“You don’t get it. I’m not like you, and I have no intentions of being like you, with your high brow, condescending attitude. Her parents are okay with it, and I’m having a lot of fun. Worry about your own girlfriend and mind your own beeswax,” Sam said.
A flyer was distributed throughout the cafeteria about Valentine’s Day. A student organization was arranging to have a rose delivered to the person of your choice for one dollar. Around the cafeteria, there was both giddiness and despair. Panic spread like the creeping death, from girls and boys, who felt the pressure to both send and receive roses. This would be normal at any other high school, but at Stanton, the kids are academically smart and emotionally underdeveloped.
John said, “I’m going to send some roses to a handful of girls.”
“Oh yeah, like who, John?” said Sam.
“There are five girls that I kind of like. Nothing serious, but now they will know.”
“I think I’ll send one to Doreen,” Sam joked. I glowered at him.
While ordering a few roses for Delancey, I saw Sal out of the corner of my eye. He had been there all along, completely unnoticeable, standing and watching, sipping coffee, studying all of us in the high school cafeteria. I approached him from the left, catching him off guard.
“Sal what’s going on?” I asked.
“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know. Hemingway said that, and it’s truer at Stanton than anywhere else,” Sal said.
“You can’t quote Hemingway, not now, not here. You’re not qualified yet,” I remarked, impressed with my own wit.
“Qualified? What would make one qualified to quote Hemingway?” Sal didn’t look my way, but kept observing the students in the cafeteria.
“About twenty years of hard drinking and womanizing. Then we’ll know if you mean it.”
“Very funny, David. Why aren’t you eating with your cafeteria friends?”
“I saw you out of the corner of my eye, and wondered what you were doing here. I thought you had started college.”
He held his hand up signaling that I should remain quiet. I stood next him trying to see what he found so interesting. But, after several minutes, I had no idea what he was doing. Finally, he lowered his hand, and faced me.
“I had the day off and decided to come here. High school has a collective consciousness. It’s the mood, emotions and minds of the students. It changes from day to day, emitting energy that cannot be seen, but can be measured. There is a considerable amount of negative energy today. Look at my device.” I glanced at a device in David’s hand. “It is connected to diodes in the heating system. The mood of the school changes the charge of the water in the heating system. When the kids are really stressed out, they give off negative energy, collectively.” Another of Sal’s crazy assertions.
“I’m observing the students because I believe I can predict the next student death.” I peered out the window, searching for a padded wagon going to Belleview.
“It sounds nuts. But it’s true. I’ve been studying the patterns for sometime. The pressure is really building; I can feel it…like steam in a pipe, about to burst. Someone is going to crack.” I shook my head in disbelief and left.
I was distracted by the Valentine’s Day flower delivery. It was nice to have someone to send flowers to on Valentine’s Day. I thought about asking Delancey to the April dance or the prom. Then I grew nervous, reminding myself how different we were.
She was on my mind every waking moment of the day. We were good friends, but she had made it clear that we are not dating. Perhaps if I had money, or a fancy car, or if I was attending a fancy private college in the fall, maybe she would want to be more than friends.
Mr. Zoose saw me in the newspaper office. He asked if I was all right.
“Well, Mr. Zoose, I’m not really dating Delancey, although we spend a lot of time together. I really like her, and I think she likes me, but I’m from a poor family, and well, you know she has money and lives a fancy ridiculous life. And I’m having a hard time with it.”
“How so? Is Delancey giving you a hard time?” Mr. Zoose wondered.
“No. I was at her place a little while ago, and it was apparent how mismatched we are.”
“David, high school is a short period in your life. Don’t waste time on things that you can’t change. So what if her family is wealthy. It doesn’t mean that they are better or smarter or kinder or nicer people. If she’s okay with it, you should be too.”
Sal was in the hallway.
“Sal, what are you still doing here?”
“I heard about Amy and I wanted to stick around.” Sal seemed distracted and was fidgeting.
“Amy? Were you too very close?” I asked.
“I’m not close to anyone by design, but I did have a few classes with her. I liked her a lot.” Sal sighed. “Besides, I was working on a project in the basement, and needed to make some notes.”
I didn’t ask. I knew better. Sal went into a lengthy explanation about his experiments into the Astral Plane. He claimed to have developed a scientific device that was able to transport him back and forth and bring him closer to understanding the spirit world. He seemed genuine and honest, but he also seemed crazy. Despite the strong conviction in his voice, I remained unconvinced.
“I can tell that you don’t believe me. But I can prove it to you.”
Sal asked for my home address, and phone number, and reluctantly, I gave it to him.
“You’ll see what I mean. Soon enough.”
I had an appointment with Ms. Eris, the psychologist, at her request.
“David, have a seat,” she said.
“I can’t stay long.”
“I just wanted to check in with you, make sure that things were going smoothly.” She smiled her plastic smile, and spoke very slowly, as if I was a preschooler.
“Everything is fine, Ms. Eris.”
“Have you heard back from any colleges yet?” she asked.
“Not yet. I only applied to one, a state school up North.”
“Have you received your SAT scores yet?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, you should be getting your scores very soon. Albert and Amy had just received SAT scores prior to their passing.” She gazed intently into my eyes.
I understood why I was here. She was concerned that I might be disastrously disappointed with my scores.
“I am not suicidal.”
“No one thinks that you are. My job is to talk to all the kids that I am assigned to. This is a tough time of year. There is a lot happening all at the same time. Lots of kids start to feel depressed. Some of it is hormonal, some if it has to do with an overwhelming feeling that things are spiraling out of control. The SATs do not define your success in life or your happiness. Don’t place too much emphasis on them.”
“Are you saying that I did poorly on the SATs?” I asked.
“I’m not saying that at all. I have no idea what your score is. I am saying that many kids think that the SATs define their lives and they do not. It’s not like anybody walks around with their SAT scores in their wallets for the rest of their lives. The score is just a number, nothing more. That may have been part of the problem with Albert, who felt like he was a failure and jumped in front of the train.”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that she was suicide prevention at Stanton.
“Was there something else?” I asked.
“Feel free to talk to me at anytime…about anything. I can offer advice sometimes, and sometimes I can be a good listener. How’s your guitar playing coming along?” she asked.
“I haven’t really been practicing. I’m getting more serious and more focused about life.”
“If playing the guitar makes you happy then do it. Remember that happiness is the goal. Don’t deny your own happiness.” This was in stark contrast to the school’s opinion of me when I played guitar in the cafeteria. They had thought that I had cracked. Now she was telling me to play guitar if it made me happy. I left her office and went to hang out with Delancey.
Delancey and I went to Ray’s Famous Pizza in the East Village. I stared at her face while we ate. She had angelic features, and I loved the way her eyes smiled along with her lips. She was more than beautiful, in the traditional sense of the word. There was something special about her, something that not only invited me to be open and honest with her, but also something that made me very possessive toward her. She talked about school, college, and Valentine’s Day…and I just sat staring, my eyes fixated on her eyes, and the movement of her lips. I leaned over and kissed her. I didn’t think about it, and I didn’t overanalyze it. I wasn’t worried about what her reaction was going to be. It was something that I had wanted to do for a long time, since the first time that I saw her, nearly three years ago.
Delancey blushed. I placed my arm around her. She didn’t resist. We spent an hour laughing and talking. It was cold outside, and the other customers still had their coats and hats on. But I felt warm and comfortable. The smile on my face grew like an illuminating candle flame. In close proximity, she was intoxicating. I couldn’t concentrate on her dialogue. I was thinking about how much I really liked her, and how great she smelled. I asked if she was wearing perfume, but she was not.
We were about to leave, when I noticed an old gray haired woman smiling at me. Delancey was in front of me, and exited first. The woman said something, and it sounded like she said, “You are so in love.” I kept walking, astonished by her statement. I wondered if it was true, if I was in love with Delancey.
We walked to Washington Square Park. NYU college students were hanging out, along with an eclectic crowd of hippies, vagabonds, and the usual village crowd. The park was deserted in comparison to how congested it is in the spring and summer. We walked under the large, white stone arch. I gazed up, marveling at its detail and height, feeling small in comparison.
“How high do you think it is?” asked Delancey.
“Maybe 70 or 80 feet.”
“Have you seen the one in Paris?” she asked.
“There’s one in Paris too?” I asked astonished.
“You’re so funny.” She giggled out loud. “This arch is modeled after the one in Paris.”
“You’ve been to Paris?” I asked.
“We used to go every year, but I haven’t been there in about three years. The last couple of summers we went to London and Frankfurt.” She stopped herself from carrying on, realizing that I was not a fellow world traveler. We strolled to the statue of George Washington.
“How did you spend last summer?” Delancey asked.
“I was actually a few blocks away from here, working at a bar on Bleeker Street. I cleaned spilled beer, changed kegs; it was a pretty good job. What about you?”
“I spent the summer on Long Island. My stepfather, Bruce, has a house in Florida that we visit from time to time. But I would really like to go back to Paris. It’s the best city in the whole world. It is my mother’s favorite city as well.” Her face enlivened when she recalled Paris.
“It can’t be better than New York. There’s an old saying…there’s no place like home. And I love New York!” We both laughed and twirled around with arms wide open, heads leaned back, and eyes to the sky. We embraced and kissed, and I no longer felt the chilly air. I might as well have been on a warm beach. The physical affection that we were starting to share made my spirit jubilant.
A folk singer was playing guitar in the center of Washington Square Park. I gave her a dollar, and asked her “sing New York, New York for my Parisian loving friend!’
“I don’t know how to play it on guitar,” the folk singer said.
“I do.” I picked up her acoustic guitar, and played while the folk singer sang the lyrics. She was really belting it out and I joined in on the vocals. A crowd huddled around us and the folk singer stopped singing. I kept the song going. Dozens of people now gathered, and the singer walked around with her hat to collect change and dollar bills. I couldn’t see Delancey, but kept singing and playing the guitar to New York, New York. The singer pulled a tambourine out of her coat. The crowd cheered and applauded. It was a real New York moment.
Delancey was difficult to spot. The song came to an end with an over the top crescendo, much to the delight of the crowd. I bowed to their applause, and the folk singer offered half the money in her hat. I declined, but thanked her for the opportunity. The crowd dispersed, but I did not see Delancey. I walked around the fountain, and called out her name twice. In the distance, three large figures in familiar black leather trench coats huddled around Delancey. The large figure in the middle turned around. It was Juan Perez.
The two boys that were with him immediately turned their attention to me. Juan held his hand up, to call off his goons. He leaned over, and gave Delancey a rather long embrace and a kiss on the cheek. Then a second kiss on the cheek. Juan flashed me a devious grin. She walked away from him, and he playfully held her back. Delancey was a little embarrassed. Juan and his friends finally walked away, laughing at me.
“What were those guys doing here?” I asked.
“I don’t know. They said that they were in the area getting a hair cut,” Delancey explained.
“You are on very good terms with Juan,” I said.
“He thinks more of it than I do. We’re friendly but there is nothing else.” She wrinkled her forehead as she emphasized the word nothing.