i treat los angeles as an escape.
a different version of me exists there. sometimes i worry she’s a better version of me. she’s nameless. she’s carefree. nothing really worries her. she shows more skin. she feels more brave. she eats ravenously. she is the more authentic version of me. she radiates a little more. there is leisure and reverie and she spoils herself with both.
we had an early morning flight. i told viv i would be at her house at 7:50 am and call us an uber from her front yard. i set my alarm for 6:45 am to give myself at least 35 minutes to shower, straighten my hair, do my makeup and get dressed. i wondered if that would give me enough time to make coffee in the morning while getting ready. i wondered if i would have time to drink it in bed. i texted viv and told her i couldn’t sleep. she said the same. i rolled over onto my left side and folded my legs so my knees pressed lightly against my chest. sometimes i fall asleep quickly this way. i tried concentrating on the sounds of the traffic outside my window. even around midnight, i hear the cars roaring by. their harsh and angry sounds of rubber screeching against the asphalt. sometimes i wonder when the time comes where someone new is in my bed, if they will wake up because of the sounds of traffic. will they sleepily roll over to me and mumble:
it’s so loud
will they reach for me and close their eyes and easily fall back asleep? will the warmth of our bodies together be enough to quiet whatever sounds seep in through the window panes?
my mom told me to save my good fluffy white towels for my house guests.
what guests?
i asked.
she looked embarrassed.
i don’t know-
future guests.
i tried escaping to los angeles a couple months back. i booked a flight, cancelled it and then booked another one a couple weeks later to only cancel it again. i told my mom i wasn’t going to la and she told me she was glad. i could feel her relief in her text. i think my mom knows i have a penchant for running away when i’m feeling claustrophobic. i think she knows that as much as i can be selfless, i can be equally selfish. i knew i was trying to run away from something because sometimes i feel the impulse to escape when there’s nowhere else for all of this to go. i told myself to stay instead of finding a reason to pretend life was easier elsewhere. but i liked knowing i had the flight credit tucked away somewhere in my email. it was a reminder that i could escape when i was feeling less mature and less adult, when i was more selfish than selfless. besides, i tell myself, isn’t it better to escape to a place instead of a person?