Free Back to Reality by Danielle Allen Page A

I couldn’t see straight.  Don’t cry yet, don’t cry yet don’t cry yet, I chanted to myself as I ran down the steps and to the sidewalk.  Taking out my cellphone, I called the taxi company I used to use when I lived in Richland.  Before the taxi I called could arrive, another taxi happened to drive by.  Hailing it, I was in the safety of the taxi and headed to The Four Seasons before I let the sobs take over. 
    Getting myself together, I walked with as much dignity as I could muster with a damp face and blood shot eyes through the lobby of the hotel.  Arriving to my room, I kicked off my pumps and stripped.  Grabbing my toiletries, I headed to the bathroom to take a long hot shower.  Releasing the rest of the pent up tears, I was able to let the water wash away some of the embarrassment, hurt and guilt. 
    Finishing my bathroom routine, I pulled on a pair of cream silk shorts and a matching cream and purple tank top.  Stretching out across the bed, I felt like crying again but I was too weak.  I was all cried out.  “I need music,” I mumbled to myself. I picked up my phone and before I got to my playlist, I sent the same text message to both Emily and Ben. 
    Sahara Lee: Update: Mission not accomplished. Things didn’t go well. Don’t want to talk about it. Flight arrives back in Pennsylvania at 2pm. We can talk then.
    Emily Mills: You went to make amends. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But bottom line, you went and you tried. If you apologized and explained yourself, that’s all you can do.  If you didn’t, find a way to make it happen. You can only control you. Him forgiving you is up to him.  You trying is what’s important. I’m proud of you. Love you!
    Ben Sullivan: You aren’t a quitter. Fix that shit.
                  Reading and rereading their messages, I found the strength to pull myself out of bed.  They’re right. I came here for a reason. If he won’t talk to me, I’ll have to do the next best thing. I’ll write him a letter. Something a little more substantial than the ‘I’m sorry’ note I wrote him before I left for Pennsylvania, I thought, sitting at the desk that faced the window.  Dear God, give me the strength, I prayed.
    Tapping the pen against the hotel stationary, I gathered my thoughts. Hitting shuffle on my playlist, I stared over the city.  I didn’t know where to begin so I wrote ‘I was so wrong.’  Suddenly, ‘Fumble’ started playing through my phone.  The lyrics were spot on and as I poured my heart out, I broke down and cried. Again.

Chapter 8     
     
    Sliding my sunglasses further up the bridge of my nose, I walked out of the airport.  The humidity stopped me in my tracks as I stood just outside of the sliding glass doors.  The air conditioning could only faintly be felt on the back of my legs.  My vintage Betsey Johnson white romper with black polka dots clung to my skin instantly as the charmeuse fabric and humidity collided. 
    I dug inside my red crossbody bag and pulled out my cell phone. Before I could call Ben to find out his whereabouts, his Prius pulled up to the curb.  I tapped my red ballet flat impatiently as he attempted to get his car perfectly in the parking spot. Once he stopped completely to let a car maneuver past him as he struggled to park, I jumped into the car.
    “Hey! I was going to help you with your luggage after I parked,” Ben pointed out as he eyed me suspiciously.
    “What? Why are you loo king at me like that?” I asked as I tossed my tote into the backseat.
    “Let’s start again, Sunshine,” Ben snapped. “Hello.”
    I sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just want to get home. I’ve been up all night.”
    “What happened?”
    “Nothing that I feel like talking about. I just want to go home. Please.” I clicked my seatbelt in place and rested my head against the window.
    “Well when you are ready to talk, I’m here,” Ben said as the car lurched away from