I couldn’t tell you why I thought moving to Baltimore sounded like a good idea.

Having worked almost every weekend at the movie theater that year, I suspect Baltimore became a retreat for me; it was a place that was close enough to get to, but far enough away from the misery that accompanied retail employment. I could have gone to Boston, Chicago, New York City or whatever the hell cities dot Delaware – but no, I had Baltimore. It was (and is) a piece of shit. It’s got a tremendously high crime rate. Its harbor is a slightly cleaner, public septic tank. I could have picked any other town north or south of my own, but I had Baltimore.

My brother, Jeb, has lived in the inner city for the better half of a decade, doing little else than picking up loose women while working at bars and walking his dog in the park in hopes of meeting loose women. I guess that’s just the way Baltimore works; either that or people in their mid-twenties are extremely lonely and easily persuaded to have sex with the person on the other end of a dog leash.

I don’t know why I visited my brother on the precious few days out of the year I wasn’t trudging through my senior year or shoveling fucking mountains of popcorn at my unbelievably shitty job, but I did it nonetheless. Jeb isn’t a particularly friendly fellow, least of all to me. He’s obsessed with his body, bikes, pussy and dogs – in that order. Stand with him in line at a store for more than five minutes and you’ll notice him flexing and staring intently at his own biceps and leg muscles – that bizarre, distant look in his eyes that signifies intense vanity. That look that men with little or no restraint give a pretty girl in passing, but never to one’s own body.

At any rate, every other weekend I found myself on 495, headed for Baltimore with the heat cranked up high and a sense of longing in this old heart of mine. I’d always arrive at Jeb’s house (which was little more than a former lumber shop in the middle of a parking lot) to a warm, loving greeting from my dear brother:

“Why the fuck didn’t you call me and let me know you were coming up here?”
“Well, I did – nevermind the fact that it was four hours ago.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Andrea, his girlfriend, on the other hand, was always delightful, thoughtful and other –ful words that mean good things. Never one to judge my poor planning, she always made suggestions to sushi bars I should dip in to, art exhibits downtown, and of course, a place to rest my weary head and cold hands for the night. I soon learned that she was the yin to Jeb’s yang, and their relationship never made much sense to me in that regard. For instance, if I were to ask the simple, legitimate question, “Where would be an inviting and comfortable sleeping establishment that my friends and I could stay at for the night as to not be a burden in your home?”

Andrea: “Oh! I know just the place! Here, let’s all gather ‘round the computer and check Google Maps. We’ll find you boys a great place to stay with a budget in mind – maybe they’ll even have a pool!”

How delightful, I thought. What about you, Jeb?

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Sorry, what street was that on, again? I’ll be sure to stay at that lovely hotel you recomme—oh wait, you just insulted me and didn’t help me in the slightest.

Brotherly qualms aside, I had my heart set on the city by the sea after receiving my long-awaited diploma.

Maybe it was the crumbling remnants of this old city that drew me in. Perhaps it could have been the fact that there’s a bar every three steps down nearly any shady strip, save for the Inner Harbor. It could have been the transvestites that hung around the sandwich shop I’d visited on my birthday. Maybe it was the gunshots. Yeah, I’m going to go with the gunshots. I moved to Charm City because I loved the almost symphonic ecstasy of hearing firearms go off for miles in every direction.

Actually, I’m just your typical Small Town, USA fellow. You know, big dreams in the big city and all that, only I wasn’t a naïve young woman looking to make it big in whatever naïve young women hope to make it big in. After high school, I was looking for a city that was a polar opposite to my own. Unfortunately for me, however, the antonyms to quiet, safe and friendly are loud as all hell, dangerous as shit and mean-ass motherfuckers. Yeah, you read right: mean-ass. Crazy-ass, too, depending on what part of town you are in and how young and white you come off.

The day I graduated was the day everything changed. Here it was, the day every teenage kid lives for, and then it’s over. The ceremony died down and we all went to our cars and drove to our respective parties and family celebrations. For me, though, I did neither of these. While other kids were getting shit-faced at some bonfire or scoring loads of tickets at that new Jurassic Park light gun game at Chuck E. Cheese’s (or whatever, hell if I know what kids do these days), I was exploring the woods in my small, rural stretch. My dress shirt and tie still worn proudly, albeit ruffled and covered in soil, I trudged through dimly lit patches of trees, open meadows and wheat fields. I didn’t think about the road that stretched on ahead of me, what college would be like or if I’d even like Baltimore. No, I felt powerful. It’s the one day where you feel completely at ease – like the rest of your life is on hold while you savor this day – this day that, like any other, lasts 24 hours and then it’s gone.

I spent the remainder of June working at everyone’s favorite “authentic” Italian restaurant (because all Italians eat is pasta, mind you), Olive Garden. I made frequent, almost daily visits to Baltimore to confirm my lease, internet access and a temporary job (and an indescribably shitty job at that – more on that in a later tale). I got my haircut and looked downright dapper. While I spent my days scraping chicken parmesan off of plates and my nights taking walks by the railroad tracks, all I could think about was my life in Baltimore. How productive and amazing life will be, I imagined.

I soon learned that visiting and living were two completely different worlds altogether.

To be continued in “Glass and Fire: Living Is Hard Work”.