Stop Requested, a preview...

It's September 11th, 2001, about 8:35am. I have just taken my first sip of Colombian drip, light and sweet from Starbucks on Harvard Avenue in Boston. At the ripe age of 17, on the bus headed toward week 2 at the Art Institute.... I gaze out of the window in awe of this picturesque city I have so willingly turned into my new home. Coming from a place like Long Island, I never would have imagined being surrounded by so much history and deceptive beauty. Life changes dramatically in the events to follow on that beautiful morning.

Lets call her a plus sized woman. With nappy blonde hair and rainboots. She fills the coin slot and announces to the #66 bus, Scrunchies are back. Well, she didnt actually say the words out loud but her -Jan Brady- pony flip and offensive dye job said everything that needed to be said. Statements without words are far more effective if you ask me.

I vaguely remember the scent of potent coffee in my left nostril and feel of the single strap gap bag buckling to my chest as if it knew there was something terribly wrong with this scenario. I wished nothing more than diarrhea on this unfortunate soul standing before me. My teenage angst and judgemental disposition would never be the same. I had finally had the "ah ha moment" Oprah raved about season after season. In this moment of absolute scrunchie induced rage, I accepted the fact that my mother had ruined me for all eternity. Yea, ok it's a stretch but you'll get to know her and understand why she is the reason my life was turned upside down by a tacky piece of fabric attached to the abomination that was this deamon spawn woman's head.

As we continued down Harvard Avenue I became transfixed with the scrunchie. I needed to understand in it's entirety why this woman had experienced such despair in her life that she felt like a scrunchie was just an acceptable part of her everyday life. It wasn't like she was unattractive. She had something going for her... I mean, I don't remember what that was because... FUCK! That scrunchie was revolting. But who broke her heart? Where did her self esteem go? What was the meaning of life? Gross, scrunchies ruin perfectly beautiful days.

I press the piece of yellow tape against the wall of the bus as I approach Brookline Avenue. "Stop Requested" lights up above the windshield on #66. I sigh and think to myself, "Ugh! This is the worst morning of my life."

Altthough, there was something about that light, "Stop Requested." I didn't understand it or really think too much about it at the time but, you know that deja vu feeling you get and it's almost indescribable? Yea, that's how I felt for weeks while taking the 66. It happened on the trolley as well. Every time, without fail. Happiness would consume my soul every time I was the one to illuminate that light. Most people go about their lives with the push of yellow tape, dreading that the are going to work the second they step onto the sidewalk. Me, on the other hand... something exciting, unexpected waited for me every time I pushed that tape. Something to see, learn, experience was on the other side of the doors and I couldn't wait to find out what it was.