I wake up face down, half of my body on top of the covers and the other half tangled in the sheets of my bed. I turn my head and see the wall full of knick knacks I put up last night, to my left. I tend to collect: fortunes from cookies, old photographs of my mom when she was young, ticket stubs, well loved rings I string up and hang. Somehow, yesterday seemed like the perfect time to stay up until 1 am putting my collection up on the blank white wall. It's a wonderfully chaotic sight.
I decide today is the day I finally get to exploring the city. I hate to admit that I've been putting it off, but it seems like every day when I get home from the theater I find reasons not to. "There's still so much organizing and unpacking to do" or "you told dad you'd call him every day the first week you got here" are the two most common excuses. My mind wills me to stay home. It seems like I let it every time.
I leave my apartment, heading in the direction of the greenhouse. It's one of the main reasons I decided to move into Winthrop place. I feel most at peace when I'm in nature. And although I love city life, it usually doesn't have much nature at all. The greenhouse seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to feel at home in this new place. Luckily, when I arrive, it's open. Nobody ever knows if it will be, due to it's strange hours. Some days it'll be open until the early hours of the morning, and sometimes it won't be open at all. As I walk through the front doors the rush of warm, humid air hits me. It's overwhelming at first, the air so thick it takes my breathing a second to adjust. It almost feels like I'm underwater for a moment, and then I become used to the climate and everything feels normal again.
I venture towards a bench at the far side of the greenhouse. I take out my sketchbook and pencil, getting ready to start drawing a scene of the greenhouse underwater, how it feels when you first walk in. But as I turn the curve, heading towards the bench, I realized somebody has just sat down. The place is completely empty, except for the two of us. I walk over and they look at me. The first thing I notice is that they're wearing a lot of makeup. However, I don't think it looks bad. Maybe it's more than I'm used to wearing, but it suits them. "Can I sit here?" I ask. They just nod. I plop down on the other side of the bench, picking up my pencil. As I start to sketch, I feel their eyes on me. More specifically, on my paper. I look over, we make eye contact, and finally, they speak. "I like your style. Of drawing, that is. It's pretty." I'm caught off guard. It's not often that people see my doodles. "Oh, um, thanks. That means a lot" I stammer. "Don't mention it." They reply. Then they turn their head and look at me again. "This is a bit unrelated, but did you hear that the circus is in town?"