Free Unnaturally Green by Felicia Ricci

watched home videos, and shoveled snow.
    I’m falling in love with you. –Marshall
    Finding his yellow note that one morning had been a knee-weakening surprise. Although technically I’d brought up the L-word a few days before that—entirely by accident, when we were browsing Borders and sportscaster-commentating on random book titles. Later I noted to Marshall how bookstores were perfect locations for dates, since you could first make fun of everything, then “accidentally” wander into the Kama Sutra section.
    “It’s a perfect place,” I said, “to go with the one you love.”
    At which point I gasped, then ran away, far into the CD section, where I pretended to be deeply interested in the music of Andrea Bocelli. Since then, the L-word had been hanging in the air—a fat, naked cherub of a word, taunting me with its prickly arrows and pudgy ankles.
    Then, a week or two later, I found the note.
    In time, there was no denying it: we’d fallen in love, like stupid little idiots.
    Because now I had to go.
    Stupid!
    As I collected the rest of my life into a medium-sized suitcase, I realized I had no idea when I’d be back. Like Elphaba imagining her future in “The Wizard and I,” mine too felt “unlimited,” in a mysterious, unpredictable way. I felt myself heading toward an impossible challenge, unsure of how (or if) I’d do it, or for how long, or what it would end up feeling like. And soon, everything I’d known—friends, family, New York, Marshall—would become a shrinking reflection in my rearview mirror.
    Goodbye, Kansas.
     
     
    Marshall and I took a cab to JFK airport. We split a muffin in the food court.
    “So. This is it,” said Marshall.
    “Do you want to just crawl into my carry-on?” I said.
    “I do want to do that.”
    “I think you should do it.”
    “Okay, I will.”
    “I mean, aside from the million-dollar plane fares, long distance won’t be so bad, right?”
    “No, it won’t,” Marshall said, I think intending to smile. Instead he looked like a caged puppy.
    “Actually, I think it might suck,” I said.
    “Yeah, maybe you are right.”
    “But we’ll find a way,” I said, sitting up. “As Jeff Goldblum says in Jurassic Park , ‘life finds a way.’”
    “I love that part. I also love when he bangs the table and yells about selling plastic lunchboxes.”
    “Oh, you mean this part?”
    I reenacted the scene, banging the table in the food court.
    “Yes! I love it!”
    “The fact that we both love Jurassic Park is just one of the reasons why this is going to work out,” I said.
    “And The Dark Knight ,” added Marshall.
    Before long, I was winding through the security line, with no Marshall in my carry-on. Instead, he stood off to the side, keeping watch until I passed the metal detector. Before I turned to go, I looked back and saw him, opening the envelope I’d given him moments before.
    Last night I’d written a note of my own. Bye , it said. I’ll miss you . You’d better write . That sort of thing.
    And, of course,
    I love you, too.
    He looked up and beamed, then started waving. I waved back, eyeing his silhouette even as I turned the corner.
     

6. I AM OZ, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE
    January 11, 2010. Felicia’s Blog.
     
    Here I go, writing my first blog post in the thick of the action, aboard Virgin Flight 23, JFK--> SFO. I first want to say that Virgin is tricked out in the style of a very exclusive, very mobile, night club. There is neon purple lighting and the bathrooms play smooth jazz. Although I am not live-blogging right now, the airplane happens to be equipped with free WiFi (no charge for internet but must pay $8 for hummus and carrots). All going well here at 30,000 feet. See you on the ground…
     
     
    W hen you wake up in a foreign place, it usually takes a few moments to reacquaint yourself with the facts of your life.
    One fact, I soon remembered, was this:
    I am going to be in Wicked .
    My face curled into a tired smile, at which point I