My drive to Atlanta was long, but not bad. I made several overnight stops along the way, and as soon as I touched down, I felt different. Not in a bad way, just a feeling of coming off autopilot.
I rolled down my windows as I drove through downtown and almost died. The air was thicker than Cali and heavier, like it sat on your skin instead of brushing past. It wasn’t loud like LA, but it wasn’t quiet either; everybody seemed so busy, unlike Cali, where everybody was more relaxed.
I pulled over to a lil’ soul food spot I saw on my way to my new place, hopped out of my car, and stretched, looking up at the tall buildings around me before walking inside.
Some niggas were eyeing me as I stood in line. They smirked at me, and I smiled back for some reason, feeling nervous as hell.
Not scared, just aware of my surroundings.
I shifted my weight a lil’, crossing my arms as the line moved. The smell in there was so good: grease, seasoning, something sweet in the air too. It wrapped around you as soon as you walked through the door, and I needed it.
“Damn…” I muttered under my breath.
A nigga walked in after me and kept scooting closer to me. Not too close, just enough.
“You new out here?” he asked from behind.
I turned and glanced at him. “Is it that obvious?”
He chuckled. “A lil’ bit, being that I’m always in here and never seen you before.”
I smirked. “Yeah, I just got here from Cali.”
He looked at me, shocked a lil’ bit. “Well, welcome to the A,” he said. “You picked the right spot for your first meal.”
“I hope so,” I said, stepping up as it was my turn to order.
I kept it simple: fried chicken, greens, mac and cheese, and corn bread. I paid for it and watched them bag it up. As I turned to walk out, the nigga behind me smiled.
“I hope I see you again.”
I blushed. “Maybe you will.”
I made sure to put an extra switch in step as I walked back out to my car, hopped in, started my GPS back up, and pulled off.
When I got to my building, I sat in front for a second. My heart was really racing with different emotions.
“This is it, Islah,” I mumbled to myself. “It’s no turning back now.”
I exhaled, grabbed my purse, my food, and a few other things before walking inside. The lobby was nice, clean, and smelled like money a lil’ bit. It was an older black lady at the front desk, smiling at me as if she had been waiting for me.
“You must be Islah,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
She placed a booklet on the counter, along with my keys and a lil’ basket that had wine, cheese, and a few other things in it.
“I would like to welcome you to the Hunter Lofts and to Atlanta.”
“Thank you so much,” I said with a smile.
I walked around to the elevator and took it to the tenth floor, and walked down a long hall to my door. Once I reached it, I put the key in, twisted it, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes before I walked in. But when I did, my breath was taken away. The pictures didn’t do it justice.
I walked in, shutting the door behind me. I placed my bags on the floor, my purse and food on the counter, and walked over to the four large windows that covered one wall of my loft and looked over the city.
“I did it,” I said to myself.
I went and got my food and sat on the floor, fucking it up as I stared out the window, thinking to myself about what was next. I was ready—ready to get my life back together and put myself first.
