by Luke Loaghan
I sat on the steps of a pale brownstone, waiting for her. I wondered if these were the best days of my youth, or my entire life for that matter. Would I ever have a girl like Delancey in my life again? It’s almost a shame to leave high school now that Delancey is in my life.
From the distance she looked like a faint vision, hair blowing in the breeze, walking slowly with Juan. I could see him smiling, teeth like razors. She didn’t see me. I was almost invisible on the steps, hidden by the large stone hand rail and balustrades. Juan put his arm around her.
Behind Juan were three other large boys, part of his entourage. I waved to Delancey, and she waved back. Juan walked in the opposite direction, and she quickly approached me with a friendly smile. I felt very possessive about her.
She placed her left hand in mine. I pulled her body gently toward me. Juan watched in the distance. He swung his arm around in a mock punch. That was undoubtedly for my benefit.
We walked to a local café on Fulton Street, and ordered coffee.
I held Delancey’s hand in mine and our fingers briefly interlocked. I felt close to her, closer than ever. There was some sort of strange physical presence in the space between us, like an electromagnetic field. She was all dimples and smiles. Everything I said made her laugh. We talked about the future and for the first time, I told her my dreams and desires and a weight lifted off my shoulders and chest.
I told her how much I would really love to play guitar professionally, and she encouraged me to pursue my dreams. I shared that I needed a career to fall back on. Delancey brushed the hair on my forehead to the side, and explained that in order for my dreams to succeed, I needed to pursue them with zeal. “One hundred and fifty percent, full steam ahead. If it doesn’t work out then you can always get a job.”
“Delancey…it’s easy for you to say. You have a tremendous amount of financial support from your family.”
“Well, if you came from a well to do family, what would you do differently?” she asked.
My life would have been very different if I was from a wealthy family. My choices for life and college would have been different.
“I would probably pursue a career in music, and singing, and maybe go to a college that specializes in the arts. But the reality is that I need to go to a college that I can afford. I also need to get a job one day. I don’t have the luxury of daydreaming about what could have been.”
“That reminds me, a friend of mine in the city has a Journey cover band and their guitar player is sick. They need someone to fill in on Friday night. I told them that you were really good and they are desperate. What do you say?” Delancey had a hopeful look in her eyes.
“I have to work early Saturday morning.”
“Its pays a lot of money for a one hour set.”
“Tell them I’m in.”
“Great, just bring your guitar to Kettle of Fish Friday night at 11pm. I won’t be there. I’ll be with my mom on Long Island.”
I was beaming at the prospect of making some extra cash, going to a college bar, and playing in front of a live audience.
We hung out for a little longer and I rode the subway with her, holding her hand the entire way. Then I went home to practice songs by Journey.
That week, Doreen was out sick with the flu, but rumors circulated that she had been turned down by another Ivy League school. I had to help out and do some of Doreen’s assignments. I was assigned to interview Juan Perez. I asked if anyone else could do this interview, and but the faculty advisor said I was the man for the job.
In Global History, we discussed the Soviets leaving Afghanistan. Mrs. Moynihan said that this was in America’s best interest, as the United States had supported the mujahideen fighters in Afghanistan. She called them freedom fighters against the Soviets. Svetlana Ionikov was in class that day, one of the few Russian students at Stanton. She laughed out loud. Mrs. Moynihan was annoyed and asked her to elaborate on the humor.
“One man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist. Now that the mujahideen have US weapons, and no war to fight, they will become America’s problem,” Svetlana said.
Mrs. Moynihan explained how freedom won against oppression, and said it was a good thing that the mujahideen had held off the Soviets. Mrs. Moynihan said, “This is a great day for Afghanistan. A few cave dwelling rebels can hold off the Soviet Army. When a war is fought, the people fighting for their homeland tend to fight to the death, until every last blood is spilled, and there is no strategy against this.”
Svetlana smiled, which was a rarity for her. I had assumed that it was not a cultural practice for a Russian to smile naturally in public. “You are correct, Mrs. Moynihan, which is why the Americans could not win in Vietnam or Korea, ” Svetlana remarked acrimoniously.
Svetlana was a tall girl, with blue eyes, and light brown hair. She was a fully developed woman, the most voluptuous girl in school. Usually soft spoken, it was not in her character to test Mrs. Moynihan. Everyone was growing up fast senior year.
I thought about people fighting to the death for their home, even if it was just a cave. I wondered if there was a place that I would fight to the death for, and decided that it was New York. I hadn’t been to the other states, and if they were invaded, I would fight, but wouldn’t want to die. But I loved Manhattan, and would fight to the death to protect it.
After school, I went to the student government office to interview Juan. There was not a lot to like about an obvious politician.
Juan had a bulky build, wore heavy glasses, and was considered a smart student.
He always said the right things, shook hands with everyone, and kissed up to the teachers and faculty. He never hid his dreams of running for political office one day. Juan had a mullet hair style and as always, wore a suit. We sat for the interview in the student government office. He went on for ten minutes about how great it was to be class president, and how he would miss Stanton and all that the Stanton means to him. I asked him where he was going to college, and he said Harvard.
I asked if his SAT scores were very high. Juan was annoyed by my question.
“I did well on the SATs, though not great. I am senior class president, and that goes a long way.”
“What else?” I asked.
“I had a letter of recommendation from a Brooklyn congressman who is a Harvard alum.”
“How did you get it?” I was genuinely inquisitive.
“Mr. Mash arranged for an internship in the congressman’s office last summer,” Juan said.
I guess that’s what I was looking for – to find out where I had gone wrong. I was working with Chinese gangsters baking breakfast for the hungry tourists and earning minimum wage. Juan was working for a brighter future.
“That’s really great. I’m happy for your accomplishments Juan. Harvard is really expensive. I couldn’t even afford the application fee,” I said.
“It is expensive, but my family is paying for it, with some financial aid. My folks own a few restaurants in Queens and some apartment buildings. I have to do well, otherwise I’ve wasted my parents’ hard earned money,” Juan said.
He asked where I was going to college.
“State college,” I said.
“Jeez…sorry man. I guess you’ll end up working in the garment industry or for the government.” Juan laughed.
I closed my notebook, and Juan moved closer. The interview was over; I had done my part, and now he wanted to get to down to business. His entourage closed the door.
“Delancey is a great girl,” Juan said. “I would hate for you not to understand this,” he spoke calmly, placing his hand on my shoulder and leaning in.
“She’s a good friend of mine, too,” I said without fear or anger in my voice.“Look, David, I have no quarrels with you, and you are a great guitar player and singer, with such nice long fingers that I am sure you will need one day. But Delancey should not be with you. She should be with a winner, like me; after all, I’m Harvard bound and I am the senior class pre
sident.”
“The only person who has less power than a class president is the General Secretary of the United Nations, and I don’t appreciate you threatening me,” I said. I could feel Juan’s blood pressure rising.
“David, you are being selfish. Brooklyn is dangerous. How could you protect Delancey? You have no posse. You can’t fight, and you have no money. Be reasonable here. You can’t give her anything. If she sticks with you, she’ll become a loser girlfriend to a loser guitar player.”
“I am not a loser, and it’s her choice anyway,” I said, disgusted.
“High school is nearly over. We have a handful of months to go. I am going to take Delancey to the prom. I will buy her a ticket, and arrange for a limo. We will go to the best after party in the city. I will buy her an expensive present. The prom is a special night in a girl’s life. Don’t ruin the prom for her, David. You can be friends with her, all you want. But…she deserves a memorable evening, and you can’t provide that for her.”
His words were daggers in my heart.
I wrote a nice article about Juan. I thought about his career choices for me, in the garment industry or working for the government. I know he was kidding, but neither of these really appealed to me. I grew sullen and depressed. He was right about Delancey, about the prom and the fact that I did not have the money.
Juan Cabeza de La Vaca Perez was smart and confident. Harvard was a school for the cream of the crop. I felt like a lost sheep. I did not have a job that reflected well on college applications. Juan Perez wanted a career in politics, and was able to get a job in a congressman’s office. Sam wanted to be a doctor, and wrote on his applications that he worked in a hospital. These guys planned well, and I had failed to plan.
I had insomnia. Did I jeopardize my future? Was it really better to go to a private college? Should I have applied to an expensive school? I truly believed it was up to the student to take advantage and make the most of their education. But, at the same time, I knew that having a degree from an elite school made a difference.
I grew more depressed thinking about wasted opportunities. I wished I had completed an internship, but I didn’t because internships didn’t pay. I needed money, and worked at the café. As usual, I was upset about my family’s financial situation. I wished it had been better. I considered making money selling drugs, and shrugged it off. What’s the point of going to college to become a criminal?
About an hour later, my biggest fear hit me. I saw myself as a balding, middle aged guy disinterested in life and my career, working at a boring job, and not living up to my potential.
It’s worse to be indecisive than to make a bad decision. My grandfather knew what he was talking about. It was better to be on some course in life than to be stagnant like a moored boat. This was a revelation. I needed to go full speed in the direction of my choosing, which was state college. No more looking back with self doubts.
I was going to State college and I was going to make the most of it. I didn’t have Sam’s emotional problems, and I wasn’t a political opportunist like Juan. I was just as good as those guys.
I went to school that week, feeling like a million bucks. The entire week was a joy. John asked if I was on drugs, and I said that I had a new philosophy for my life.
“I call it never look back. It’s basically that I am going full speed ahead in my choices in life, without second guessing myself. I’m no longer going to be a sitting duck, or a moored boat, or Hamlet,” I proclaimed to John.
“Hamlet?” he said.
“Yeah, Hamlet. His biggest problem was that he couldn’t make a decision. That’s not me,” I said.
“You sound like you didn’t get any sleep last night. I really don’t follow.”
“Okay, say that I decide to go to state college. Then I go there with the purpose of giving it my all. I go and do everything to get ready for state college. Choosing a dorm, finding out about classes, etc. I’ve been sitting around and questioning my decisions. I’ve been full of regret instead of going full speed ahead. It doesn’t do any good to be indecisive or regretful. I’ve been too careful, and too cautious, second guessing everything that I do. Imagine that I am a captain of a ship. Imagine if I needed to bring that ship to the North Pole. I could spend months deciding if it’s a worthwhile trip. I can sit around moored or docked and debate the entire thing. Or I could get some food, some clothes, and start heading north.”
“But what if you get there and decide that the North Pole is too cold, too dangerous, and there is nothing there. What if you spent all that time and energy and decided it was a mistake?” John stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“There are no mistakes, because I would have accomplished the task of making it to the North Pole. For the rest of my life, I can say that I have seen the icy waters of the North Pole. I can turn around and head in a different direction. The point is that once I choose a destination and direction, then I will go there full speed ahead!”
John sighed. “I guess I’m guilty of the same thing. I still don’t have an answer from my father about whether I can go to college next year. Right now, I’m in one of those indecisive ruts. Man, I hate that everything is up in the air. My entire future is waiting on my father to make a decision.” John was clearly dejected.
Friday night arrived and I went to the Kettle of Fish to play guitar for the Grim Reapers Band. The bar was packed. The band was a group of college kids. I had practiced Journey songs all week. Their manager’s advice was “just go out there and cut loose.”
I was grateful Delancey was able to get me this gig. The first set of six songs was greeted with cheers from the audience. At the end of the second set, I sang parts of one song. The band played until midnight, but I would’ve played until sunrise. I was having a great time and made the equivalent of three weeks worth of pay at the café. The college crowd loved the band. The band’s manager took my phone number and said he would call me again. The lead singer was dropping out of college to pursue his musical career.
The bar gave us free drinks, but I only had two beers, because it was long subway ride home. I called Delancey the next day to thank her, but she was in Long Island with her mother.
The school holidays came the last week of February. I was looking forward to having a few days off of school, and I had arranged to make some extra money working at my regular part time job. I went to work at the café at six in the morning on a Monday, my first time working on a weekday. The café was the busiest I had ever seen it. There was no time to chat or to think. I think I made four hundred cups of coffee.
A café worker named Shesha approached me and introduced himself. He was from Pakistan and I had a hard time deciphering his accent. I left the café at 4pm, weary from a very busy day. Shesha left at the same time, and we took the subway home together.
I was starting to understand Shesha’s accent better. He told me that he had been in New York for less than a year, and had previously worked as a cab driver. He was thirty years old, and left Pakistan because his family had chosen the wrong candidate to support in the last rigged election. Every other word he muttered was an expletive, and I was surprised at how much profanity he had learned in the short time he was in New York.
I told Shesha that I was a student, and this opened up a new topic of conversation for my loquacious coworker. Shesha described his days as a student in Pakistan as the happiest time of his life. He played a lot of cricket and soccer, although he insisted it was proper to call it football. He described himself as a good student, but not good enough to have a real career in Pakistan. Only the top 10% of students had a real shot at getting a further education in Pakistan. The rest of the students in Pakistan fall into the category of having to fend for themselves.
I disclosed that I was accepted to a college upstate. Shesha thought I must be some kind of a genius, but I told him that things worked a little differently in America. “Everyone can go to college here,” I said.
“Even the rotten apples?”
he asked.
“There are many different tiers of colleges, but if a student with poor grades wants to, they can find a college somewhere that would accept them,” I said.
“That doesn’t make any sense. It might better be that they learn a business or a trade and not waste their time and money.” Shesha seemed perplexed.
“America is the land of opportunity,” I remarked. “Everyone is entitled to an education.”
Shesha smiled sarcastically. “I’ve had the opportunity to become educated as a cab driver and a coffee boy.”
“Well, you just got here. Who knows where you will be in ten years or twenty years?”
“I have a plan,” Shesha said as he pulled out a folded piece of paper.
He had written down a plan for his life in America, and it started with him working at the cafe, and becoming the manager. The plan called for Shesha to open his own coffee shop, and buy buildings where he would open a coffee shop in each building.
“This is a good plan. When did you write this plan?” I asked.
“The night before I left Karachi. College is not necessary for owning fifty coffee shops.”
Shesha asked if I had a girlfriend. I told him I did not and said he did not either. “I guess we’re both bachelors!” he shouted. He asked if I went to prostitutes. I was not interested in prostitutes, and said that I was looking for the right girl.
“The right girl for what?” he asked.
“The right girl for everything.”
“I think I knew one in Pakistan,” he said. “And she was expensive.”
At home I called Delancey but learned that she was on vacation in Florida with her mom and stepfather.
I made plans to visit John at his family’s store in Forest Hills. I took the F-Train to Forest Hills, and walked a few blocks to Austin Street, off of Continental Avenue.
Forest Hills was a fancy neighborhood with plenty of senior citizens. High rise apartment buildings were on every other block. It was a busy commercial district, with various retail stores, cafes, restaurants, and office buildings. I walked to the Four Moons Mini Market. His mother, who spoke little English, angrily asked what I wanted. She was suspicious of me because I was not Korean.