This is the first time I have spoken out in detail about what happened to me one year ago, but here I go. Please bear with me, it's not the easiest thing to talk about and it's definitely not the most pleasant. I had wanted to get to Los Angeles since I was a little kid in St. Louis, Missouri, before I even knew anything about the place. All I knew is that people who had a dream to be an artist of some kind; headed over there with oversized dreams. I was twenty seven and time was ticking away, I knew if I didn't go then...I'd probably never get there.
It all happened fast, all I did was put it in my mind that I'd get there no matter what it took. I found someone looking for a roommate in the San Fernando Valley area. A guy my age that was in the real estate business and things were really looking up for him. He had another roommate, but had plenty of room, as his house was huge! He sent me pictures of his property, it was beautiful. He told me it would be a great place for me to write and be inspired, I agreed. We made an arrangement for me to fly out to L.A. and meet...check everything out and see if it was a place I'd like to live. He even offered me a job working for him, until I found my own thing to do. I got my plane ticket and was to fly out on May 24, 2007. I was tired of my life in Missouri, I was unhappy and wanted to leave and never look back. I was nervous about leaving my home of twenty seven years and stepping out into the world, but I knew it was the only way I could break away and be me...to do what I wanted. Trust me; I had never wanted anything more in my whole life; twenty years of wanting something that bad and you get desperate.
I packed as much as I could, because I didn't know if I'd be staying for good or not. I got on that plane early in the morning and my journey began. It wasn't my first time in California; I had spent a week there in 1999, but didn't get to do much. I was nervous through the whole flight and right before the plane landed; I knew there was no turning back. I got off the plane and was greeted by a friend of the guy I had arranged to stay with. He carried my suitcase to his car and drove me to the house I was to be staying at. The house was as beautiful as the pictures portrayed it to be. I met the guy I had talked to on the phone; he was very professional-yet down to earth. The first night I was there, we spent talking, laughing, and getting to know each other for hours. It's not what you think; this was strictly friendship, as he knew I had a boyfriend and never once crossed the line.
The second day I was there was a Friday, so we had the whole weekend ahead of us. I spent the day resting, because I was tired and we stayed up quite late the night before. When he got home from work, he had a friend with him. This was a man he had been friends with since they were children and most of his childhood friends were employees of his. He introduced us and then we decided to go out to dinner. I never once felt threatened by any of these people and I thought I was a decent judge of character-definitely not as trusting as most. After a sushi dinner, we went back home and talked about what we were going to do that night. Me being the guest, I got to choose and I was eager to hit up the beach. I loved Santa Monica the first time I visited and that is where I had been aching to go.
After tossing ideas back and forth, I could see that my new roommate was tired from working all day, but his friend told me he would take me. At first, I sort of thought it was a bad idea, but life is a chance and when you even so much as go on a date with a new person-it too is a chance. I told him ok and we left for Santa Monica. We were on the freeway and I watched each exit as we passed by it. Listening to music and talking about nothing of importance, things started to become clear. All the sudden, I didn't like the way he was talking to me. He told me to tell him the kinds of things I wrote about. He wasn't really listening and before I could even finish, he would make a big deal out of it-almost condescendingly. I became quiet and uncomfortable, things certainly did not feel right, especially when he passed the Santa Monica exit. I asked him where he was taking me, he told me he had to stop by his house and get some money. I knew this wasn't right, but hoped for the best...I hoped things turned out ok. We got to the Inglewood exit, which he took. I had heard the stories of this area and that did not make things feel promising for my future. He stopped at a gas station with bars on the windows. There was trash flying around the street and homeless people at each corner. No one else was at the gas station, except a Hispanic girl that looked around my age. I watched her as she pumped her gas. I wanted to run over to her and ask for help. I wanted to get out of the car and run, but looking around...nowhere seemed safe. He got back into the car and drove a few blocks away to his house.
