Shades of Gray
By Jennifer M. Golden
Traffic was terrible. But of course, Ayden thought. What a wonderful "welcome back surprise." Welcome to bloody New York City. And to top it all off, Ayden was fairly certain that the cab driver had a limited knowledge of New York. He was probably an immigrant. Like Ayden, in a way.
Finally the rugged features of the building she was looking for came into view. "Pull over here, I can walk the rest of the way," she said. Opening her wallet she pulled out a couple U.S. bills that she gotten converted from pounds at JFK and handed them to the driver. For moving from the country she'd lived in her for most of her life, she had surprisingly little in the way of belongings. She pulled her measly little suitcase out of the trunk and carried it up the five stories to her motel room with relative ease. There'd be time for getting more belongings when she found a job and a place to live.
It was the strangest sensation, being here. In America, in the country she had lived in till she was about nine. She remembered her neighborhood in New Jersey, and the occasional trip to New York City. Her mother took her to see Hairspray on Broadway once. Little Ayden was so happy then.
Her motel room was small, but Ayden didn't mind. After all it was temporary. And it was cozy, in a way. It was certainly better than some of the places she'd stayed at in London, before getting a one-way ticket for the states. Here, she at least had a room to herself. Much better than those hostels.
As it was, it had been an incredibly long day, and Ayden was ready to get some sleep. She made sure to double lock her door, pulled the curtains closed, and slipped under the scratchy covers of the twin bed, falling into a deep slumber.