It was a Georgia 18 kind of night.

Georgia was her favorite font, due to no small fact that it neatly aligned with her own name. And 18, the easiest font size to read before she had to rely on her awkward, maroon reading glasses which never seemed to fit. Needless to say, Georgia 18 meant that something was on her mind; it meant she had something to say. Yet nothing stained the pure, white computer screen as the wink of the cursor beckoned to spill her darkest secrets.

It was another night of writer’s block. She just couldn’t articulate any meaningful composite of words to describe what seemed to be right on the tip of her tongue. And it really didn’t help that this was her occupation. A sigh of resignation escaped her breath as she turned away from the glare of her 13-inch Macbook Pro towards the New York city skyline.

“Man, how did I end up here…” she wondered for the fiftieth time since she arrived exactly one month ago.

Well, of course she knew the answer. All it really took was one phone call, a half-baked promise, two large duffle bags, and a suitcase. A recipe for disaster to her parents, and they were probably right, but to her it was nothing short of a childhood dream. Georgia in the Big Apple. 

“Definitely the title to my award-winning children’s book series,” she chuckled to herself.

Either way now she’s here. Living her dream, with ramen cups stacked up on the trash bin and cardboard boxes making the perfect dining room table. She let her eyes slowly wander around the apartment as an insignificant memory pushed itself to the front of her mind.

A red dress. The one she wanted for months. Tearing through the wrapping paper, sixteen year old Georgia couldn’t be more overjoyed as she ran to give her parents a huge hug. The next memory was a little hazier.

The same red dress, but this time yelling could be heard in the background. Georgia couldn’t bear to wear an ugly, outdated dress to her senior ball. Mom just didn’t understand, Georgia wasn’t sixteen anymore.

The memory brought a simple smile to Georgia’s lips as her eyes landed on the same red dress that now lay half-folded on a suitcase. It’s funny how one item could conjure such conflicting emotions in the same person within two short years. Her smile widened as she realized something funny, a coincidence.

She turned back to the glaring screen of her Macbook and typed away.

Georgia wasn’t sixteen anymore.

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