Anne-Sophie Rose peeked around the corner of the lobby.
     The concierge was on the phone all the way across the big tiled hall, sounding quite frustrated and scribbling notes down.
     She tried to measure how far away the door was. 150 feet? She began tip-toeing to the front when he turned his back, speeding up as she got closer. She was so close…. 30 more steps…. 10… 5….
     “Miss Rose! Are you all right?”
     Anne-Sophie Rose flinched, but quickly turned around with a smile on her face. She had seen her father’s movies before, and she knew a thing or two about fooling people.
     “Oh! Hector is outside. We’re going to go to the museum, mother said it would be all right if I did a little sightseeing while they were gone.” She flashed the concierge another smile and turned to leave.
     “Let me just call Hector quickly, if you’re sure you want to go,” the concierge said, striding back to his desk.
     “Oh, please don’t bother him! He’s right outside, and I promise everything will be all right. Back in an hour, okay? Don’t worry, sir, I’ll be fine. Plus…”
     Anne-Sophie showed him the pepper spray he had given her when she first arrived a couple days ago, tucked in her coat.
     He hesitantly peeled his hand off the phone with a relieved smile.
     “Well, all right. Don’t get in any trouble, or your parents will kill me.”
     “Never,” Anne-Sophie said charmingly, and hurried out, disorganized, before he could change his mind.
     The hundreds of smells and sounds of the city hit her suddenly. People walked by, each minding their own business. She slid on her heels and took in the city air—which she immediately regretted—and then looked out to the street for a taxi.
     She watched a tall woman confidently step out right in the middle of oncoming traffic, wave her hand, and step into a taxi that barely braked within a matter of seconds.
     Okay, Anne-Sophie thought. Can’t be too hard, right?
     Anne-Sophie was terrified she’d get hit by a car, and took multiple tries to build up the courage to actually step out into the street. Finally, she poked her head out, but evidently not boldly enough, because taxis kept speeding by. After a few futile attempts, one rolled by, slower than the others, and screeched to a stop.
     She had never ridden in a taxi alone before. Her parents were off in Milan, and when they were gone—which was often—she was usually holed up in whatever golden cage they left her in. She missed them. Her parents always hated leaving her, and called her every day. She felt that her relationship with her parents wasn’t much different than anyone else’s. She was a little nervous, but she had dressed for the occasion. She had scoured the movies she’d grown up watching from the early 2000’s that boasted aspiring New York businesswomen. Everyone wore what they wanted in New York City and made a statement.
     Before she could begin to wonder if this poor planning was a good idea in a city you could get lost in so easily—
     “Hey miss! You getting in?” The taxi driver shouted genially as he rolled down the window.
     “Yes, yes, sorry,” Anne-Sophie exclaimed with a flush, and before she could turn and run back to the safety of her hotel with the black and white tiles that reminded her of her home in Paris, she opened the door and got in.
     Compared to the buzz, everything went quiet. From the dirty windows, she thought it was entertaining how people looked like mini action figures and taxis like toy cars. Feeling small was her favorite feeling in the world. She took in the picture on the dashboard, the air freshener on the front mirror, the little space that somehow felt more homey than the hotels she stayed in when they were constantly on the move.
     “Where are you headed?” The welcoming voice asked. Anne-Sophie got distracted by the tear in the scratchy leather seat. It was hot, and you could tell the car should be in a junk yard by now. She contemplated the safety of this particular taxi as she remembered the peeling yellow paint on the outside and noticed that pretty much everything in the car was non-functional except for the steering wheel, gas, and brakes.
     He was a very kind-looking man with silver hair peeking out from his corduroy cap and tired grey eyes the color of the sea on a stormy day. Smile lines stretched over his rotund face and
around his bulbous nose. He looked to be about 60, in corduroys and a jacket much too big for him.
     “Where do you recommend?”
     “You ever been to Central Park?”
     “No, but it sounds perfect.”
     “We’ll  be there in 10 minutes, Miss.”
     He took his foot off the brakes and threw the two of them into the road. Car horns honked, and a variety of profanities erupted as he barely avoided crashing into pedestrians and other taxis. Anne-Sophie gripped the door handle, holding on for dear life. She already didn’t look much like a New Yorker—she clearly didn’t have the guts that it took.
     Anne-Sophie looked out the window. A big green park whizzed by, the large trees stretching their shade over the expanse of bright grass. The fields were populated by dogs chasing frisbees while their owners picnicked or sat on a park bench taking in the blue day.
     “Is that it?”
     “Oh, no, it’s much bigger than that.”
     “Bigger than that??”
     “Yes,” he laughed. “Would you like some music?”
     “Yes, please.”
     She instantly recognized the song. The music that came on the radio was her mother’s lilting French voice, sweet and radiant. For a second, Anne-Sophie wished that her mother or father didn’t follow her everywhere, even when they were oceans away.
     “Would you mind if I asked your name?”
     “Anne-Sophie.”
      They were at a stop light next to a flower garden. Hedges and long, soft-looking grass wound around it. Everything had been blurring by in colors, and now she saw the blushing roses, the soft purple forget-me-nots, and the climbing ivy’s. They were all overgrown and bursting from their terraces. She wanted to run through it with her arms stretched out, all alone.
     “That’s a nice name, miss, if you don’t mind me saying,” he said in his lulling voice, “very nice indeed. My daughter’s name is Cherry. After the blossom. Something about flower names, hm.” He seemed to be talking to himself now, chuckling at some inside joke that he had with himself.
     Anne-Sophie spotted a cherry-blossom tree, the buds just gaining a muted pink to their peeking petals. She was just about to point it out when the light turned green and everyone started honking.
     A New York minute, she thought to herself. I’ve never seen one in action.
     They left the flower garden behind, and she memorized the street names.
     Charleston and Jamaica. She’d come back later.
     “What’s yours?”
     “Mine?” The cabbie looked shocked. It was a couple seconds before he spoke again. “No passenger’s ever asked me that before. I’m Mr. Tulip. What do you do for a living, miss? If you don’t mind me asking.”
     What did she do for a living?
     She saw the carts selling tacos and hot dogs and everything in between.
     She thought of all 22 trips around the sun and couldn’t think of one impressive thing she had to show for it, not even college.
     She was ashamed. Here was Mr. Tulip, driving day in and day out, and she got a free pass. She didn’t know what to do when everyone told her she didn’t have to work. It was strange and depersonalizing, an out-of-body experience.
     “It’s complicated.”
     This seemed to pique Mr. Tulip’s interest. He probably didn’t get much entertainment.
     “Complicated? Can’t be too complicated, can it?”
     “I go places. And I… do things,” Anne-Sophie tried.
     “That we all do, Miss Rose, that we all. Doesn’t quite answer the question, though.”
     She could tell he meant well. He was probably nosy about every person who sat in his passenger seat, eavesdropped to stay occupied. He probably heard calls he shouldn’t hear and saw things that people didn’t let other people see because he was just an invisible cabby.
     “I’m a taker, of sorts.”
     “A taker?” He mused. He seemed to think this was a fun riddle to crack. “You’re not a pickpocket, are you? Too many of those in New York.” His hand went instinctively to his cap as if to check it were still there. It lingered on the faded brown fabric in relief and then came back down to the steering wheel.
     They stopped at a red light.
     “No, nothing like that.”
     “A bank clerk?”
     “No.”
     “One of those people who go door to door for donations?”
     “Nope.”
     Mr. Tulip was stumped.
     “Well….” Anne-Sophie had a peculiar feeling that she could trust this man. Maybe it was because he was an ordinary cabbie who didn’t have anyone to tell, or maybe it was the smell of bubblegum that her father always chewed while practicing his lines. “I’m…” She didn’t quite know how to say it.
     I’m the child of 2 famous people, and by some extension that I don’t fully understand, that makes me relatively well-known?
     “My parents are singers and actors.”
     The cabbie had no reaction. His face stayed as still as a statue.
     “And you?”
     Anne-Sophie was taken aback. No one ever seemed to care after she said that.
     “I… I don’t know.”
     Anne-Sophie sat there. Who was she? She was the daughter of two famous people, and that was it, all that she was known for and by default all she was.
     “I don’t know. I’m 22 and I don’t. Is that bad?” She was asking this to a cabbie she had just met a mere ten minutes or so ago.
     “Well, that’s interesting. You don’t know what you are.” He was silent for a couple seconds, and she felt her eyes brimming with tears. “Well, neither do I.” He cracked a smile and glanced over at her before pinning his eyes back on the road. “Plus, your 20’s, that’s normal. Don’t you worry about that. You let me know when you’ve solved the essential question of life. We’re here, miss.”
     He pulled to a stop under a shady oak tree with limbs embracing the air.  
     “Thank you. I’m sorry, that was weird of me.”
     “Not at all,” Mr. Tulip smiled. “It’s always terrifying when you first realize it, and then it’s kind of fun. You get to go find out all the things that you like and that make you you, I guess.”
     “Like a puzzle.”
     “Exactly,” he chuckled. “But an infinity puzzle. You get to keep adding on. You see, the picture always looks complete, but never finished. You just keep adding in nice little details. For instance, what do you like?”
     “Oh, I like making coffee. I use this old coffee maker that takes a long time and should’ve been replaced a while ago, but I like the noise, and I’ve had it forever. Each cup is artistic, if that makes sense. I’ve had coffee from everywhere, but I still like the plain one from my coffee maker the best.”
     “Well, if you know that much already, you’re doing just fine. Now go enjoy the park!”
     “Oh, yes, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Anne-Sophie pulled out a $100 bill and put it in his hand.
     Mr. Tulip smiled warmly.
     “I can’t accept this.”
     Anne-Sophie got out of the car before he could give it back.
     “That’s my mother’s song, you know,” Anne-Sophie said. “On the radio.”
     “What song?” He said, and drove off.