Running Toward the Sun

“They came before me
Those men from the Sun.
Signs from the heavens say I am the one.”

~ Enya Lyric

Ecrits Blogophilia Week 8.15 – Run for the Glory
Hard Bonus: Incorporate a lyric from Enya (in Prologue)
Easy Bonus: Include a missing sock (Can’t find it)

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Photo taken from Pinterest

Running Toward the Sun

Emmaree Tunstall was not a regular girl. She was what some would call a Rhinestone Cowgirl, a free spirit with a fragile soul.
She was born outside of Nashville to a preacher and a teacher who were already raising six boys. Feeling like an afterthought she ran away at seventeen to the lost city of Angels in search of something outside of herself.

It was a stormy day in August when her plane touched down in Burbank. She met an internet friend at the airport who had promised her a room and a job. Nothing shady, she was not cut out for an underbelly sort of life. This girl was a kindred spirit, a singer songwriter waitressing to make ends meet. Her name was Coral Cartwright, also from Tennessee with big Hollywood dreams. Coral was blonde and bubbly and at twenty-two already seasoned in these parts.

Emmaree met Coral four years ago on a Kasey Musgraves fan site. Soon Coral had become a true confidante and supporter of Emmaree’s hidden talents.
When things became too unbearable at home, she knew Coral would be her first choice of refuge, so she saved up some money for a flight and a few months rent and off she went to start a new life.

Two pink suitcases were twirling round the lone baggage claim carousel, and Coral sauntered up just in time to grab one while Emmaree scooped up the heavier of the two.

“Hey girl,” Coral greeted, “These have to be your bags right?”
“You know it,” Emmaree called back.
The two girls embraced hello and headed toward the parking garage.
Coral packed both bags into the trunk of her cornflower blue Volkswagen Taos.
The two friends talking non stop on the drive back to Coral’s apartment on North Orange Drive where Emmaree would be staying indefinitely.

The complex was old, nearly antique. It was most likely a haven in the 1920’s for starlets on the rise, very Spanish Hacienda style with it’s tile roof and pink stucco walls. Only two stories with maybe sixteen units inside.
Coral had a one bedroom, one bath on the second floor. She told Emmaree she could take over the living room and make it her own. The only furniture in the living room was a fold out sofa bed and a full length gold mirror. Coral had kept it sparse on purpose, only furnishing her own bedroom to the hilt with a vintage queen size bed and ornate french bedroom set she picked up at a yard sale in Beverly Hills.

The kitchenette was merely one wall of appliances and a small fridge with room for a breakfast table and two chairs. It was closed off from the living room so privacy was not an issue. The only issue was that the front door did enter directly into Emmaree’s personal space. But at least she had a window with a view of the Hollywood sign and a huge closet to call her own. The possibilities were endless.

“Here is your new ID,” Coral handed Emmaree a drivers license with the name Emma Lee Starbuck, and her own photo glamorized onto the card. The birthdate was the same, only four years earlier.

“Wait, why do I need this? I turn eighteen next month.” Emmaree was confused.
“Honey eighteen does not cut it as a cocktail waitress you need to be twenty-one to serve around here.”

“Oh, ok. Well I feel kind of weird lying.” Emmaree had some deep morals that were surely about to be tested in this town.

“Oh you will get use to it hun,” Coral winked.