Marcus Burberry prorsum sateen trench is tied tightly around me. My Sterling silver necklace with pavé diamond jewel beads by David Yurman? My Robert Coin diamond stud earrings? They are heavy and cold against my skin. And this is all I know.

I head for the Grand Central Terminal. He is probably on the 5th floor by now and still holding it. By the time he hits ground floor, I will already be heading towards Park Avenue.

I sat on a bench inside the termal until Harry got there. It was about 4 in the morning. Harry and I don't say a word the entire 2 hour drive to Bridgeport, Pennsylvania. Not one. I look at my father as his eyes are set on the road, and I want to hug him because I'm a pain in the ass for doing this to him.
Harry's small house is on Union Avenue, the base for my adolescene and pick-up on Saturdays to return to Norristown with my Mother. My Mother lived and still lives with Phil in a nice house in front of a much more congested, low-income neighborhood. They are happy.
The house smells like Febreeze and Clean Cotton Yankee Candle. It's mostly hardwood and furniture-less, as I remember it when I left almost 6 years ago. I visited twice since then, and it looked just like it does now. Harry sits on the cheap couch that he bought from Tony Crenshaw in 85'. It was the summer, and I was six years old. And My mom hated my Dad, and my Dad hated my Mom. And now it is January 1st, 2004 and I am 24 years old, and my Mom tries to avoid talking to my Dad, and my dad doesn't care anymore.
Nothing ever really changes, now does it?
He looks at me and sighs, patting the place next to him. I walk over and sit down and he stares at me for a while, and I just look at the dusty hardwood floor.
"Well, I suppose you can stay with me for a while, hmm?"
I bite my lip, "Well, I was wondering if I would just stay with Jeremy for a while, you know?"
He scrunches up his eyebrows and nods. Harry knows how close I am to my brother.
"I'll call him tomorrow. In the mea time, you should get some sleep An. Your room is still the way you left it."
I stare down at my Christain Louboutin pumps and I frown, "Harry? Can you do me a favor?"
"Sure, Andy."
"Can you call Steven and tell him to mail my stuff to Jeremy's. Like, all of my stuff. All of it."
"An, I'm sure you'll be heading up there again in no time, this is all just a little-"
"Harry, please?" I stare at him intently. For I have no intention on going back.
"Alright. If you are sure."
I nod and look down, noticing a scratch on my left pump. I scowl.
"Anything else?"
"No. Thank you." He tells me goodnight, and to go to bed. And I feel 6 again.

By 9 the next morning, Steve has called twice, and I tell Harry to tell him that I will call him back. But I won't, not for a while. Steven probably deserves some explaination as to why I left, but I haven't peiced it all together, and I want to tell him when everything makes sense.
Harry also informed him I wanted my things shipped to jeremy's whe he had the chance,and Harry told me he got really quiet then, and said he would start getting everything together. He then calls Jeremy, and I pack whats left of my old clothes in my old room.
By 10, Harry is driving me to West Chester, where my brother lives. It's this small college town that Harry used to drive us through on weekends, just to get away.
Jeremy lives in a small house right near the middle of town. He still works part time in retail at The King of Prussia mall, and he designs tattoo's. He was supposed to go back to college 500 times, and he was supposed to get married twice. Lets just say that he has a hard time with long-term commitment. He is smoking a cigarette on his front porch as we pull into his driveway. He waves and tosses his cigarette. I haven't seen my brother since before Christmas, and he already has from what I can see, 4 new tattoos and an eyebrow peircing. He got snakebites when he was 18, and his gauges have gone up to double zeros since then. His hair is in a tangly curly mess. He's had the same boots since his junior year in high school. I just remember that his 26th birthday is in a week. I feel bad.
"Hey Andy girl!" he smiles with his arms wide open, and I give him a hug. Harry tells me he needs to talk to Jeremy in private. After 24 years I have finaly realized that this means as soon as I am far enough to where I can't hear the conversation, my Dad will go into great detail about what is going on with me and what I've gotten myself into this time. I roll my eyes.
I tell Jeremy everything after Harry leaves. About my romantic night out in the city with Steven. About the incredible wine and lobster. That we cuddled as we watched fireworks for the New Year. And then when he asked me, and I left. I didn't look back and I left. Jeremy looks at me and lights up a cigarette
"Well," he says blowing smoke ou from his mouth, "I guess sometimes it makes more sense to walk away."
And we leave it at that.

For the next week, I still didn't call Steven. The week after I met Jeremy's girlfriend Michelle, and I got several packages in the mail from Steven Hardin. They included my clothing, my polaroid, and my Nikon, my shoes, and other little trinkets, and a note begging for me to call him soon. The week after I finally called the apartment, and I still didn't know what to say.
"Hello?"
And I sit there.
"Hello? Andy?"
"Hey Steven."
"Andy, please, what is going on. I have been worried sick and I don't know what...."
His voice trails into spirals of nothingness, and I bit my lip so hard it bleeds.
"I don't want to marry you Steven."
"Andy...oh Andy I would think so since you ran off like that. If you're not ready yet then we can wait a while, you don't have to haul off to nowhere and live with your brother. We can work this out. We can wait and I can wait and-"
"Steven, I don't want to be with you."
"Andy what are talking about?"
"Steven..."
"What!? Andy, what!?"
"I'm not in love with you anymore, Steven. I haven't been for a long time and it took you to get down on one knee and ask me to marry you for me to realize that."
There is a silence for a long time, and I don't feel the need to cry. I think about when I met Steven in Times Square. I think about our first date and when we bought the apartment. I think about all of the things he suprised me with and the times we made love after a good night out. And all of it comes with no feeling. For the first time I've thought about it, none if it means the same as it did two years ago.
"Okay. Well, uh, yeah...well the office has been calling since you haven't showed up for work....um. I told them you had a family emergency. Uh.."
"Steven just tell them to fire me."
"Wait...what!?"
"Steven I'll call them tomorrow and tell them to fire me."
"So you're not coming back?"
"No."
"Andy..."
"Steven, I'm going to go."
"But,"
"Steven I'm hanging up and nothing you say is going to change my mind about my job, about you or New York. You've always talked me out of things and blinded me by things and I'm not doing it anymore. Good bye."
"You're really going to end a two and half year relationship over the phone?"
"Steven the majority of our relationship was over the phone, now good bye!"

Within the next month I lost a job and got one, met new people and shopped at The King Of Prussia Mall. I did not get designer anything because it was all that I knew and I didn't want to know it anymore. I worked as a waitress because I miss the excellent tips and the atmosphere of it all. Waiting tables throughout high school and part of college was one of the best things I had ever done. Before Steven, before I became a washed up drone. Not that I blame him, I just wasn't myself for two and a half years. And I was finally getting back into tune.

It wasn't until the middle of March when my whole world turned an entire 360.
And what I had known would never, ever be the same.