The morning air was chilly as I got off the elevated line and made the short walk to the Greyhound station. Although it was a chilly morning, I was shaking much more than was normal, as today marked two of the most major decisions so far.
First, I was moving out of Philadelphia. I had recently left my job at a local magazine publisher and applied for a job as a staff writer at the local newspaper. Though it wasn't the most ideal job in the world, seeing as my previous experience had been in the magazine industry, but it was a quick fix.
The second thing was that I was going down there to move in with a girl I had only met on two separate occasions. The first time was when I was in her home state of California; we met for a few hours in a hotel parking lot where we made out and shared stories about our lives across the country from each other. The second time was a few months ago, when I visited her in D.C. She was going to school for the semester there, and I decided to see her. Nothing happened between us that night, but shortly after I confessed how serious my feelings were to her and here we are now.
i can't say I honestly know how things advanced so rapidly. I had known Reagan over the internet for years and things always had a romantic angle, but never did I think it would actually come to life. But yet it was true, as she had decided to pursue her education and career in D.C. and I had sold most of what I owned: records, old musical instruments, hardcover books on pop culture history and paperbacks full of poetry.
The greyhound was crowded that day, and I was seated next to young professional who wore a nice suit and listened to music with Apple earbuds. I mostly paged through an entertainment magazine I picked up at the bus station, but I couldn't focus much on anything. In just a couple hours, the bus pulled into the station in Washington, D.C. I didn't know the area very well and the Metro was a lot of work with a suitcase and duffel bag to negotiate, so I called a Lyft. Martha was the name of the driver, and she mostly chattered about the increasing price of rent in her neighborhood. I nodded politely, though I, someone who had just moved from another state, had no way to relate to the plight of someone suddenly unable to afford their lifelong neighborhood.
Reagan lived in a pretty nice neighborhood. The streets weren't too cracked, and there were kids playing in front of a few houses. She lived in a bi-level apartment with one roommate, on the bottom floor. Most of the people on the block seemed to be recent graduates or longtime residents.
Reagan opened the door as I pulled up. She wore faded blue jeans that had rips in the left knee and right thigh, and a red and white striped shirt. Her light, caramel skin shone next to her blonde hair and her white teeth were turned up in a smile.
