This story is by Megan Geren and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
The sky was transforming itself. Purple night was slipping away. Sunlight was gathering along the horizon, gold and shimmering, slowly separating the sky from the plains. The grass gleamed copper. In rural Nebraska, a silver Jetta idled at the eastern edge of a small town. A young woman sat in the driver’s seat with the window down, vaping, transfixed by the scene. Ever so slowly, the rising sun began to stain the sky orange and pink. Streaks of blue appeared. The woman inhaled, savoring the soft breeze and the sweet scent of apple, strawberry, and tangerine vapor. On the seat next to her was a sketchbook. Soon, it would be light enough for her to use. She had been doing this every weekend since she had moved here. Waking up before dawn. Showering. Dressing for her job at the diner. Driving to the outskirts of town to watch the sunrise. Sketching whatever caught her eye. The woman took another deep breath. Felt a familiar flutter in her chest, followed by a loosening. An expansiveness. A sudden floating sensation.
Annalise had never felt like enough. Perhaps it was because she barely skimmed five feet tall, and had never been strong or quick. Her Grandma called her a “skinny thing,” and at twenty-five years old, she was still mistaken for a teenager. She was also shy. Her voice was a whisper and her cheeks flushed whenever she felt awkward or embarrassed. As the youngest of six, she’d learned long ago if she kept quiet, someone else would speak for her. If she blended in, no one would notice her. Hiding inside hoodies and behind headphones was easier than dealing with the waves of anxiety that assailed her in social situations. She moved through the world like she didn’t quite have a right to be there–chin tucked, head down, eyes on the ground.
The turning point had come six months ago. She had been living in Chicago, her childhood home, leasing a flat with a roommate. Graduation had been three years earlier, but instead of pursuing a job in the arts, she’d accepted a full-time position at her neighborhood library. She hadn’t been happy, but neither had she been unhappy. One morning, she had simply woken with a flutter in her chest that wouldn’t quiet down. A sense of restlessness that kept her up at night and roused her early in the morning. She had tried to move through her days like everything was normal. She went to work, ate lunch alone, returned to the flat, and spent the hours before bed reading, drawing, or gaming. But the flutter was incessant. Like a tiny butterfly beating its wings, it hovered over the flower of her heart. Without realizing it, she developed a habit of touching her chest, her fingers gently tapping out a rhythm that mirrored the one inside her.
Even though she disliked talking, Annalise had found herself trying to tell people. Her mom. Her sister. Even her roommate. None of them understood.
Her mom wondered if she needed more social connections. “Everyone needs friends,” she said. “You only have your sister.”
Her sister thought she should quit her job at the library. “You’re an artist,” she said. “You’ve got an art degree. You should use it.”
Her roommate suggested that she start running. Annalise had rolled her eyes. She should’ve known not to ask a runner.
It was Annalise who finally asked herself, “Where are these wings trying to take me?”
Annalise had no idea how to answer her own question. Until that day at the coffee shop. She’d been walking home from the library, head down, when someone had run into her. Annalise stumbled back, lifting her head enough to glimpse an orange puffer jacket and a scowl.
“Watch where you’re going, kid,” the man grunted.
She had righted herself, re-adjusted her headphones, and just taken a step forward when she smelled it. Coffee. The dark, nutty aroma made her mouth water. Annalise made a sudden decision. Veering left, she stepped inside the coffee shop. The bell jingled above her head, and she took a moment to look around. A handful of people were scattered around the room at mis-matched tables and chairs. The coffee aroma grew more complex, notes of caramel and cocoa mingling with the fragrance of warm pastries. Annalise placed her order in a whisper, then located a table by the window. Someone had left a book on it, and she found herself reaching for it as she sat down.
She flipped it open to the middle. And froze. It was a photograph. Labeled Storm Remnants in Nebraska, the two-page spread captured grassy, gently rolling fields beneath cumulonimbus clouds. Annalise had the strangest sensation that she’d opened a door. But instead of coming face to face with the brick and concrete, steel and iron of the city, she had encountered earth and sky. She trailed a finger over the soft hills. They stretched for miles before running into the thin ribbon of sky holding up the storm clouds. Large, piling, the clouds had gray undersides, white tops, and a long, slender tail trailing behind them. They may have held rain, carried hail and lightning, but they were calm now, trundling slowly along the horizon. There were no houses. No barns, or fences. No people. The wings inside her heart fluttered harder, faster, and she’d known. Like a lightning streak across the sky, something flared inside her.
Annalise had seen photographs of Nebraska before. In art galleries, on hand-painted cards, in history books, and online. She knew more than a century ago, Americans had abandoned families, homes, and possessions to go west, to stake their claim on an unfamiliar land, seeking new opportunities and fortunes. She had always found that time period in U.S. history fascinating. But she’d never considered leaving Chicago. Until now. Sitting alone, in an unfamiliar coffee shop, looking at a book that didn’t belong to her.
I can’t do it, was her first thought. The flapping in her heart was getting louder. It drowned out the music in her headphones. A barista set a mug in front of her and walked away. I can’t, she thought again, pressing the fingers of one hand against the photograph and her other hand against her heart. I don’t know anyone. Where would I live? Work? What the hell would I do? In the next breath, she mocked herself. It’s not like you can’t bring your books and art, your video games.
Annalise had always thought of Nebraska as the edge of the frontier. A place where farms turned into ranches, plains turned into foothills, and foothills led to mountains. It was a wide- open place. Annalise suddenly longed to go. To step into the vast, the infinite. To see it up close and personal–the grasslands and hills, the plants and trees, the animals. Something about the photograph was speaking to her. You’re part of this, she thought. Part of something mysterious. Expansive. Enduring. Something greater than the life you’ve been inhabiting here in Chicago.
At that moment, Annalise made a decision. She’d never felt like enough. She’d been living like a ghost, blending in, hiding out, keeping her head down. I’m done, she thought. She pushed the book back. Stared several more moments at the photograph, and then picked up her phone. An hour later, her coffee cup was empty and her phone was full of open tabs. Bus ticket dates, times, and prices. The cost of renting a car, a U-Haul. Cost of living in Nebraska. Blogs outlining the pros and cons. In the midst of her research, she’d turned off her music and slid her headphones down. She’d accidentally smiled at the woman in front of her when she bumped Annalise’s table to get up. She’d also managed to reduce the rapid flapping in her chest to a flutter. But it was an excited flutter. Something light, and airy. Something with growing wings.
The transition hadn’t happened overnight. It came with doubts and fears. Panic attacks. Being brave, opening up, stepping out. It happened slowly. Steadily. One conversation at a time. One choice at a time. One breath in, another breath out, waiting for fear to recede and calmness to rise. Gradually, the flutter in her heart had become something stronger. A powerful flap. An assured beating.
Annalise remembered it all, now, gazing at the sunrise unfurling before her. She felt the space inside her heart, the soaring sensation, and she smiled. Setting down her e-cig, she reached for her sketchpad. Soon there would be work. Later, drinks with a new friend. Tomorrow, she’d transfer her sketches onto homemade cards for the farmer’s market. But now, sunlight was spreading over the Jetta’s hood, sliding towards her, spilling into her. Warming her. The wings inside her heart held steady. As the sun rose, Annalise felt herself rising with it, like a hawk riding the wind. She was finally starting to feel like enough.
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