I push open the door to my apartment, my arms overflowing with school books and my head overflowing with thoughts. I need to calm down. I need to take a break. I make a hot cup of coffee and flip on the tv.
The obnoxious storm alert noise crashes through the room. Plastered onto my eyes are the words ***HURRICANE WARNING FOR ALL OF SOUTHERN LOUISIANA. CATEGORY FOUR. MANDATORY EVACUATION***. I can no longer think. My anxiety is out of control. Not another storm. Not this again. I've done this too many times. No no no no no.
I search through the mess that is my home for my cellphone. I frantically dial my parents' phone number. The ringing rattles through my brain. The air starts to go fuzzy. I pinch myself. THIS IS REAL. My mother picks up. "MOM!" I scream.
"Mom! The hurricane! Katrina! I have to leave I can't stay here I can't do it I'm going to see Aunt Marianna in West Virginia. I have to."
"Honey, I don't see why you're so worried. Dad and I are just going to wait out the storm here. It can't be that bad."
"Okay, Mom, that's great just please stay safe. I need to go and I hope you understand." I hang up before the tears come.
My Aunt Marianna isn't going to welcome me in her house who am I kidding. Why did I say that? Why did I fucking say that? I know my mom has already booked a first class ticket for me and ding ding ding there it is, coming right out of my printer. Why is she so goddamn rich and responsible? I check and the ticked and find that my plane is leaving in four hours. Four hours. Four hours to pack up my life because who knows if I'll ever be coming back to this place. For god sake I left my parents house when I was sixteen. I don't need this anymore. It's time for a change. Maybe a place with no fucking hurricanes. I can go to West Virginia, stay in a hotel, get my life sorted out, and never look back.
I throw things into my bag. Keep it minimum, I think, You don't need this stuff anymore. I end up only taking a small duffel bag with only a moleskine and a toothbrush. My trust fund will get me through the rest.
The airport is so crowded. So full of people with stories. So full of people with thoughts. So full of people who are endlessly fascinating. I look at the young woman with her child, and the man in the suit, and the old woman with only the clothes on her back, and I wonder about what the are doing in this airport. I think and think and I can't stop thinking and I make my way to the gate. It's empty except for a middle-aged couple. I wonder if they are happy.
The plane pulls into the gate, and I take a seat in the fucking first class white leather. The flight attendant rolls her eyes and smiles as she hands me a plate of chicken. It's so cliche to make fun of airplane food. I'm sure it's chicken. I eat, suppressing the urge to run into the bathroom and purge. I've come to far in these past two years to go back to that. You love food, Jessie. You love the infinite combinations flavors and textures and feelings of food. You are strong. You love food.
I sleep. Or rather I try to sleep.
In only a few hours, there I am. In the beautiful state of West Virginia. I really do love it here more than I think I do. I grab a cab from the airport and ask for the closest hotel. The driver takes me to a nice little joint called "The Dancing Rabbit". Fuck what is that name. They give me a room on the top floor. "A suite," the woman at the desk says. "It better be sweet," I sigh. I climb the dilapidated stairs and flop down on the bed. It can wait til tomorrow. It can wait. Sleep overtakes me.
