Someday, Somewhere
Page 20
Q: Did he say where he had been all day?
MT: He said he was with his girlfriend, and they’d snuck into Carnegie Hall and the guard kicked them out. Threatened to call the cops but didn’t. It’s weird, because none of us ever met her. His girlfriend. I asked a few of his friends at school and they’d never seen her, either. And since then, since he’s been in the hospital, he hasn’t said anything about her at all.
Q: What are you thinking, Milo?
MT: I don’t want to accuse him of it. She seemed real. The way he talked about her. But now I don’t know.
{47}
Dominique
I have to imagine I’m holding Ben’s hand as I walk down the street. It’s the only way I can work up enough courage to do this.
I look up at the street signs on the corner. Second Avenue and 121st Street. Spanish Harlem. I’ve never even seen his building before, but I have the apartment number memorized from the return address on his once-a-year birthday cards: 178 121st St., #6G. New York, NY 10035.
And there it is, a red brick building with six floors. Just some pavement and a few bricks separating me from him. The ground floor is a bodega. Behind one of the dirty windows above it is my father’s apartment. His bed. His toothbrush. His couch. I’m not sure if he lives alone or with roommates or with some other woman or what. But I have to find out.
I pretend Ben is gripping my hand as I walk up to the front stoop and ring the buzzer. I don’t breathe.
A man with a big blue duffel bag pushes the front door open and walks past me down the steps. I catch the door with my foot and go inside.
There’s no elevator, so I walk up the six flights to get to the top floor. It reminds me a lot of my building — overflowing trash bags in the corner of the lobby, a loose banister that’s probably more dangerous if you hold it than if you don’t. Sticky linoleum steps, crumbly at the corners.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I’m covered in a layer of icy sweat. I grab Ben’s hand as tight as I can and ring the doorbell.
A little girl opens the door. I’m pretty bad at guessing kids’ ages, but she’s probably somewhere between four and six. Her hair is in a long braid with a little plastic bead tied to the end. She’s holding a pancake with a bite taken out of it and her hands are coated with syrup.
“Hi. Is, um, Reg home?” Freaking Reg.
“Who?”
“Reg?” I squeak out.
The little girl scrunches up her nose.
At first I can’t say it. It’s like trying to gargle rocks. “Um, your dad,” I manage at last. “Is your dad home?”
“Ohhh. Yeah!”
So he has a daughter. A daughter who isn’t me.
“Papá, ven aquí.” She speaks Spanish. Of course she does.
A woman in a tank top and yoga pants runs in from a back room and shoos her daughter away from the door. Her thick, long hair is in a ponytail and her skin is darker than mine. She’s beautiful. She looks younger than my dad. I wonder where he met her. I wonder if she’s as kind and good-hearted and hardworking as my mom, or if she’s just some second-rate replacement.
“Sorry,” the woman tells me. “She knows she’s not supposed to answer the door. Can I help you?”
“Hi,” I say. “Um, is Reg here?”
She raises her eyebrows. “I’m his wife. Can I help you with something?”
In the other room I hear silverware and glasses clinking. I try to remember the last time my mom and I actually sat down to eat breakfast together. And never pancakes. Something healthy and practical. Not frivolous and indulgent, like pancakes. I feel hot, tingling jealousy wash over me.
“No, you can’t help me,” I say.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, ‘No, you can’t help me.’ I’m sorry. There’s something I need to ask him.”
“If you’re selling something —”
“I’m his daughter,” I blurt out.
Her face softens. “Dominique?”
“Yeah.”
“One second.” She takes the little girl’s hand and they walk back into the room with the clinking silverware.
And then my dad is standing in the doorway in a white T-shirt with a nickel-sized maple syrup stain on his chest. His head is shaved, but his eyelashes are long and dark, just like mine.
“Hi,” I say.
“Dominique.” I think he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t. I always forget how deep and gentle his voice sounds, like a radio announcer’s.
“I’m sorry for doing this,” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice from breaking. “Interrupting your breakfast with your family. I just —”
Even if I wanted to say something else, I can’t, because tears are spilling down my face and I’m hiccuping and gasping and I can’t catch my breath. I’m not ready for this. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sit on his couch and watch a movie, just me and my dad, hanging out. Now, through the doorway, I can see his couch for the first time: gray with white pillows. But it’s covered with some other kid’s toys. Even though I could push my way through and sit down on it and turn on the TV, it’s never felt farther out of reach.
My dad — Reg, whatever — looks concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“I understand why you don’t have a relationship with me. Maybe you were too young to be a dad. Maybe I cried all the time when I was a baby and it gave you headaches. I’ve run through every possible scenario in my head a million times. But whatever the reason was, it doesn’t matter. You can’t hurt me, because I’ve never known what having a father is like. You can meet me at Starbucks once every three years and send me a card on my birthday. If that’s enough for you, fine, that’s enough for me. But how could you do this to Mom? How could you?”
“Honey, your mom and I couldn’t get along. You know that. We would have killed each other if —”
“But you left us with nothing. We’re stuck in Trenton and we can’t get out. And it’s terrible. Worse than you could even imagine. Worse than when you were there. Mom’s laundromat is barely paying for itself, and I’m never going to be able to make enough money for college, and it’s hopeless. How could you just run away and start a new family without even making sure we were going to be okay?”
I deserve better. I realize that now.
“Dominique, you know I don’t have any money. If I had it, I’d give it to you.”
He hands me a tissue and I dab my face, but it’s still covered in tears and snot. “But she has toys. And you’re eating pancakes.”
“Yes, I try to save enough to provide for Michaela.”
“Michaela. Is she your daughter?”
“Yes. Well, she’s Maria’s, but we’ve been married for three years now.”
Which makes it even worse.
Reg motions for me to come inside, but I shake my head.
He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Dominique, what do you want me to do? You know your mom. It has nothing to do with you. You know you’re not the reason I left and you’re not why I stayed away. Your mom is … She’s hard to handle. She never wanted me around you. I just wanted to keep the peace. I thought it’d be better for everyone. It’s been fifteen years. What could I do to fix things now?”
I grip Ben’s hand with all my strength.
“I want to go to college,” I say. “And I want you and my mom, together, to figure out how to pay for it. I’ll work hard and get better grades and I’ll try for scholarships, but I need to know that you’ll help me find a way to go.”
“But I’m barely —”
“Please. You’re my only hope. And I deserve it.” Just like anyone else deserves a chance at grace and beauty and art and music. And life.
He wipes his face with his hands. At last he says, “I’ll figure something out.”
I take one last look inside.
On the floor there’s a towering stack of kids’ movies that’s almost as high as the TV. A pink tricycle in the corner. A plastic container of Barbie clothes under the coffee table.
“Sorry for interrupting your breakfast,” I mumble.
Then I’m gone. I’m racing down the stairs as fast as I can. Faster and faster, until I push the entryway door open and the cold air hits me.
{48}
Ben
THE BRIGHTON CONSERVATORY
SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
~ Featuring ~
Carter Strom (1st violin)
Muriel Ivey (2nd violin)
Quiao Sung (1st violin)
Dewei T’an (2nd violin)
Wilford Meyer (1st violin)
Eden Bishop (2nd violin)
Sara Lopez (1st violin)
Grace Peters (2nd violin)
Jon Kerr (1st violin)
Alice Monaldo (2nd violin)
Molly Holmes (1st violin)
Calista Dudek (2nd violin)
Erica Kincaid (1st violin)
Jenn D. Gaines (2nd violin)
Alex Howe (1st violin)
Isla Platt (2nd violin)
Sam Bruce (1st violin)
Mary Dunn (2nd violin)
Brandon Sharp (1st violin)
Eleanor James (2nd violin)
Lily Benson (1st violin)
•
Amy Simpson (1st violin)
Ali Smith (oboe/English horn)
•
Win Han (oboe/English horn)
Jun-Yi Leng (viola)
•
Mary Cortez (viola)
Madison West (clarinet)
Sarah Foley (viola)
Robert Copeland (clarinet)
James Rodriguez (viola)
Jamie Lü (bass clarinet)
Victoria Dias (viola)
•
Jacob Ozerov Jr. (viola)
Eric D’Angelo (bassoon)
Carey Burke (viola)
Donald Puente (bassoon)
Luong Phi (viola)
Fabian Williams (contrabassoon)
Shawn Baxter (viola)
•
Suzie Brown (viola)
Samiyah Sabbag (horn)
Akilah Holstetter (viola)
Anne Efremova (horn)
Melissa Roman (viola)
Phil L. Soderstrom (horn)
Nahi Khoury (viola)
Fred Werkman (horn)
Malika Conley (viola)
Leena Chin (trumpet)
Hadley Dean (viola)
Elias Andreasson (trumpet)
•
•
Gloria Thames (cello)
Jeannie Fisher (trombone)
Iman Kabourek (cello)
Kat J. Hassell (trombone)
Tony Lucchese (cello)
Sergey Aleks (trombone)
Marjo Lewis (cello)
•
Qiao Tien (cello)
Michiyuki Toiguchi (tuba)
David J. Dumond (cello)
Ray Curran (timpani)
Gabriel Silva (cello)
Lilli Fleming (percussion)
Julia Knutsen (cello)
Frank Dre (percussion)
Jackson Thomas (bass)
Kouta Oouchi (percussion)
Alexis Smith (bass)
Gianna Alma (percussion)
Timothy Hinds (bass)
Keith L. Jones (percussion)
Tom Turner (bass)
•
Rita Hathaway (bass)
Kelly Pratt (harp)
Diane Curran (bass)
Park Green (harp)
Tim Thompson (flute)
Anthony Mack Jr. (flute/piccolo)
•
{49}
Dominique
NEW YORK UNIVERSITY
DEPARTMENT OF DANCE AUDITIONS
Please pick your top three preferred audition times:
Audition candidates are required to learn a ballet combination, a jazz combination and a modern combination. An exam to evaluate rhythmic skills will be conducted to determine placement.
_X_ Sept. 12, 12 p.m.
_X_ Sept. 21, 12 p.m.
___ Oct. 3, 12 p.m.
___ Sept. 12, 4 p.m.
_X_ Sept. 21, 4 p.m.
___ Oct. 3, 4 p.m.
___ Sept. 13, 2 p.m.
___ Sept. 22, 2 p.m.
___ Oct. 4, 2 p.m.
___ Sept. 13, 4 p.m.
___ Sept. 23, 4 p.m.
___ Oct. 5, 4 p.m.
___ Sept. 14, 7 p.m.
___ Sept. 24, 7 p.m.
___ Oct. 6, 7 p.m.
___ Sept. 15, 8 p.m.
___ Sept. 25, 8 p.m.
___ Oct. 7, 8 p.m.
Following the technical portion of the audition, candidates may be required to perform a solo dance. The piece must be five minutes in length and demonstrate proficiency in at least one of the following styles: modern, ballet, jazz or tap. Please bring sheet music or a flash drive containing an .mp3 of your solo piece. An accompanist will be provided.
Finally, candidates will be interviewed by a New York University Department of Dance faculty member.
Please adhere to the following dress code:
Leotard and tights for ballet, footless tights for modern dance
Ballet shoes, jazz shoes and lyrical jazz shoes
Hair up, off the face and back
No loose-fitting clothing
No distracting patterns or colors
{50}
Ben
JAYESH MALHOTRA, MD, PhD
NEW YORK PSYCHIATRIC CENTER
Patient Name: Benjamin Tristan
Address: 1480 Lexington Ave., Apt. 1556, New York, NY 10128
LITHIUM CARBONITE capsules, USP, 300 mg
Take one capsule by mouth three times a day.
Quantity: 120; 1 refill remaining