Chapter Two, Change of Address: Sunday, May 21 (Day 1)

I woke for my farewell morning in Los Angeles before the alarm on my cell phone alarm had a chance to rattle off its wake up tune. My eyes settled on the man lying next to me, our faces mere inches away from each other. I could feel the heat of his breath as he slowly sucked the air in and out of his lax mouth; deep in sleep and oblivious that I lay there staring into his face searching for the appropriate emotions I should be feeling about my impending departure. I glanced at the little maroon-red leather watch I had strapped to my wrist. The silver-lined face read that it was six o’clock in the morning.

I faltered there, not moving despite the valuable minutes that continued to tick away, not because I was scared and not necessarily that I was sad to leave him but because my conscience was eating away at me for my cowardice.

I had been dating Erez for just over three months and in that short time I had sort of made a pledge to him that I was going to be something to him that deep down inside I knew I never could live up to. Erez is what I would call a hopeless romantic and a determined family-maker. From the instant he met me he began to try to fit me into the void that his ex-wife had left behind nine months prior. There was a moment in time that I thought a long term relationship was something that I might want with this guy. But now all I wanted was to flee.

“I've got to go now," I said, letting my hand glide down the side of his shoulder.

Erez opened his eyes, the drunken stupor from the night before still evident. "Okay.”

"I'll miss you," I told him, more out of duty than true emotion. "I'll call you from the road."

I got up and gathered my things, took one last look at the guy who had failed to be enough to keep me, turned my back and walked out the door and around the corner of the building where my yellow 2002 Beetle sat awaiting me, hot pink and electric blue long board strapped on top.

I’m free! An uncontrollable smile played gleefully across my face and adrenaline coursed through my body as I pulled onto the 134 headed east—away. This is it—this is really happening. I stole one furtive glance at the hazy palm trees in the rear view but I never looked. Not even once did a second guess enter my mind as I drove the 600 miles from California to New Mexico listening to the drum of the wind rushing under my roof-strapped surfboard.

It was close to midnight before I finally exited I-40 and rolled into Albuquerque receiving an array of strange looks as I waited at a stoplight. I laughed to myself as the mental image sprang into mind. No doubt an eight-foot surfboard strapped on top a yellow Volkswagen Beetle didn’t fall into the realm of ordinary sights to see for desert dwellers.

A monstrous-looking white trailer parked outside on the left came to view as I turned onto Carruthers Street.

“That must be the one,” I said to myself, as I pulled into a neighboring driveway to turn around.
I pulled up to the curb, got out of my car and walked over to the trailer where I took a moment to study its 30 feet of features. I tried to imagine what my life was about to become. After 1.2 seconds I tugged my cell phone out of my purse. It was time to call Josh and alert him to the fact that a strange orange haired girl was creeping around his house at midnight.

I still remember the smell of chocolate chip cookies as I walked through the gate and into the open door of his adobe. Josh walked past me carrying my surfboard and set it down behind the couch opposite a guy with shoulder-length blonde hair sitting with legs propped up on the glass coffee table.

“It smells like cookies in here," I said, looking around searching for the source of the scent. Of course, I was starving.

“Yeah, just out of the oven," the hair farmer answered with a strong accent I assumed to be Australian. "I like baking.”

I had this habit, and still do, of not ever introducing myself to people. I was exhausted and even though the hair farmer had a cute accent and his cookies smelled fun, I needed to crash.

"Well I need to go to sleep," I said to Josh. "Where will I be sleeping?"

He led me to his nephew's room equipped with two matching twin beds. I took the one to the left. The Australian hair farmer slept on the twin across from me. He didn’t snore. And he baked. Oh please, say it wasn’t so. But it was so. I was in love.