-Hey! So? Are we flying?! - Max shouted enthusiastically as he approached us. This was my second trip, but it was different because this time I wasn't flying alone.
-Whoa, look at your suitcases! We're never going to take off! - our dear friend blurted out again. Alisa and I exchanged glances. Although, let's be honest, we were barely holding back our own excitement.
Memories of New York, captivating with its thousands of lights and endless freedom, were making my head spin.
Tabloids, constant movement, picture-perfect landscapes. I wanted to dive into a world where Starbucks and “one slice of pizza, please” were the most frequently spoken words, and hailing a taxi with a gesture was nothing to be ashamed of.
After a long flight, during which we nearly went crazy from fatigue and excitement, and a few days in the big city, our trio had to head off to different places. Alisa and I lived in neighboring towns, while Max was in another state, a few hours' drive from us.
I returned to Bethany as if I had never left this small, cozy town on the ocean coast. At sunset, it looked just like a gingerbread house, so in my mind, it earned the nickname “sweet town”. Everything was so familiar, and nothing caused a feeling of fear anymore. I felt calm. I lived in the house alone for a few days, then it gradually began to fill with new faces, mostly guys from Russia. I can say for sure that I was very lucky. The colorful composition of our house turned into a real family, where it was always fun and comfortable, though, to be honest, socks were constantly disappearing and arguments happened over dirty dishes.
-Lera, how did you even manage to fly to America?! - Matvey often giggled at my roommate. She was always losing her things (and other people's too), forgetting where she left her bike, mixing up the time, but she laughed so good-naturedly that her long absence made me sad. Matvey joked, sold ice cream, and diluted our all-girl group. In the evenings, we gathered as a home company, sometimes hosted guests, and often visited the guys in nearby towns for real American parties. So, what could be better?
-So, I need to learn the menu! - I said, reading with horror through the list of “mussels, scallops, clams, halibut, swordfish” and other seafood, and sincerely rejoicing when I saw the word chicken.
I worked as a waitress in a restaurant, which at first I couldn't believe myself. Among my colleagues, there was only one Russian speaker; the rest were Americans. I was glad to work in a purely American environment, but at the same time, not understanding half of it, I was very nervous. But gradually, the names of the dishes stuck in my memory, phrases for dealing with guests were learned, and small details like the names of ingredients that could cause allergies were remembered. I learned which products were gluten free, the names of sauces, and memorized the disgusting word asparagus, which I studied to myself for several days. Gradually, everything went well, and green banknotes flew into my pocket. The only thing that left me stunned was the bar menu, or rather, what was beyond it. Guests constantly ordered some cocktails, supposedly well-known, but which were not on the menu and had to be entered into the register in a special way. Then I had to either blink cutely at the bar, asking them to explain where to click on the computer, or shout “heeelp” to passing waiters. It usually worked. But not during dinner, when the general excitement reached its peak and the speed of movement increased significantly; then no one stood on ceremony, and I had to figure it out myself. Interacting with guests gave me pleasure. Smiles, music, gratitude, tips. Everything was wonderful.
The only thing I would change is, perhaps, I would allow myself to worry less about the little things. About the 100 dollars spent “on nothing” at times, about how the manager treats me, that I ate an extra burger, and about all sorts of things that don't affect life as a whole. I would work a little less and rest more. But otherwise, everything was a success.
At the end of the season, I flew to Los Angeles, where I had a great time with my old acquaintances.
-So? Are we flying?! - Max asked again. -Has 4 months really passed? - I looked at my mobile phone screen in bewilderment. It seemed to me that I had just blinked, and time had flown by so quickly. When the plane was taking off, I pressed into my seat, and my whole little summer life flashed before my eyes. Lera's songs with the guitar, the starry sky on the way home every evening, dinners at a gas station with heartfelt conversations, parties, group clean-ups, bike races, pizza in the mornings after a wild night, shopping, some ridiculous incidents, endless jokes and laughter, laughter and laughter. I had everything. And so, what could be better?
