Radio Shangri-La_ What I Learned in Bhutan, the Happiest Kingdom on Earth - Lisa Napoli [35]
From the backseat of Pink’s little car, I witnessed dusk sweeping over the skies. Ngawang had also come along for the ride. I liked these two women so much, even though I didn’t really know them yet. The streets of Thimphu began to bustle as day turned into night, filled with life. Shops were full, and business was particularly brisk at the snooker parlor, where players wagered on their games, eagerly leaning across crowded tables. As we navigated the streets on our way to meet the mystic, I allowed myself a moment of pride for my adventurousness. When I was about the age of my companions, something happened to me that could have convinced me never to venture out again. When I stopped to consider what had happened, it astonished me how far I’d come.
IN THE SUMMER of 1981, when I was seventeen years old, a chance discussion with a friend on a subway platform tipped me off to the existence of a brand-new cable channel called CNN. The outfit was new and so small-time that simply by making a bold phone call to the number listed in information, I landed myself an internship at the New York bureau. That led to another, and another, and finally, when I got out of college, it was by default the place where I sought full-time employment.
For the princely salary of $11,000 a year, I moved to Atlanta to work at the network’s world headquarters. I’d never been to the city, so I relocated there sight unseen, as there wasn’t time or money enough in the fledgling network’s budget, or mine, to first check the place out. Back in its early days, CNN didn’t wield enormous influence on the world stage as it does today; then it was disparagingly referred to as Chicken Noodle News.
Most everyone at work turned out to be just like me—young, ambitious, from somewhere else, not long out of school. Our jobs and hours were constantly changing, but in spite of the flux, we cobbled together the kind of accelerated support system that develops when you’re in an intense and demanding situation. Drinking beer at eight in the morning, after slogging through exhaustion on the overnight shift—both are excellent bonding rituals.
One June night, about a year after I’d started working there, I returned home from a birthday party for my friend Michael. It was after 1:00 a.m., quite late, considering that I had to report to work at 8:00 a.m. for the day shift. Just a few weeks prior, I’d moved across the building’s courtyard to my very first apartment without a roommate. The place wasn’t fancy in any way, but it was all mine—a sweet little studio with a claw-foot tub and French doors that separated the living area from where I slept. It was cheap and close to work, even if the neighborhood was a bit so-so.
The landlord had yet to unstick the windows, which had been painted just before I moved in, so they were stuck open a few inches. My several attempts to push them down failed, but it was hot enough that I hadn’t called again to complain. Those cracks kept me from suffocating in the oppressive summer heat, as a window-unit air conditioner was beyond my means.
Exhausted from a long night, I stripped off my clothes, collapsed naked onto the futon on the floor, tucked my eyeglasses underneath the edge, pulled up the top sheet, and fell right to sleep.
I’ve never been able to calculate what time it was when I was wakened by a loud thud. At first I was certain the noise was from a picture falling off the wall. I’d hung a framed poster of chili peppers in the kitchen and it had fallen in the middle of the night the week before, too. I hadn’t quite gotten the hook in the wall right. So I shifted my position on the futon and figured I’d rehang it in the morning. Then I heard another noise.
In that instant, I became aware of movement across the room. It sounded like a window being forced open. No, that couldn’t be. Blind as a bat, I fumbled in the pitch dark under the futon to excavate my eyeglasses so I could confirm that this was my imagination at work. Where had I