I reach into my pocket for my phone out of habit, thumb brushing the edge of it before I stop myself. It would be easy. Pull up maps and directions, let the screen guide me exactly where to go without having to think, without the risk of making the wrong choice and disappointing someone.
But where’s the adventure in that?
Instead, I tug my hand back out and shift my bag higher on my shoulder, falling into step behind the others heading toward the station doors.
Inside, it’s just as quiet. A ticket window sits empty behind the glass, and there’s a bench seat against the wall that looks like it’s been there a while, with a map pinned up above it.
I pause in front of it, skimming it without really taking anything in. It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out. I have to, because there’s nobody else left to decide things for me or nudge me toward what suits them.
For the first time in years, what I do next is entirely mine.
With a deep inhale, I turn and push through the exit doors and step out onto the sidewalk. The cold bites a little sharper now that I’m not moving with a crowd around me, and I shove my hands back into my pockets.
The street stretches out in front of me, and I take it in the details for the first time. Low, pretty brick buildings sit along the road, and maple trees line the sidewalk. It’s completely at odds with the harshness I’ve grown accustomed to.
“Alright, Maplewood,” I say under my breath, rolling my shoulders back and lifting my chin a little higher. “You’re my fresh start. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Then I start walking.
I make it about ten steps before I realize I have absolutely no idea where I’m going.
“Strong start,” I mutter.
The street slopes down into what I assume is the main part of town, so I follow it on instinct alone. Worst case, I loop back and pretend I meant to take the scenic route.
It’s quiet, but not in a dead way, and I fall into an easy pace without really thinking about it. It’s strange how quickly it happens. In the city, you move fast or you get swallowed up.Here, it feels as though I’d look like a psycho if I rushed around too quickly.
If I were still in Toronto, I’d probably be halfway through a twelve-hour day by now. Same towering glass building, same cold, polished office. Same people repeating the same conversations that never really went anywhere.
No one cares how you feel, Penelope. They care how you make them look.
A bell chimes as I pass a café, the door swinging open just long enough to spill out a rush of warm air and the smell of coffee.Realcoffee. Not the burnt, train-station-desperate kind. Someone laughs brightly from inside, and for a second, I catch myself slowing, tempted to venture in.
“Don’t,” I tell myself quietly. “Focus.”
Food, caffeine, and poor decision-making by way of sweet pastries feel like such great choices right now. Still, I have things to do first, like finding somewhere to sleep. I take three more steps, then stop.
“Five minutes wouldn’t hurt…”
I’ve made far worse decisions with far less justification in the past.
I glance back at the door, weighing it up like this is a serious life choice, then force my head back in front of me.
“No, Penny. Later,” I decide. “We’re doing it later.”
A block further down, a dog darts out from between two parked cars, skidding on an icy patch of sidewalk before righting itself. It pauses, tail beating happily, then takes off again as someone barrels after it.
“Scout! Get back here!”
The dog ignores the voice completely.
“Scout, you chaotic maniac!”
A small smile pulls at my mouth as I step around the same patch of ice, watching the owner careen after his excited escapeartist. My dad would’ve loved it here. It’s the exact type of charming he used to love.
My eyes catch on a sign across the street—it’s a bar, with a dark-painted exterior and a sign hanging above the door that says ‘Neverland’ in looping text.
“Dangerous,” I huff under my breath. “We’ll circle back to that one when we’re feeling more emotionally stable.”
