I look up into the lit-up windows we’re passing. I’m chasing that epic feeling I had a few nights ago. Would Austin think I’m strange for looking in people’s windows? Or maybe he likes looking in people’s windows too, like with the colored doors thing. We pass a New School student lounge. A study group is gathered in a circle of chairs with laptops and notebooks, deep in discussion. In a second-floor window of an apartment building, a guy is working at his desk in front of the window, his face illuminated by the blue light of his computer screen. Big windows a few buildings down show an open-concept office on the third floor. Large sheets of paper are spread out over a counter. A few people are gathered around the counter, bending over the sheets and making expansive gestures.
“You got quiet,” Austin says.
“I was thinking about creative energy. It’s amazing how the words and art and film that inspire the world are being produced right here, right now. Tons of the most creative people in the world are here in New York. They’re so passionate about their work they can’t go home or even stop for dinner. We just passed a bunch of people still working, but they didn’t seem to mind. That’s how I feel about design.”
“I feel the same way. Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could skip the college and grad school parts and go straight to doing what we really want?”
“Yeah, but . . . it would be kind of helpful to actually know what we’re doing.”
“Oh, right. Knowledge.”
“Minor detail.”
I want Austin to kiss me so bad it hurts. Will he do it tonight? If he’s doing it tonight, could it happen at any time or will he wait until we say goodbye? We’ve already been holding hands like it’s a familiar habit. I’m positive he’s going to kiss me. The butterflies flap spastically in agreement.
Austin doesn’t go back to his car when it’s time for him to leave. Being the gentleman he is, he wants to walk me home. I tell him it’s okay to say goodbye at his car. But he insists on walking me home. When we get to my building, we hesitate awkwardly by the stoop again, the same way we did before. It’s weird because it’s way too early to be feeling the way I feel about him. Does he feel the same way? Like there’s no reason to hesitate? Like there’s no reason to take it slow? When you meet the right person, there’s no doubt in your heart that it was meant to be.
“What did you think of me when you first saw me?” I ask.
“You were so gorgeous I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” Austin says. No uncertainty. Only clarity.
“Really?”
“Absolutely. You’re amazing.”
I smile so big I cover my mouth to hide it. Not that I could ever hide this much happiness.
“What did you think of me?” he asks.
“I hoped we would run into each other again. And we did.” Holy crap. We’re doing that thing where enough time has passed that you can finally find out what he thought of you when you first met. Except we first saw each other two days ago. It’s all happening so fast.
Right around the corner . . .
Austin puts his hands on my waist, moving closer to me. I look up at him. His eyes are a different blue in the glow of the streetlights. Almost like he’s a different person.
“Do I get to see you again?” he asks.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Just making sure.” He brushes a wisp of hair behind my ear. “I miss you already.”
“I miss you already, too.”
“I can’t wait to see you again.”
These lines don’t have to be written in Gelly Roll pen on special stationery to be the best warm fuzzies I’ve ever gotten.
“I have to kiss you,” Austin says.
And then he does. A perfect kiss from a perfect boy on a perfect summer night.
It doesn’t get any better than this.
FOURTEEN
DARCY
NEW YORKERS CRACK ME UP. They’re such characters. This city has a local flavor you can’t taste anywhere else. I’ve only been here three days and I’ve already seen two old guys toting exotic animals around like it constitutes normal behavior. There’s the guy with the parrot on his head. That’s how he walks down the street—with a freaking parrot on his head. At first I didn’t think I was seeing that right. I had a moment of awesomeness when I realized I was. Tourists flocked around him to take pictures. He didn’t look bothered at all. Then there’s the big guy with the snake. This ginormous snake was wrapped around his neck like a scarf. I heard he’s another Village regular. I also heard there’s a guy who walks his cat on a leash.
Only in New York. I love it.
These wildlife encounters have sparked some questions. When did those guys decide their lives would be defined by specific pets? What inspired them to let their faunal freak flags fly? You can be as anonymous here as you want. You can walk down the street passing thousands of people and never be seen. Even when you are seen, no one cares how crazy you are. But these guys decided that people were going to take note. The parrot guy can’t even go get a coffee without a swarm of tourists flocking him. How incredible is it that you can choose to live your life any way you want? And if the way you want is by proudly flapping your freak flag, you instantly become a neighborhood institution. Yeah, you stand out, but not in the way you would most other places. People smile when they see you. They respect your originality. You’re different and you have no desire to fit in and that’s badass.
From my window table at Chat ’n Chew, I can watch a steady stream of people walking by. People watching never ceases to amaze me. Especially here. Everyone in New York is so well-dressed. All I have to do is walk out the door to be inspired by tons of original styles and fun DIY spins. Now that I’ve discovered accessorizing with exotic animals is a thing, I’m on the lookout for more. Come on, eccentric old lady rocking a muskrat as a belt. I know you’re out there.
Sadie rushes over and plunges into the chair across from me. “Sorry I’m late! We were in the zone finishing up a group project. I didn’t want to break our stride.”
“No worries at all. I’m on the lookout for a muskrat belt, anyway.”
“Huh?” Sadie gulps down her water.
“Hey, really. It’s no big deal. Breathe.”
Sadie exhales. “I hate being late.”
“Aren’t New Yorkers notoriously fifteen minutes late for everything?”
“Not this New Yorker. I don’t like keeping people waiting.”
“Well, I enjoyed my chill time. Kicking back for a few minutes has therapeutic benefits.”
Sadie passes me one of the menus that were on the table. “You’re going to love this place,” she says. “It’s good and cheap. That’s why it’s been here forever.”
“You’re getting your usual?”
“Grilled cheese with sweet potato fries. Seriously, you have to try these fries. They’re so good.”
“On it.” I quickly decide what I want and slam the menu shut.
“How sweet is it that we have the same lunch break?”
“I know, right? I’m not a big lunch person. Scarfing down a soft pretzel between classes works for me. But sitting down to lunch with you is fun.”
“Doing lunch like grownups.”
“Oh god, please tell me we don’t have to be grownups. How boring.”
“Seriously? I am completely down with my grown-up status. Freedom couldn’t come fast enough.”
“I hear you on the freedom. But if I ever assimilate to a typical adult lifestyle and box myself into mind-numbing suburban hell, you have my permission to kill me.”
“Yeah, I don’t see you as a suburban soccer mom.”
“What about you?”
“New York will always be my home. This is the greatest city in the world. Why would I want to live anywhere else?”
“Testify.” I’m absorbing Sadie’s positive energy like a sponge. She is so full of life and kindness and joy. She’s the kind of New Yorker who feeds off the vibrant dynamic of the city. Being an eternal optimist, Sadi
e could move away and be happy. But she wouldn’t shine with the same brightness. I can’t imagine her being as happy anywhere else.
“Yesterday was crazy,” Sadie says. “Did I even see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How was your hot date Wednesday night? Who is he? What did you guys do? When are you seeing him again? Tell me everything.”
“Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure you were the one on our stoop with the cutest boy ever. Who is he?”
Sadie’s smile radiates so much happiness the people at the next table are probably getting a contact high. Her eyes are sparkling with joy. Even her gold highlights look brighter. She is absolutely glowing.
“Austin,” she gushes.
“Tell me about him. Other than his indisputable hotness factor.”
“He’s . . . how much time do we have?”
“Enough.”
“He’s amazing. Beyond amazing. He’s the kind of boy I’ve always wanted to be with.”
“How long have you guys been together?”
“We just met this week. When you saw us, he was walking me home from our first date.”
“Seriously? It seemed like you’d been together for a while.”
“I know! That’s exactly how it feels. Like we’ve known each other for so long.”
“How did you meet?”
As Sadie fills me in on her whirlwind romance, it’s obvious that Austin is all she can think about. So of course he’s all she wants to talk about. Fine by me. I am totally down with indulging her. I remember what it was like when I first started going out with the ex. I couldn’t think about anything else. I didn’t want to talk about anything else. I listen as our lunches are placed in front of us and Sadie ignores her food. She can’t stop talking long enough to even taste the fries she was raving about. Been there. I remember having no appetite when I was falling in love.
“Then he said, ‘I have to kiss you.’ How romantic is that?”
“How was the kiss?”
“Perfect. Just like I knew it would be.”
Sadie is clearly a diehard romantic. That was apparent from day one. I’m happy for her. I really am. Austin is taking her for the ride of her life. The thing is, I’m worried about when their relationship or whatever will come to an end, because relationships always end. Sadie is going to crash and burn hard. But I’m happy that she’s happy right now. She’s living in the moment like the wild and free girl I want each of us to be this summer.
“That all sounds fantastic,” I say.
“It really is. So what about you? Who did you go out with?”
“No one I’ll see again.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, did you not get the memo? New York City is my official summer playground. Getting tied down to any one boy in particular is prohibited.”
“By who?”
“By me. The one who’s making the rules. This summer is all about boy adventures. That’s why I’m so happy for you. You’re having the time of your life and summer just started.”
“But I want to be tied down to one boy. Not tied down. Permanently connected.”
“And that’s awesome. If it’s making you happy, go for it. What’s making me happy is having the freedom to hook up with any boy I want. How exciting is it to be in a city with millions of men? Anything could happen. Doing the free agent thing means I can take advantage of any opportunity that presents itself. Basically, I’m taking ownership of what men have been getting away with forever. I’m the one in control. And let me just say it is the shiznit.”
“Could your boy confidence be more impressive?”
“Not so much, no.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
Memory clips flash behind my eyes. The ex telling me it’s over. Throwing that drink in his face. Ripping up pictures of us as I packed for New York. None of this is anything I want to talk about. Telling Sadie about the ex would expose the raw nerves I want to keep covered so they’ll heal faster. All she needs to know is who I am now. Not who I was then.
“Yeah,” I admit, “but it’s in the past. Looking back isn’t my thing. Right now I’m focused on having the best summer ever. The other night was fun, but it’s already in the past.”
“You’re so adventurous. I wish I could be more like you.”
“You’re a long-term-relationship kind of girl. Am I right?”
“Totally. I’m in love with love.”
“Austin is a lucky guy.”
“So are all the guys you’ll be hooking up with this summer!”
“I don’t know about that. But there was this cute street performer yesterday. . . .”
“Spill.”
As I tell Sadie about flirting with Jude, she smiles and laughs and encourages me to share more. But I can tell she’s internally judging me. That’s okay. Sadie will understand why I’m this way when Austin leaves her in the dust.
FIFTEEN
ROSANNA
WHY IS THERE ALWAYS A crazy-long line at the post office no matter what time you go? That’s what Sadie told me. She said that every time she goes to the post office, she has to wait in line forever. Ten in the morning. Three in the afternoon. It doesn’t matter when you go. There have been times she’s even waited for almost an hour. Almost an hour to mail a freaking package. The long lines are indicative of the whole postal system downgrade. Take right now, for example. There are only two people working when all six windows should be open. The other four people were probably laid off.
The lady in front of me lets out an exasperated sigh. She makes sure to direct her sigh toward the two open windows so the employees can hear how exasperated she is, as if she’s the first person in one of these excruciatingly long lines to ever be exasperated. Does she think the employees don’t know how disgruntled people get in their long lines? Especially New Yorkers. Waiting three minutes in a New York City line is like waiting an hour anywhere else.
Our postal system probably won’t even exist ten years from now. Everything is changing so quickly. No one had the internet when my parents were teens. The entire online universe just . . . wasn’t. My dad didn’t even have a computer until after grad school. How crazy is that? How can you even graduate without a computer? They didn’t have cell phones. Okay, I don’t have a cell phone, but that’s only because I can’t afford one. They couldn’t listen to music or watch videos online. Online shopping wasn’t an option. If they wanted to buy something, they had to go to the store. What was life like without email or social media or texting? How did people communicate? The whole thing is bizarre. When I think about how much the world has changed in the past ten years, it makes me wonder what else won’t be around ten years from now. And all of the inventions to come that are currently only concepts. My kids will wonder how I survived without those essentials just like I’m wondering how my parents survived.
“They should open more windows,” the lady in front of me huffs. “Only two windows open? Whoever heard of such a thing?”
Does she want one of us to answer her? Or is this more of a rhetorical huffing? Several people in line watch her. Mainly because there’s nothing else to do, but also to see if she freaks out. I remember what D told me about weirdos. They could be anywhere. One second they’re blending in. Then all of a sudden something triggers their damage and bam! A freakout ensues.
A thirtysomething woman in a pretty sundress walks into the post office, takes one look at the crazy-long line, turns right back around, and leaves. Why wasn’t I that smart? I’ve already invested so much time in waiting that walking out now would be cheating myself. Plus, I’m almost to the front of the line. Four more people to go. Does D stand in post office lines? Or any lines, ever? I’m sure his life is so refined that lines don’t factor into it at all. He probably has everything delivered.
Fabulous. Now I can’t stop thinking about D. That’s the way it’s been for the past two days. Something reminds me of him and I can’t get him out of my head. I don’t want t
o think about him. I definitely don’t want to call him. But there are forces greater than me at work.
D represents everything I revile about society. I want to be with someone more on my level. Someone who is passionate about making the world a better place. Someone who understands that it’s better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable.
A tourist couple is attempting to mail a humongous box home to France. They had to fill out miles of paperwork. Then they got yelled at for putting tape in the wrong place. After the tape is ripped off and applied properly, there’s a huge discussion about mailing options and postage and insurance. This international drama has monopolized one window for the past ten minutes. The lady in front of me is about to lose it.
“What’s the problem?” she shrieks at them. “Why are you taking so long? Move aside and figure it out so the rest of us can have our turn.” She shakes her head at me, scandalized by the injustice. “Can you believe them?”
I give her a sympathetic look. Of course she wants to get out of this endless line like the rest of us. More importantly, she wants to be heard. I can hear her loneliness under the anger.
The guy at the other window finally finishes up. The line shifts a tiny bit forward. As he’s heading toward the door, he drops something that looks like a receipt. He keeps walking.
Sadie was so confident when she ran over to open the door for that old lady. She didn’t even think about it. I wish I had the confidence to go up to strangers like Sadie does. I know I need to be part of the solution. I can visualize what I want to do when someone needs help. Right now I can see myself running over to pick up that guy’s receipt. But there’s a chance he was intentionally littering, so I’d seem like an idiot going up to him. Then everyone would be staring at me. And I’d have to leave the line and might lose my place.
But my biggest obstacle is that I’m shy about approaching strangers. What if the person yells at me for interfering? Or thinks I’m being condescending for doing something they’re more than capable of doing on their own? That happened a few times at my volunteer job back home. I volunteered at a low-income senior-citizen housing complex. For three years starting when I was fifteen, I’d go there after school two days a week and almost every day over the summer. One time a guy who had just gotten his mail was shuffling along holding the handrail that ran along the hallway wall when his mail cascaded to the floor. He went ballistic when I bent down to pick it up.
City Love Page 10