Mike’s voice grew louder and louder, and his face was turning red. A few seconds later he was shouting. “I had a friend who was the smartest guy I knew. He had a full scholarship to Harvard Medical School. You know what happened? He met a girl, fell in love, and decided he wanted to be photographer. He took hundreds of pictures of his girlfriend. Then dropped out of medical school to spend more time with her, and a year later they broke up. His became depressed, turned to pills, and wound up in an institution. You know what the problem was? He never wanted to be a doctor to begin with. The girl he dated was his catalyst to pursue happiness. Today he is an amateur photographer, and he is happy. Imagine that…he could have been a miserable doctor or a happy photographer. It’s about choices.”
Mike ranted and his sentences became less connected until there was no coherency to the flow of his words. He jumped from thought to thought, starting a new sentence before finishing an existing one. This went on for five minutes. Christine stared at both of us with her arms crossed and left foot thumping the floor.
Mike looked at her and said, “What?”
Christine said, “Mike, are you from Manhattan? Because that would explain a lot.”
Mike laughed and said that he was in fact from Manhattan. I didn’t get it. This was an inside joke. Mike explained that his mannerisms and tendency to yell, his neurosis and short temper, and ability to get all worked up was part of his Manhattan upbringing. “All the crazies live in Manhattan…we’re the norm here…you’ll see.”
Mike drank another cup of coffee and calmed down.
“I know what you’re thinking; that I’m some loser living on a park bench, and here I am, the one giving you advice. But I have learned more from my failures than most people will learn from success. And I still have a lot of life ahead of me, enough time to turn things around. Hemingway was right when he said ‘A man can be destroyed but not defeated.’” Mike walked back into the café.
Christine was too tired to have Sushi after work. She described the events of the previous night. Her gang was at a birthday party at a dance club in the city when a fight broke out with a rival gang. Some shots were fired but no one was hurt. She was up the entire night. I thought to myself that my life was so boring compared to hers. I didn’t go to night clubs. I couldn’t get in even if I wanted to. I was underage, just like Christine, but did not have her connections or a fake ID. My social scene consisted of going to the movies and having pizza with the guys. I felt like a child when I heard about her experiences. I felt deprived of the excitement that Christine had in her life. I really needed to get out more. I really needed to live more. I was seventeen and months away from becoming a legal adult without a social life.
At school, a flyer was circulating about an upcoming ski trip for Stanton high school seniors only. I was determined to go. Listening to Christine’s stories about her wild nights at clubs in the city made me want to get out more. The cost was significant, but I could pay for it with my next two paychecks. This would be my chance to get out, even if I had never skied before. All I needed was my father to sign the permission slip.
John couldn’t go on the ski trip. His life was pretty cut and dry. John worked every day after school, except for every other Friday afternoon, and was in church every Sunday. There was no way he could get the money. John and I both worked, but I always received a paycheck, and John never did. “Two things in life don’t pay,” John would say. “Crime, and working for family.”
Sam couldn’t go either. He had a family trip planned during winter break, and couldn’t get out of it. I was relieved to hear that Sam was not going on the ski trip. He was my friend, but he required too much work, and I could have a better time without him.
Carlos wanted to go, but couldn’t come up with the money. That’s more or less Carlos; he can never come up with the money. My friends were the kids that never went anywhere. They weren’t bad kids, just not the kind of kids that went anywhere or did anything. My lack of a social life was related to the company I kept. I had developed socially, accordingly. They were apathetic by default. Delancey and a lot of her friends were also going. I was happy to hear this.
I was nervous about getting the permission slip signed. There was a part of me that knew this was going to be another argument, another battle.
My father initially didn’t want me to go. He felt that three nights away from home was a lot, and that since I did not know how to ski, it was dangerous. But he said he would think about it. The next morning, my father shocked me by leaving the signed permission slip on the table with a note. He had written that as long I paid for it myself, I had earned it. “It’s your money,” he wrote.
At school that day, I told Sam, John, and Carlos that I was going on the ski trip. Sam called it a waste of time. Carlos wished he could go. John said the lodgings were three per room. It would be like college, having a roommate and a shared bathroom. I felt a little awkward about having two roommates. It might give me a sense of what going away to college would be like.
I told Delancey that I was going on the trip. She hoped we could ski together. Delancey had been skiing for ten years, and could not wait to do helicopters. I said, “I’ll race you down the mountain.”
What was a helicopter? Was I really going to race her down a mountain? I really put my foot in my mouth that time. Nonetheless, I thought it would be great to see some people, especially Delancey, outside school for once. After speaking with other students, I realized that there were a lot of people going, but no one I knew well. I sighed, and wondered if I had made a mistake, and would be alone for three days. Either I would force myself to meet new people and have a good time, or I would stay aloof and alone. I was never good at meeting new people.
A voice in my head started to talk me out of the trip. This voice was powerful, and had talked me out of many opportunities in high school. I stared at the permission slip in my hand, and the money I had in my pocket, and ran to the school secretary’s office. Immediately, I handed in my money and permission slip. I needed to do this before the voice talked me out of it. Now it was too late, and there was no turning back. The day wore on, and I felt more comfortable with the idea of going on the trip. I was less nervous about rooming with two other guys, and meeting new people.
Doreen wouldn’t talk or even look at me. I ignored her, and continued to write articles. I met with the sports reporters. Finally after an hour, Doreen said that she and Sam were no longer friends.
She said “From the beginning, Sam was fishing for information about my college applications.” She said Sam completed his college application similar to hers and even copied sections word for word. This did in fact sound like Sam.
I asked Doreen if she was going on the ski trip, and she said it wasn’t her “scene.” It was hard to figure out what exactly her scene was. Other than the newspaper office, she couldn’t be seen anywhere.
Later that day, Mr. Zoose asked about my senior life map. I said, “It’s coming along great. I’m almost done.” I hadn’t even started it, and didn’t know how to begin.As I left school, a sign in the lobby read, “State and City College Applications due by December 21.” I didn’t even have the applications. I was thinking that a school upstate may have been the right way to go. It had to be a school not too far away either, because I didn’t have money for long commutes. I didn’t have a car and had to keep in mind the cost of bus trips home. I was a kid from New York City, and the subways were my method of transportation.
A line formed outside the guidance counselor’s office for applications for state and city colleges. John was already on line, and said he would pick up an application for me. I said, “Only state not city, I really got to get the hell outta here.”
“You and me both,” John shouted back. I was serious about going away to college, and John would only do what his father allowed.
I left school and was walking to the subway. The psychic wasn’t outside, and the curtains were closed. I guessed she had a customer. Delancey was walking ahead with her friends, and I called out to her. The girls turned around and waited for me to catch up. To my delight, Delancey told her friends to go on without her. I offered to ride the subway with her. Her cheeks and ears were turning red from the cold, but when I accidentally touched her hand, I noticed that her hands were lukewarm.
She said that she had applied to a few colleges already.
“I’m applying to state schools. I have to be pragmatic, and only apply to schools that I can afford,” I said.
“I figured you would get a music scholarship somewhere,” she said.
“I hadn’t even considered it,” I replied. “I have to focus on getting a job and making money, and making it in music is a real long shot,” I said.
“I think you are too materialistic, and you should forget about the money and pursue your dreams.”
“Delancey, we live in a material world and it costs money to rent here. The realm you belong to is a little different.” She probably had no idea how difficult it was in a world without family money. But how could she? We rode together, and she switched trains at Times Square.
I watched as she walked on the platform, towards the front end. She was so airy and light, a stark contrast to the grimy and dingy subway. She disappeared into the far end of the station. The second she was no longer visible, I missed her. My heart sank. I was stunned by her effect on me.
At home, my grandmother, Calli, came over to help out. She did this about once a week, and we were all very grateful. My grandmother had to be grandmother and mother. I always looked forward to her cooking. It was the only time we ate well. I asked if she was lonely.
My grandmother replied that she had a lifetime of memories, and still felt my grandfather’s presence in their home. She even had dreams about him sometimes. She was all warm with smiles. Sometimes she had to turn around to make sure my grandfather was really not there.
The next day, Sam and Carlos were outside the entrance of the school smoking. This was a first for Carlos and the cigarette looked out of place in his hand. They offered me one, I wasn’t into getting cancer. They looked at each other and laughed like I was some kind of fool. Carlos said, “Sam has a great story to tell.”
I listened to his braggadocio recount of the previous day’s activity in disbelief. Sam stole money from his parents, and went for a reading from the psychic. She said that he would get into Harvard, but he would not be valedictorian. She said that Sam’s friends were against him, and that he had a very bright future in medicine. Then Sam told me that they had an intimate experience.
“The horizontal tango.”
I asked if this was a joke.
It was no joke. During their session, the psychic explained that she knew a powerful ritual that would make his future brighter and could guarantee one wish. It sounded perverse and nefarious. She offered to make all his troubles go away if he helped her complete a ritual. Sam described magical incantations that the psychic repeated. Involved were cigarettes, rum, beads, feathers, a few candles, and a little drop of blood from his lip. Sam had wished that if he couldn’t have Delancey that no one else could either.
“Do you realize that you participated in the occult?” He crudely motioned that he had gotten a lot out of it, and he didn’t believe in mumbo jumbo, voodoo, the heebee jeebees, or anything of that ilk. Carlos thought I was freaking out for no reason.
They were losers that would do anything for instant gratification.
I told John about Sam’s story. John felt this was evil and was evidently very frightened. His religious background and beliefs were making him concerned. Sam participating in the ritual was a sure sign that he had no morals or ethics. I may have suspected it in the past, but now I knew for sure.
“I thought he was intelligent and religious,” said John.
“I don’t think he really has any religion,” I replied.
John handed me an application for New York State colleges. I took it home and promptly completed it. The great thing about the application was the fact that it was free. I picked a school in upstate New York, three hours away. It seemed like a good choice. There was a picture of a pretty girl on the brochure. I needed to complete the essay. The question read, “Describe a day in your life that defined who you are as a person.” I took a deep breath, and stared at the question for ten minutes. Then I wrote my essay.
When I was eleven years old, my mother died. I did everything I could do, but I was not home to make sure she took her medication on time. It was my responsibility to come straight home from school and give her the pills she needed. I was the oldest child, and my father had to work until 6. My younger sibling was too young to be given such a responsibility. She was sick for a long time. I’m not sure if the medication could’ve prolonged or prevented the cancer from winning the battle. All I know is that I wasn’t home from school on time, and when I arrived, I opened the door with my key, and found her on the kitchen floor. I tried to wake her, but I was too late. She had already passed. I called my father at work, but could not reach him. My grandmother arrived shortly. There was no waking her up.
When my father came home, he asked if I had given her the medicine. I told him that I had not, that I came home late, and she had already passed away. “Why were you late?” he asked me. I explained that I was playing basketball with my friends, and was a half hour late. My father was angry with me, but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t speak to me for two weeks.