1
Heather
Welcome to Memphis.
The sign on the highway ignites my soul, and I smile to myself as I take the exit into the city. It took nine hours, with a few wrong turns, and a couple of stops along the way to get here from my small hometown of Dublin, Georgia.
I've never been to a big city, not like this. Not with all the lights, the music scene, the history. Elvis, Johnny Cash, Otis Redding, B.B. King, Ann Peebles. . . The list goes on.
A shiver of excitement runs down my spine as the city grows closer. I want what they all had, I want to feel the joy of being discovered, to feel the rush of being on a stage and having an audience fixated on you.
I want it so damn bad.
I'm not naive, I know there are always huge risks when you decide to jump into something feet first, but I can't ignore the drive I feel inside to be here. I'm warm all over, like I'm returning home from being away. For lack of better words, it feels right.
This is it. This is my chance.
The lights on the Hernando de Soto Bridge shine big and bright. I'm in awe, leaning over the steering wheel, and looking up as I cross into this new chapter of my life.
I'm doing this, I'm really doing this.
My stomach flutters with a million butterflies as I grip the steering wheel tightly. There's a mix of nervousness with the unknown, and in the same breath, excitement of a new beginning.
The GPS voice comes alive, guiding me off the bridge and toward the apartment I rented online. The buildings tower over me, and the glow of neon lights causes my body to buzz from head to toe.
It's like nothing I've ever seen before.
The sidewalks are packed with people walking, and it seems like everyone is laughing, smiling, having a good time. I love the energy and vibe instantly.
The Blues Hall is on my right, and just ahead is BB King's Blues Club. These places are legendary, so many incredible names played here, were discovered here, and that's exactly what I'm setting out to do, too.
This is my dream, it's where I belong. I've always felt it inside me. No matter how much I thought about going to college, and pursuing other paths, but I could never push music out of my life.
For two years I studied accounting at community college, but not once did I ever feel like I do when I hold a guitar. Holding a guitar feels natural, my lips hovering above a microphone feels perfect.
Eventually this desire, this need to play for everyone to see, took over, and I uprooted my life to follow my dream.
I won't regret this. I'm doing the right thing.
Following the directions, the city lights start to fade, and the buildings become darker. Dimmer. Smaller in the rear-view mirror. The further away I get from the sparkling streets of blues, rock, and soul, the grimmer things around me look.
Pulling down a small, one-way street, the GPS tells me I'm at my destination. Parking the car in the lot, I look up at the building confused.
This doesn't look anything like the pictures online. . .
Pulling out my phone, I flip through the images the realtor sent me, and compare them. They look completely different. What I have on my phone isn't even close to what I'm looking at.
I thought I was renting a vintage, turn of the century apartment, with lots of character. A pretty, blue double door with iron hinges. Broad, front steps, and a cobble stone driveway. Arched windows with a high-pitched roof.
Except, what I see is nothing like the pictures I'm scrolling through. There are no full, green bushes or cute arched windows that open in the center like a villa in Italy. There isn't a cobblestone walkway or a front door that even resembles the one in the picture.
Instead, I'm met with old brick and cracked mortar, crooked shutters and ivy growing like spider webs up the side of the building. It's dark, dismal, and I regret trusting the internet instantly.
It's only temporary, Heather.
Climbing out my car, I gather a few things from the back seat and head inside. It's getting late. I've been driving for hours, and I already paid for the first and last month's rent before even getting here. The lease was signed via email, so I can't back out of this now. I can't afford to lose all that money or go anywhere else.
Standing at the front door, I look up, sucking in a sad breath. The light fixture is filled with dead bugs, and giant cobwebs streak the walls. Cringing to myself, I swallow the lump in my throat, and hold back the tears that are bubbling over my eyes.
I should have done better research. There's no one else to blame but myself.