Feeling thankful I found a decent second-hand laptop to hold me over, I turn it on and type “local apartment listings” into the search engine. I’ve been stopping by a local Starbucks to mooch off their Wi-Fi and charging station almost every day.
Finding a damn apartment in Brooklyn is impossible. Homeowners want tenants with credit. And apparently, having no credit is worse than having bad credit. I’ve never had much under my name, so there’s not a lot to show.
This deems me untrustworthy to stuck-up landlords who’re renting out their shitty studio apartments for way over the value price.
I can’t afford any of these places without a full-time job either. And not an online job, but a job where I have to go and mingle amongst society. It’s scary, but I refuse to go back to my father’s house. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying I told you so, or even not letting me back at all.
I’d rather sleep every night inside one of the abandoned trains under the highway, by myself, than give my father any ammunition to use towards me for coming back home.
I’m getting used to life on my own. It’s not ideal, and I’m on edge more often than not.
I need to find a place to live where I don’t risk being mugged or catching some type of tetanus infection. Milla has called every day, but I play it off like I’m still home. I refuse to let her know I left and that I’m homeless. I don’t want her worrying about me, so I’ll fill her in once I’m settled somewhere.
After about a half-hour of searching and jotting down potential listings, I take the last bite of my croissant and unplug both my charger and computer from the outlet. I zip all of my belongings up in my Jansport, then throw it over my shoulder.
Taking one final sip of my coffee, I throw the white and green cup into the trash bin by the counter and walk out into the bright early morning.
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Walking through the large deserted lot, I spot Thomas, the black and blue abandoned train car I’ve been spending a lot of my time in the past few days. It’s so old, the rust exceeds the paint. But you can still see the blue mixed with the black trim on the roof in some areas. I’m seriously starting to wonder if this car was used in a movie at some point.
It’s so small and seems like it would be useless for anything other than a prop.
Although my new room is anything but useless, especially when it rains. Inside there’s a small pull-out bench, which I use as a makeshift bed. Purchasing a couple of blankets from Randy’s really helped to make it more comfortable. The door slides closed, and I’ve been storing camping lanterns in here for the night, so I have some light around me without drawing any attention.
Looking around this metal carriage, even though it’s small and slightly decrepit, somehow makes me feel lighter, freer. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
Maybe this new Cameron’s been here the whole time. Was she feeling as trapped and alone as I was? Was she overcome with hopelessness, too? Did she pray for her other half to snap out of the funk she was buried in to have the freedom to go anywhere and do anything she pleased?
This new me is fighting like hell to breathe. So I owe it to her to continue what I started. Maybe there’s light at the end of this tunnel waiting for me. For us. I can’t let anything stop me from reaching it. Not anymore.
My feet move faster than my brain can register, and before I know it, I’ve already exited the empty lot. Exactly one week after I turned my world upside down, I’m off to cross off another destination on my list. And this one I’m really excited about.
Because, like me, this place represents rebirth and change. It proves first hand that there’s beauty in all of it. That there’s hope in the unknown.
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The Brooklyn Botanical Garden is absolutely stunning.
The bright array of flowers and trees lining the entrance walkway is enough to steal your breath. There’s greenery everywhere, but there are also beautiful trees and flowers of all colors. As I walk down the concrete path, the only bit of the Garden that isn’t green or colorful, I notice yellow and red roses and bushes of pink flowers spotted with purple.
It’s pretty early in September still, so I’m sure I won’t be able to experience the cherry blossom trees in their full bloom yet, but that’s okay. I have every intention of coming back here.
As I follow a small brook leading me towards a little arched bridge, I relish in the warm air and sunlight while listening to my music at a normal volume setting. I reach my hand out to graze the beautiful flowers bursting with life.
As I approach the bridge, I notice it’s at the center of five huge greenhouses. I examine a tree above and see the leaves are beginning to turn orange and yellow to prepare for fall. They slowly dance around as the light breeze flows through them. Change really can be beautiful.
Dropping to the edge of the little brown bridge with my feet dangling, I take off my glasses and turn my face toward the sun to absorb the rays I never allowed to kiss my skin.
Taking deep and calming breaths, I smile when “Bat Out of Hell” by Meatloaf begins, and I almost laugh at the irony. When the second verse begins, and he sings about the lost child who’s the only pure and good thing in this world, I feel a single tear fall down my cheek.
I stay calm, though, even when that single tear turns into a flood and my face is drenched. I just absorb the music’s sound and take it all in...because
