“I could care less about this
fatwa
and Salman Rushdie, but the Ayatollah should get all the credit for making this unknown writer an international superstar. I’m sure his agent would agree. Besides, how much credence can you give a nation run by religious fanatics?” said Sam.
“So then why were you angry about the whole thing?” I asked him.
“Knee jerk reaction, I guess. But the reality is – I really don’t care anymore. I am a nomad, a man without a country. How do you like the beer?” Sam asked.
“It’s the best beer I’ve had. I can’t believe your father made this from scratch. I guess he missed his calling. Have you considered becoming an American?” I asked.
“I could never be an American. I wouldn’t know where to begin, and as big as this country is, I don’t fit in anywhere, never have…never will. I don’t share your values. I don’t get your jokes. It’s not for me. As soon as medical school is over, I plan on leaving for good.”
“Sam, you are a teenager, and at some point in everyone’s life, we all feel the same way.” I had two beers and a lamb kabob before Sam’s mother arrived and threw me out. She thought that I was a bad influence on her perfect, college bound son.
Later that night, John called with news of a date for the prom. One of the girls he had sent flowers to was Helen; she agreed to go with him to the prom.
“I am interested in Helen; I always have been. Natalie is great but like you said, she is out of my league.” Some people never fall in love and some people fall in love only once. John Moon falls in love every day.
I tried to understand the world Delancey lived in. I couldn’t afford drugs even if I wanted to try them. Expectations for her were so different than they were for me. There were no expectations for me, beyond graduating high school. My expectations were self created. I could not imagine what her world must be like.
At the café, Mike was late, but he did not go to sleep. Christine and Kenny arrived at 9 am. I did my job and avoided any interaction with Christine. I was still furious with her and Eddie.
Mike brought up the topic of Salman Rushdie. “Maybe I need a
fatwa
to launch my career as writer,” he joked. “You know, I didn’t have a clue as to what Rushdie looked like before, but he’s on the front cover of every newspaper and magazine. The media is crying outrage, but they are helping the Ayatollah get his
fatwa
by printing Rushdie’s picture everywhere,” said Mike. “It should probably be a photo editor at a news magazine that collects on the
fatwa
!”
In the afternoon, Christine approached me.
“I didn’t mean for you to get involved. Its not like you are one of us,” she said.
She apologized with regretful eyes. I decided not to hold anything against her.
I took my break on the promenade overlooking the choppy waters of the Hudson River. The Statue of Liberty stood in the distance. Ellis Island was visible as well. A ferry unloaded passengers, and then headed back to New Jersey.
Maybe I would be better off going to college in the city and living at home. I was second guessing state college. I had my share of self doubt, but sometimes I think I received someone else’s share as well.
I stood overlooking the Hudson River, holding on to the black metal railing, silently contemplating my life. If I told you that I was feeling overwhelmed, it would be an understatement. I was nervous about so many things. Every decision regarding my entire future had to be made very quickly. At the top of the list, I needed a date for the April dance, and I was not sure Delancey would say yes. Was I really ready to go away to college? I had never been away from home before, other than the ski trip, and look how that turned out. Then there was Brass. The money he was offering was good, too good. It’s not easy deciding your entire future before you graduate high school, but that’s exactly what I felt I needed to do.
I looked down into the gray, choppy, chilly waters of the Hudson River, and thought about the kids at school that had committed suicide. If it was me, I think I would jump into the river and drown myself. I would probably freeze to death before I drowned anyway. I took a second look into the dark, murky waters again. If I jumped in right now, who would even notice? No one else was there. I needed a change of scenery. I never had these thoughts before, and I needed some coffee or something to wake me up.
“Don’t even think about jumping in; you’re the only weekend baker we have!” yelled Mike. He was standing right behind me. Mike leaned over the rail.
“I suffered from a weird teenage depression thing until I was about twenty-nine years old. It’s normal, but some kids take it too far. That’s the reason there are so many suicides at Stanton. The kids there are high strung to begin with, and when the moody blues take over they have no control over their emotions. Now get back to work!” Mike had the uncanny ability to read my thoughts.
My shift flew by quickly and I was out by five pm. When I left the cafe, Eddie Lo was talking to Christine on Vesey Street. He sarcastically asked if I needed a ride. They both laughed. I just kept walking
The April dance was on my mind. If I asked Delancey, she probably wouldn’t say yes, for it would imply that we were dating. It drove me nuts that we spent so much time together, but she didn’t want it out there that we were dating. Either she wanted to keep her options open, or she didn’t like me the same way that I liked her.
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 president.”