Zac stood staring out the hotel window at the swirling snow. They had been in New York for three days now, and he had major cabin fever. He really wanted to go for a walk, go somewhere, anywhere but here. He hadn't felt like walking since his day with Jillian. That one day had carried him for two weeks. The tour was going well, and he had been enjoying himself, until this snowstorm had stranded him in the middle of millions of people. He kicked the wall under the window in frustration. Before he even realized it, he had crossed the room, grabbed his coat, and pulled the small piece of paper out of his pocket. It was crumpled and dog-eared and had a smudged chocolate thumbprint at one corner. He'd looked at this paper maybe a hundred times in the last two weeks. He sat down on the bed, trailing his index finger lightly over what he'd written that day in St. Louis. Making up his mind, he got up and grabbed the telephone. He really didn't even need the paper now. His fingers knew the numbers. He'd dialed them so many times lately, but he could never bring himself to let the phone ring on the other end before slamming the receiver back into the cradle. This time, though, he was going to do it. RING... RING... RING... Zac drummed his fingers nervously on the table. Click. "Hello?" Sweat started pouring from his hands as if someone had turned on a faucet. "Um, hi, is Jillian there?" He held his breath. "This is Jillian." "Hi, this is Zac." Zac? Zac who? "Hey, Zac, hi!" She remembers me! "How are you?" "Fine, stuck in a hotel in a snowstorm." "Oh, you must be on the East Coast somewhere, then. I saw on the news that there was a lot of snow there." "Yeah, New York. It's a mess." A brief silence. "By the way, thank you for the package." Zac laughed. "Oh, you're welcome. After I sent it, I was afraid you might be offended or something." "No, it was very sweet." "Yeah, well, that's me, Zac, the sweet yet amazingly hyper one." Jillian's laughter poured out of the phone and washed over him. He felt relaxed again. They talked for an hour. Isaac came in once and tried to ask him something, but Zac waved him off like he was an annoying insect. "Listen, Zac, I'm going to have to go. I have a class in fifteen minutes." Zac sighed. "OK. Hey, can I call you again? Next week sometime?" "I'd like that. How about Wednesday night?" Zac thought ahead. Do we have a concert? I don't think so. "That'll work. What time should I call?" "Um, is nine o'clock my time too late?" Zac snickered. "Too late? Ha. I'm a night person, that's early!" "Well, I'll talk to you on Wednesday, then. Thanks for calling, Zac." "Thanks for talking, Jillian." "Bye!" "Bye." Click. Zac sprawled out on the bed, smiling and humming to himself. A snippet of poetry floated into his head, something his mom had made him read in school. He'd been, what, maybe ten? He'd always liked the way the poem sounded but didn't really get what the poet was trying to say. Now he thought he did. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.* *Exerpt from The Road not Taken by Robert Frost |
Epilogue |
