The Story of Lucy Cambell
It was 1945, and I wasn’t sure where I was headed, but I know I was headed somewhere important. I just couldn’t seem to find where it was...
Recently, through all of my endeavors, I have found myself. I found myself through heartbreak, pain, and the occasional night on the town. The streets were crowded; I couldn’t find my way through all the people without stepping in an unknown thing, or walking through someone’s cloud of smoke. I can’t say I enjoy this smell, but I also find it to remind me of home, because this is my home. It’s what brings me back to sanity; it’s what brings me back to myself, the self that I've always known.
Recently, through all of my endeavors, I have found myself. I found myself through heartbreak, pain, and the occasional night on the town. The streets were crowded; I couldn’t find my way through all the people without stepping in an unknown thing, or walking through someone’s cloud of smoke. I can’t say I enjoy this smell, but I also find it to remind me of home, because this is my home. It’s what brings me back to sanity; it’s what brings me back to myself, the self that I've always known.
On my morning walks to work, I take in everything, I see it all, and sometimes it helps to imagine what other people are saying. I give them names and stories, and sometimes...I even feel their pain, or whatever feeling that is in their hearts. I see Old Man Gregory, smoking on his cigarette, black eyes, and an empty soul. He looks at me with sorrow, and I want to give him all the hope I own, but I can't, because there's not even enough for myself. He walks past me, and I silently wish he would turn around, so I can say goodbye. I keep walking, but most of it is a blur, the sounds fuse into one, and the colors slowly fade. I've seen this all before, everyday, and every night. Next I see all the workers in their private shops, pretend smiles, and a whole days work ahead. The barber smiles at me, a short, stocky man, and a smile that is nothing but jolly. His apron already looks worn as he sweeps the floor, and I wonder what he feels about coming there every day.
Then I suddenly ponder about what I look like to the world, and what kind of stories they construe about me. I must look insane, completely lost in everything and anything, not having a final destination. They know it’s true, they can sense my fear, but I didn't know it showed so much through my exterior. I suddenly came back to the busy Chicago streets, and I realized where I have been going. I knew I had somewhere to be, and I knew it was work, but I didn't want to say that to myself...not yet anyways. So I came to a stop, feet throbbing in my red heels, fingers like ice rocks, and my nose running like a broken faucet. I came into a small cafe, in hopes of re-gaining some warmth, and for a cup of tea. I came up to an empty table and silently sat, once again taking in all the room's aroma's, colors, and sounds. I began to drift into a different reality once more, when what I thought was the waiter came up to me. I slowly looked up, and started to give a greeting, but my words were cut off and my breath stopped short, like a knife through butter. There he was, standing there, Evan Willams, exactly how I remembered. A man of excellent height, broad shoulders, golden smile, and eyes as green as a sea of emeralds. His eyes always got me, it took just one look, and I was eternally lost. He started to speak, but I couldn't take in any words. I just stood up, took his face in my hands and touched his lips with mine. In that moment, that's when I was home, truly I was home once more. The world around me didn't matter, nobody's life stories mattered, the only one that mattered was the one with Evan in it. The moment and story, was now.
