The soundtrack of the city floated into her apartment.
Cars honking, people screaming or laughing, trashcans clanking, the subway rumbling, hissing grates and a few over-excited conversations.
The dissonant harmony of the city.
She liked it that way.
The phone rang, discordant, and harsh.
Closing her window, she answered, "Hello?"
It was like watching t.v. on mute, now that the window was closed.
The people on the sidewalks shuffled past each other, arms brushing, in an intimacy that was lost on her.
She saw families, with exhausted parents and smiling children walking down the streets.
Watching this, Rachel learned that her father was in the hospital.
Have a nice day. And then there was the click of a dial tone.
As if she could.
Leaning her head on the cold pane of her window, she could see that the people still ran around like the world wasn't askew, like the words critical condition and severe internal bleeding didn't mean anything to them.
Sighing, the brunette picked herself up off the sill. There were things to do.
There were calls to make, and tickets to book.
There were pets to place in the care of others, and plants to be watered by others.
There were clothes to stuff into suitcases to stuff into cars.
There was a ride to the airport, and a flight to catch.
And then Rachel Berry was home.