The Raincoat


It all started with a raincoat. The fire hydrant red raincoat. It wasn’t new- I found it on a bench in the small park down the street from my house- but it was special. When I put it on, I felt like a new person. In an instant, the world looked different too. No longer was I standing next to an old, rickety park bench; I was standing on the curb of a crowded street with taxis whizzing by in every direction. Hundreds of sounds flooded my ears as I frantically tried to find out where I was. I took a step to get out of the main pathway and teetered, almost falling over. I looked down to see that I was wearing stilettos on my feet. Where were my old sneakers? And my jeans? My legs were bare except for a tight black miniskirt peeking out from under the raincoat. I stumbled over to the other, less crowded side of the sidewalk and looked for a street sign. I found one and gasped. BROADWAY. A news stand was a few feet away, so I hurried over to it and snatched up a newspaper. At the top of it in big, black letters it said, The New York Times. I wasn’t in Boise anymore- I was in New York City! After the shock subsided, I felt a sort of giddy happiness. This was New York City, the city where dreams come true! I put the newspaper down and caught sight of a familiar face on one of the magazines. There, staring back at me from the glossy cover was me. I looked different- stunning, actually. My makeup was flawless and every little blonde hair was shiny and in place. I had a smile that would dazzle the stars. And I looked happy. But it was the caption that really struck me: “New York’s newest and truest model shines at fashion week. This girl’s on her way to the top- but she’s already almost there.” At that moment, it seemed like everybody saw me- as if I was under a spotlight. People rushed up to me, asking for autographs and picture. Some people didn’t even ask for a picture- they just took one anyway. Before long, my hand hurt from signing, and my face hurt from smiling. I edged toward the curb and tried to hail a taxi. It wasn’t long before one stopped for me. Somehow I managed to climb in and close the door. Before I could even open my mouth to tell the driver where to go, he smiled and said, “Home, Ms Arabelle?”I nodded, relieved because I wouldn’t have known where to tell him to go. Traffic was heavy, and it took a long time to go even a few blocks. Finally, the driver pulled over. I stepped out and looked up at the fancy building. The doorman smiled at me as he opened the door. Inside people were bustling about, everybody in fancy clothes. Everything looked like it was straight out of a royal palace. Even the rug! I was almost scared to walk on it for fear of messing it up even in the slightest. I slid my hands into my pockets and paused, pulling out a little gold key. It had four numbers on it: 1000. I walked over to the elevator and went up to the tenth floor. When the doors opened, one single door was waiting. I put the key in and turned. I opened the door, stepped inside, and gasped. It was like a dream. Everything was white and gold and gorgeous and huge. My whole house back in Boise would have fit into just the living room. The bedroom was fit for a queen with a four post bed and a walk in closet filled with designer everything. A pair of French doors led out onto a balcony that had an amazing view of the city's skyline. After spending what felt like an eternity watching the night life and stars, I went back inside, threw off my coat and heels, and flopped onto the bed. It was so soft and comfortable I could feel my eyes closing as soon as my head hit the pillow.

When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window. I sat up and looked around at the familiar pink walls lined with pictures and memories. I looked at the two small dressers overflowing with old hand-me-downs. I looked down at my clothes and saw the ratty old T-shirt covered with pink paint stains and my boxer shorts I always sleep in. and then I looked at my hand. There, resting neatly in my palm, was a little gold key.