A love that Won't Let Go

The Octopus

Chapter three 

Mia 

My teen self would surely mock me now if she saw me waiting at the bus stop each morning, bag  in hand, to catch the 7:15 downtown. 

Back then, I had such grandiose dreams of cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway in my shiny white Alfa Romeo, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel while the other teased my windswept hair. I romanticized the freedom and adventure of driving with reckless abandon, picturing myself as the star of my own coming-of-age film.

Reality is that I'm 24 and I still take the bus, I don't have a car and I don't even have the money to buy it. I don't even have a bike. As a kid I always imagined that by the time I reached my mid twenties, I'd be living on my own, with a great job and a nice car to get me around. But the truth is, I'm nowhere close to that vision. Instead, I'm stuck riding the crowded, dirty bus every day, squished between strangers and watching the world pass by through grimy windows. 

The streets of New York City are a chaotic symphony of honking horns, screeching brakes, and rumbling engines as buses barrel down avenues while taxis weave recklessly between lanes. Rather than brave the anarchy of the roads, I stick to the relative order of public transit, even if my morning commute drags out to forty tedious minutes or more. 

I squeeze into the mass of bodies and grab onto a pole for balance as the bus lurches along, stopping every other block to disgorge some passengers and take on even more. 

The windows are grimy and scratched, but I can still watch the city gradually wake up through them - metal gates rolling up with a clatter as vendors open for the day, uniformed doormen sweeping litter from the sidewalks, and nannies pushing expensive strollers down the street. 

By the time I finally get off at my stop, coffee in hand to fuel the rest of my morning, I've witnessed the city transform from a sleeping giant into the bustling urban jungle that awaits me outside. The bus might creep through traffic at a snail's pace, but it gives me a few precious moments of solitude to mentally prepare myself before facing the energetic chaos of New York City head on.

I guess I might fall in love with New york. 

"Good morning" I cheerfully greet the security guard as I flash my new RN badge for him to inspect before allowing me entrance. 

His gruff "morning" in return barely registers as I breeze past, my mind already leaping ahead to the day before me. 

Just yesterday, my first official day on the job, was an epic journey across the massive hospital complex. After obsessively binge-watching every orientation video I could find and scouring insider blogs for tips, I thought I was fully prepared. Oh, how wrong I was! 

My supervisor, Grace,  gave me a whirlwind tour of every corner, from the bustling ER to the peaceful chapels. We must have walked miles in my flimsy Crocs and by the end of the day my feet were absolutely throbbing. I could literally feel my pulse pounding in my poor toes when I finally collapsed into bed.

Today, determined not to repeat yesterday's footwear fiasco, I wisely laced up the plush new sneakers Dad gifted me for Christmas - he clearly understands the importance of quality shoes for hospital staff. As I briskly stride down the long sterile halls, I silently thank Dad for these cloud-like sneakers that cushion every step. 

It's 8:45 am and I take a deep breath before pushing through the heavy doors into the chaotic hospital lobby, nerves jangling louder than the incessant PA announcements echoing overhead.

The locker room is abuzz with the chatter of nurses unwinding before a long shift. Amidst the clatter of lockers and the rustle of uniforms, a group huddled in the corner, their conversation a mix of giggles and hushed tones.