LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 1

      I’m seated next to a red-headed woman on the plane. My supper of creamed chicken royal and boiled rice sits untouched in front of me. Instead, I stare at my new Keith Haring Swatch watch (a going-away gift from my boyfriend, Jonny). It’s my first trip abroad. In only eight hours and twenty-two minutes, we’ll be landing in London and a whole new chapter of my life will begin. Who can eat chicken at a time like this?

      The redhead can. She’s an old hand at foreign travel. Lighting another cigarette, she smiles at me.

      ‘Oh, London’s great! Great pubs. And you can have fish and chips. “Chips” is English for French fries,’ she translates. ‘They put salt and vinegar on them over there.’

      ‘Ewwww!’ I say, ever the sophisticate.

      ‘But it’s good! You have them with mushy peas.’

      ‘Mushy what?’

      ‘Peas!’ She laughs. ‘They’re sort of smashed up. You don’t have to have them.’

      ‘Oh, but I want to!’ I assure her quickly. ‘I want to try everything!’

      She exhales. ‘Where are you from?’

      ‘Eden, Ohio.’

      ‘Is that near Akron?’

      ‘Actually, it’s not near anything.’

      ‘And what are you doing? Studying?’

      ‘Drama. I’m going to be an actress. A classical actress,’ I add, just in case she gets the idea I’m going to sell out. ‘I’ve been accepted into the Actors Drama Workshop Academy. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’

      She shakes her head. ‘Is that like RADA?’

      ‘Almost.’

      ‘Well, you’re a pretty girl. I’m sure you’ll be a big star.’ And she nods, drumming her long pink nails against the shared armrest. ‘Yeah, London will be the making of you. It’s a long way from Ohio, kid.’

      That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.

      I don’t fit in in Ohio. I don’t fit in anywhere yet. But back home, nobody seems to get me—apart from my boyfriend Jonny. He’s going to study Graphic Arts at CMU next term. He understands what it’s like to be an artistic soul trapped in a working-class town. That’s why we get on so well. I pull out his going-away letter to me and read it one more time.

      ‘I know this is going to be a completely amazing adventure for you, babe. And I can’t wait to hear each instalment. Write often. Never lose faith in yourself. And think of me slaving away over my drawing board, dreaming of you and your perfect, beautiful face until you get back…safe and warm in my arms. I’m so proud of you.

      My darling Jonny.

      We’ve been dating for nearly two years. When I get back, we’re going to live together. In New York City if things work out. Already I can see us: drinking coffee in the mornings, padding about in our loft apartment overlooking Central Park—sometimes there’s a dog in the picture, sometimes it’s just us.

      Folding the letter carefully, I slip it back into the side pocket of my carry-on bag.

      I think of my parents, standing next to one another at the departure gate of Cleveland airport. They just couldn’t understand why I needed to go so far away; why anyone would ever want to leave the States. I’m the only person in my family with a passport.

      There’s a whole entire world bursting with beautiful language, enormous, crushing emotions and stories so powerful they break your heart in two—just not in Eden, Ohio. How can I explain to them that I want to be part of it? To rub up against the culture that inspired Shakespeare and Sheridan, Coward and Congreve; the wit of Wilde, the satire of Shaw, the sheer wickedness of Orton…I want to see it, touch it; experience it all first-hand instead of reading about it in books, in between taking orders at Doughnut Express.

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