Corrigan sees her on the train. She’s pretty with a sense of allure, and he watches her as she pours over the journal on her lap. When the train arrives at her stop, she leaves the journal behind for Corrigan’s taking. He takes it home, and over the next few weeks he finds himself pouring over it and its contents. He becomes more and more involved in who she is – or rather, who he has built her to be. Upon close inspection he notices a small phone number scrawled in the margin of a page. He calls it in hopes of reaching this unattainable girl. What he finds out sends him on this odd, whirlwind journey to find her.
It was just hours ago that I had watched as day had become night and saw the sun slink down over the Atlantic Ocean, casting colors I've only ever found in sunsets onto everything it could reach. I observed the odd shapes of the world below me, and how odd it was to think I was above the clouds, above nearly everything else, how I was completely suspended and my feet weren’t touching solid ground. Such heights made me imagine I could see the earth curve and that I was in control of it all, all it’s curves and dips and valleys and mountains that jutted out proudly towards the sky. But as the thought of controlling all this crossed my mind, I realized how much I did not control. How I wasn’t in control of this soaring metal container, and how I wasn’t in control of the people I met, and sometimes how they weren’t even in control of themselves and how I feared that’s the way I was becoming too. Because that’s what spontaneous trips to Europe to find a person you think you love even though you’ve never met does to you; it makes you wonder just how much control you have over yourself.