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This was originally written as a true story, leaving the farm, young and naive, uneducated, moving to the city in search of something different. The story morphed into what it is now; based on a true story but truly fictional.
Some of these events happened, but I elaborated, to enhance the story. I hope you enjoy.
{' _ '} these brackets, indicates, {'my thoughts'}
Rather than typing "I think," or "my thoughts were", etc. I use these {' -- '}.
"Bridgette" a bagel is placed beside my laptop by a meticulously manicured hand, the nails sculpted, with impeccable artwork, a large emerald ring on the middle finger, an expensive multi jeweled watch adorns her left wrist.
I look up is it really 'Dakota Johnson'?
No really? Can it truly be her?
I mean do movie stars frequent coffee shops without an entourage.
"Uh, are you Dakota Johnson?" I peer at her through tear glazed eyes.
She's stunning, gorgeous; thick wavy black hair cascading over the upper portion of her abundant cleavage.
"No, I'm Rachel; I've heard them call your name last 4 days, when your order was ready." Her voice is mellow, husky, deeper than I expected, resonating with a calming, caring, empathetic quality.
Extending her right hand for a social greeting, a large diamond on her right ring finger. We gingerly shake hands, well fingers really; I feel slightly guilty being so cautious, maybe I should show more enthusiasm, she is trying to be friendly. Too late, she's already withdrawn her hand.
She must be a model, expensive clothes, magnificent curvaceous body, her full bosom, the soft skin bulging, appears to be trying to escape, restrained by a dark green, tight fitting mini dress.
Narrow, cute, upturned nose; long eyelashes, light blue eyeshadow enhancing her large enticing blue eyes. The hollow below her neck has a large emerald pendant dangling from a delicate silver chain. She has a flawless pale complexion; puffy red lips, a minor amount of lipstick; she used something to create the profound definition, as the outer edge is so crisp. Her entire face reveals a warm comforting smile, not just her up curled lips, her dazzling blue eyes also radiate comfort.
"Bridgette, it's obvious something's troubling you."
She turns a chair sideways to the table, somehow knowing I'm comfortable with her joining me; sitting, looking directly at me, she slides the bagel closer.
"I've come here often for nearly 2 years, daily for over a month; never seeing you until Monday. You arrived around 8:20 every morning, ordered coffee, 2 cream, no sugar, and a cheese bagel. You were dressed for the office. I watched you fidget with a controlled nervousness, then promptly at 8:45 daily you departed."
Mustering a bit of a grin, I nod, meekly take a nibble of the bagel.
"Now it's Friday you arrive earlier, with a backpack and a suitcase."
I allow her to take my hand.
{'What's this big city stranger after from this hayseed country gal?'}
"Bridgette, you're noticeably stressed; casually dressed, intently focused on your computer."
With tears welling up, I am unsure about sharing with this stranger. She places her other hand over mine, in a soft, gentle voice.
"Bridgette, maybe I can help?" She peers at me with her consoling eyes, waiting for a reply.
"Bridgette, at least tell me what's going on. I've never seen anyone in here with a suitcase." She smiles again, comforting; I recognize concern, sympathy in her sparkling blue eyes.
I was still hesitant to share, but she seemed genuinely concerned, and I certainly could use some assistance.
She began rubbing the back of my hand, it was comforting, like when my mom massaged a boo boo, after a loving kiss.
I struggled not to cry, but no longer reluctant, I started telling my story.
"I was startled awake very early this morning by gunshots, I thought they were in my room, loud, bullets splintering wood above my head."
My voice breaking, the fear returned, reliving the ordeal; I gasped, staring at Rachel; I was now squeezing her hand.
"I dove to the floor, lying face down, intense fear, sobbing, praying I'd somehow survive." I had to pause, gather myself, it was as if I was back on floor, hard to breathe. Rachel leaned closer; put her hand on my shoulder, then moved to my neck. She didn't speak, but I silently knew she was there for me.
I inhaled deeply; looked up at the ceiling, regaining a bit of composure and again, maintaining eye contact, continued.
"Police found me, face down, crying, praying. After they interrogated me, I had to leave the crime scene; I packed my backpack and suitcase with my belongings and having nowhere else to go, here I am."
Sharing my story releases the tears I'd been stifling; they begin to flow.
Rachel passes me a napkin, and a gentle finger massage on my neck. I felt much better after telling her what happened.
"Bridgette, how horrible; I heard about that on the morning news, a drug deal, 2 teens are dead." She leisurely drags her fingers from my neck, across my shoulder and down my arm, then squeezes my hand.
"Wow, I can only imagine, that would shake anyone."
I don't understand why, but I feel rather comfortable sharing with this stranger.
I guess now that I have a sympathetic ear, I might as well relinquish my major burden.
"That's only a portion of my stress," I close my laptop, sit back, a deep sigh.
"I came to the city for a job interview, I had an appointment Monday morning at a large law firm; they asked me to return Tuesday as someone in HR was sick. After the Tuesday interrogation, I was informed, they narrowed it down to 3 candidates; so, yet again asked me to return Wednesday to do a deposition and construct a court brief to be presented to one of the partners Thursday."
I fidget in my seat, feeling anxious to continue.
"I travelled here expecting to be maybe 2 days. I booked the cheaper hotel online to save money; but the travel distance and cab fare was higher than I expected, I could've stayed down here at a much better hotel for similar cost."
I wipe my eyes, sharing this portion of the story has calmed me a lot.
"I got the job; I start next week; now however, I'm nearly broke. I contacted most of my family for assistance." I'm done crying, anxiety diminished; I put down the napkin. More relaxed, I give her a forced smile.
"I guess I should feel fortunate, this must be rock bottom, so the future can only be better;" I chuckle trying to find humor at this crossroad of life, I find myself in. "I hope I survive to see it."
I take a sip of coffee, before proceeding, ah, such a surprise, coffee's cold.
I shake my head, the epitome of my current station, I actually find humor in that.