A large, weathered sign loomed over the taxi stand, its bold letters proclaiming: “Greenwood Springs Welcomes You.” Beneath it, the hustle of the city carried on—a steady rhythm of conversations, honking horns, and the distant hum of engines. He paused briefly to take in the sight, the words sinking into his mind like the beginning of a story he was finally stepping into.
Greenwood Springs, a city of contrasts, offered him the chance to turn a page and start afresh.
He approached the taxi stand, where a line of vehicles waited in the shimmering heat, their drivers leaning casually against their cars or chatting amongst themselves. He picked one at random, a modest sedan with its paint slightly faded but clean. The driver, a man with a sun-worn face and an easy smile, greeted him warmly.
“Need a ride for yourself, or are you sharing?” the driver asked, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
“I’ll go alone,” he replied after a moment’s thought. He wanted this ride to be his own, unshared and unspoiled by the presence of strangers. This wasn’t just transportation—it was a moment, a memory in the making.
The driver nodded, tossing the handkerchief onto the dashboard. “Hop in.”
The car pulled away from the stand with a gentle jolt, merging into the steady stream of traffic. The clock on the dashboard read 2:05 PM, June 5th, 2017. The sun hung high in the sky, its unrelenting glare heating the air until it shimmered faintly above the asphalt. Even the breeze that slipped through the partially open windows felt warm, like a soft exhale from the city itself.
But that didn’t stop him from rolling his window all the way down. He leaned slightly into the open air, letting Greenwood Springs unfold before him.
The air was thick with the promise of summer, a mix of warmth and humidity. However, the boy’s decision to keep the windows open during the ride was met with a pleasant surprise. As the taxi began to move, a breeze swept in, bringing with it a coolness that felt like a caress on his face. It was a moment of serene bliss, whether real or a product of his excitement, he couldn’t be sure. But in that moment, it didn’t matter.
He leaned his head out of the window, allowing the wind to tousle his hair. He could hear the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves. It was as if the town had taken a step back from its usual bustling energy, allowing him to savor the simplicity of the journey.
Tall structures rose on either side of the road, their reflective glass surfaces gleaming like beacons. Interspersed among them were older buildings, their brickwork worn but steadfast. Each one seemed to hold a story, a memory of the past nestled beside the aspirations of the future. Some bore scaffolding, marking them as works in progress, while others stood complete, modern and commanding.
He took it all in—the architecture, the signs, the street names etched onto metal plaques. His gaze darted from storefronts to street vendors, from the pedestrians crossing at intersections to the faint graffiti scrawled on walls. None of it was new to him, not entirely. He had seen these streets on his earlier visits. But today, they carried a new weight, a sense of permanence.
For the first time, he wasn’t just passing through. Greenwood Springs wasn’t just a destination. He belonged here.
He leaned forward slightly. “Could you drive a little slower?” he asked the driver.
The man glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his brows lifting in mild surprise. “Sure thing,” he said, easing off the accelerator.
The city revealed itself at this gentler pace, offering him the chance to memorize each corner and intersection. He imagined himself giving directions someday, pointing out landmarks to someone unfamiliar. It was as if he were already laying claim to these streets, internalizing them as part of his world.
A smile crept onto his face—a quiet, personal expression of excitement.
“You new here?” the driver asked, catching his smile.
“Yes,” he replied.
The driver chuckled. “Figured as much. Not many people ask to go where you’re headed.”
“Why’s that?”
“That part of town’s still mostly empty,” the driver explained. “Not much there yet—few buildings, fewer people. Locals don’t live there. It’s where newcomers like you settle, starting fresh.”
The boy nodded, absorbing this information. He was entering a world that was still in the process of creation, a blank canvas waiting for its residents to paint their stories upon it.
The breeze, though still hot, felt strangely cool against his skin, carrying a sense of welcome that defied the sweltering noon. He leaned out of the window, letting the air wash over him. It wasn’t just the city’s heat he felt but its pulse, its promise of belonging.
He pulled back inside, his thoughts now drifting to the scenery outside. The tall buildings gave way to stretches of open fields, where cows grazed lazily under the sun and stray dogs wandered without urgency. Empty plots hinted at the potential for growth, but for now, the area seemed untouched by the city’s faster pace.
His eyes lingered on a makeshift cricket pitch in a grassy lot, and he imagined himself running across it, the wind rushing past as he played. There was a certain charm to this undeveloped side of Greenwood Springs, a blank canvas where stories could be written.
The taxi driver, sensing his curiosity, spoke up again. “You’ll see soon enough—this area’s peaceful now, but give it time. This is where lives start over. It’s special, in its own way.”
The boy turned to the window, watching as the scenes unfolded. His mind raced with the possibilities ahead—new neighbors, uncharted streets, and the quiet beauty of a place yet to be fully defined.
As the car slowed to a stop, the driver turned to him with a smile. “Here we are. The new development.”
The boy stepped out, the warm breeze swirling around him. The area was sparse—unfinished buildings, long stretches of open land, and only a handful of signs of life. But the quiet felt right, like a pause before the next line in a story.
