It’s the truth. This whole thing has been one big family emergency.
You start to feel warm despite the chilly fall wind nipping at your face. A squirrel runs by with a nut. It looks at you and puts the nut down.
“Hi, little squirrel,” you say. It blinks and twitches, then picks up the acorn in its mouth and runs toward the nearest tree. You think of how simple things are for the squirrel. An acorn—that’s all the squirrel needs to be happy.
You finally see Jane in her gray coat, thick wool tights, and black loafers, bounding toward you in the determined way she walks.
“You scared me,” you say. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’m sorry. Mr. Canfield held me after class because I didn’t do the math homework. I said my mother was picking me up for a doctor’s appointment and that I had to go.”
“What if he calls your mom to check?” you ask. If Mr. Canfield calls Peggy to check on the doctor’s appointment, Peggy might call the theater department to speak to Jane, and Jane wouldn’t be there. Then Peggy would call Ma.
“That probably won’t happen,” Jane says, a sliver of doubt crossing her face.
“Oh boy, this is not good. I knew we shouldn’t be doing this,” you say and start walking backward, away from Jane. “I can’t, I just can’t. It’s too risky.”
Jane walks toward you, grabs your shoulders, and gives you a little shake. In a strange, grown-up lady voice, she says, “Ariel, pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.”
“What?”
“It’s something that Elizabeth Taylor said. The drinks can be colas. But this is our chance, and maybe our only chance for a while.” She takes out her Revlon Cherries in the Snow and paints it on thick. Then she points the tube toward you.
You smile. You can’t help it. “No thanks, you’re wearing enough for both of us. But okay, let’s go.”
How to Be Forgettable
The station is right in the center of town. On the bus in the mornings, you see lots of men standing in their hats and dark suits with newspapers tucked under their arms, drinking coffee and waiting for the train to take them to their jobs in Manhattan.
You hardly ever see ladies waiting for the train in the mornings. Ma and Peggy are the only mothers you know who go off to work. Lots of other mothers, the moms who live in the big houses outside of town, don’t go somewhere to work. Sometimes they come into the bakery wearing brightly colored cardigans and with expensive purses hanging from their arms. If Ma were one of those ladies instead of being behind the counter, would she act like a different person or would Ma just be Ma with a more expensive purse?
You step onto the platform. There are a few people waiting, but not many. It’s not a commuting hour. Maybe you and Jane should have both dressed up older. The ticket seller looks at both of you a little funny but sells you the tickets.
The conductor, a short, grumpy-looking man, doesn’t even give you a second glance as he clicks holes in your tickets and sticks a piece of paper on the top of the seat. Then suddenly there you both are, with your hands on your laps, feet flat on the floor, watching Connecticut fly by and turn into New York.
“When was the last time you were on a train?” Jane asks you.
“We went to see Leah. Her dance company got to perform at Lincoln Center.”
“Wow, Lincoln Center,” Jane says, all dreamy.
“It wasn’t in the main part, just in a smaller studio.”
“Still,” Jane says.
After a while, the buildings grow taller and taller. You remember that day last spring. Daddy didn’t want to drive, so you all took the train. Leah went earlier with her dance company for rehearsal, and you sat in a row of three with Ma and Daddy, you in between them, but you had wanted to sit by the window.
You usually went into the city once or twice a year. Ma liked for Daddy to drive, but Daddy loved the train. He said that trains were the most relaxing place he could think of. There was no car to drive, nothing to bake, nothing to clean, nothing to worry about. “All I have to do is sit back and enjoy the countryside,” he said.
He took along one of his favorite snacks, a can of roasted peanuts, and Ma brought a thermos of hot coffee. You remember burning with jealousy that Leah was the reason your parents were on this train to Lincoln Center, sipping hot coffee, eating something that they didn’t make with their own hands—that taking part in her life was special, a holiday.
You remember thinking that you could never create something like that for your parents. But now, as you and Jane ride on the train with only a tube of red lipstick between you, you think that maybe there are other things you can do. Daddy said you’re the type to land on your feet. So maybe that’s what you’re helping your family do—land on their feet.
After an hour, the train lurches into 125th Street, and you watch some people get off.
“Ten minutes to Grand Central Station,” announces the conductor.
You lean back, your stomach growling, wishing you had a can of peanuts.
When you arrive, you both follow the sea of people out of the train and toward the main station, your heart pounding as people zoom by. The sounds are so loud. It seems like a place where people could easily get lost. You’d always worried you’d get separated from your parents when you were in the city, and now here you are, separated. Jane grabs your hand, and you see the panic in her eyes. The large black clock in the center of the station stands ahead of you, calling you to it. You’ve seen this clock.
“Okay,” you say. “I know where I am.”
“There,” Jane says, pointing. “The subway is that way.” She pulls you toward the sign, and you follow, looking back at the clock for a second.
When you get down to the subway station, it feels even more crowded and chaotic than Grand Central. Jane leads you to the token booth as you clutch your twenty cents. Jane slides her coins and yours through the little slot at the ticket window.
“Two tokens, please. What stop is New York University?”
The man behind the window points straight behind you. “Number 6 downtown, Astor Place,” he announces. You get your tokens and head to the turnstiles. Jane drops her token in the tiny slot, and you follow. Ma never wanted to take the subway. She said there was a lot of mishegas on the subway, that she heard about someone getting mugged, someone getting stabbed, but now you’re on the other side, amid the mishegas.
After a few minutes, Jane and you find yourselves sitting on a crowded, bumpy subway car hurtling downtown. A man comes on the train at the next stop and tells everyone he has an announcement. He isn’t a conductor. Jane glances at you, then back at the man. His clothes are frayed and worn. A dirty hat sits on his long, tangled hair. Your back stiffens. Jane moves closer to you.
“My life has been hard, and I need help,” he says. “But I’m not begging for your money. I’m offering you the only thing I have. My voice.” He clears his throat, then clears it again.
“I think he’s going to sing,” Jane whispers to you.
“Oh,” you say, relief washing over you as you look back at the man. He takes in a deep breath and sings “You Are My Sunshine,” smooth and slow. The sound of his voice blankets the car. Your mother used to sing the same lullaby to you when you were little. You think of coming out of a bubble bath, dressing in a soft yellow nightgown, holding tight to your old teddy bear you named “Doggie” because you thought all animals were called dogs. Ma would sing the song as she tucked you in, and you knew, even as a little girl, that this was love and you were lucky.
You gaze at all the different kinds of people on the train: a woman wearing white gloves holding her white purse, a few men in business suits, a construction worker, some teenagers dressed in bell-bottoms and T-shirts, a sleepy-looking old man, a lady in red pants, a man in a black leather jacket . . . it went on and on. People of all ages and sk
in colors. You aren’t that far away from Connecticut, but it feels as if you’ve traveled to another universe.
The car screeches to a stop. The man ends his song and holds out his hat, asking for money.
“Come on,” Jane says, grabbing your arm. “It’s Astor Place.” As you get up, you dig into your pocket and find two nickels. You think about giving him the money, but then suddenly feel afraid. You hear your mother’s voice telling you not to talk to strangers. Before you can make a decision, the doors snap shut and you’re hit with a sting of shame. You don’t even have the courage to give a down-and-out fellow two nickels on the subway; how are you going to make your way through the city to find your sister? Fear starts to spread as Jane pulls you toward the stairs and up into the street.
Outside, you both look for NYU campus signs. It’s different than you imagined. Where was the grassy square, the old school buildings surrounding it, students in smart outfits clutching books to their chests? All you see is city and more city, people pushing past you, rushing, rushing, rushing. You see young women in short miniskirts and tall boots. You see men in dungarees, hanging in front of shop windows, smoking and staring. You hold Jane’s arm tighter.
“There,” she says and points. You look up and see a white-and-purple sign. It cuts through your fear and feels like a signal, a beacon. “We can go in that building and ask where the business school is. That’s where Raj is, right? The business school?”
“I think so,” you say.
You head over to the building and stand in front of the large wooden doors. You look in the window and see a woman at a desk in the lobby. Jane tries the doors. They’re locked. She starts knocking. Then she sees a bell and rings it.
“No,” you say. “Don’t.”
“We only have a few hours before we have to get back. We need to talk to as many people as we can.”
“But—” you say.
“Listen,” Jane interrupts. “You brought me into this. You said you wanted my Nancy Drew expertise. How do you think Nancy finds her clues? She’s not afraid to ask questions.”
But you and Jane are no Nancy Drew with her sophisticated outfits, far-out cars, and never-ending confidence. Jane is right, though. You are risking a lot to be here, and Jane isn’t afraid to ask questions even if you are.
“Okay,” you say and start knocking on the door, hard. The woman looks up and lowers her glasses.
Jane waves in the window. “Could you let us in for a moment?” she yells.
The woman frowns and gets up. You wait for a minute, and the door opens.
“Hello,” Jane says, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “We need to find a student at the business school. Where is that building?”
“Who are you looking for?”
Jane looks at you.
“Um, my brother-in-law,” you say and stand a little straighter. It feels strange to say it. “There’s some important family news, and we haven’t been able to reach him.”
“Try the Welcome Center. It’s a few blocks down the street,” the woman says and explains how to get there. Then she turns to file a stack of papers in the drawers behind her.
You yell out a thank-you and run around the corner and down a few blocks.
“I think it’s here,” Jane says, pointing to a brick building. Your heart is pounding so hard, you can feel it in your throat. What would you say to Raj if you saw him? Would he recognize you?
Jane tries the door. This time it opens. There’s another woman sitting at the desk in the lobby.
“Hi,” Jane says as you hang back. The woman, who is typing on what you recognize as an IBM Selectric typewriter, the same one Miss Field has in the classroom, stops and looks up.
“Can I help you?” she says in a stiff voice.
“We’re looking for a student at the business school. Her brother-in-law,” Jane says, pointing at you. “We haven’t been able to reach him, and we have important family news. Can you let us know what classes he’s in or what his address or phone number is?”
“A student in the graduate school of business? I can leave a message for him, but I can’t give out his personal information.”
“But we’re family,” Jane says, and you look at her funny. “And it’s an emergency!”
The woman frowns, clearly not impressed by the word emergency.
“I’m sorry, but that information is confidential. Do you want to leave a message here for him? That’s all I can do.”
Jane looks at you. What do you say in a message to Raj? Hi, it’s Ariel. Just lied to my parents and came to NYU to find you and my long-lost sister. Call me!
“Anyway, if you want to find him, the graduate school is farther downtown, in the Wall Street area. Here’s a map. I would take a taxi.”
This information hits you like a brick. There isn’t enough time. You had no idea the buildings would be so far apart. Your stomach feels hollow. You’re cold. Your bottom lip trembles, and Jane puts a hand on your shoulder. You don’t even have enough money for a taxi.
“Are you sure there are no business classes around here?” Jane asks, looking around.
“Not for the graduate school,” the woman says. Then she lowers her glasses and peers over them. “Aren’t you girls a little young to be wandering around all by yourselves?”
“We’re older than we look,” Jane replies and stands tall, her hands on her hips.
You pull on Jane’s arm. “Let’s go,” you say and feel the eyes of the woman with her glasses still lowered watching your backs as you leave.
The wind whips around, making you both squint and turn in the other direction. People start pushing past you as you both move over and stand against the wall of the building. You feel the tears coming.
“This was a big mistake,” you cry out. “How were we supposed to know the business school wasn’t around here? It said the campus was near the Astor Place subway stop.” You and Jane had gone to the library and mapped it all out. A lot of good that did.
You start walking toward the direction you came. You walk as fast as you can, not even checking to see if Jane is following you. A few blocks go by. You see a big stone arch near a park and keep going. You just need to put one foot in front of the other.
“Ariel,” Jane calls after you, but you keep walking, the cold air in your face, your feet hurting. You don’t care about anything right now, not even how much trouble you’re probably going to get in when you get home.
“Ariel!” Jane yells again. “Wait up!”
You want to walk all the way to Grand Central and go home. If Leah and Raj want to disappear, if you’re that forgettable to Leah, then you might as well forget all about her. She can see how it feels to be forgettable, too.
How to Break the World Open
You know Jane is behind you, but you keep walking. Her loafers slap on the sidewalk, and you walk just fast enough to be ahead. You want to be alone, but you don’t. Finally, she catches up to you and grabs your arm.
“Just stop for a second. Please.” She’s breathing hard. You’re not angry at her, just angry that you thought you had the power to change things. You’re just a silly little kid. It seems like everyone’s fighting to change things all around you, trying to make the world better. Protests, riots, war. People are fighting for peace, equal rights, freedom. You remember something Mildred Loving said: “We may lose the small battles but win the big war.” But what if you lose both? What if nothing actually changes, no matter how hard you fight?
You stop and face Jane.
“We can try again. Do more research,” she says.
“I don’t think we’ll get a second chance. It’s already late. We’re going to be in heaps of trouble when we get home. I’ve just got to let it go. I’ve got to let her go,” you say as the tears sting your cold cheeks.
“Aww, don’t cry, Ari. Let’s just get something to eat
. I’m starving. I can’t think when I’m starving. There’s a pretzel cart.”
You let her lead you to the cart, because you’re out of ideas. Jane asks for a pretzel and a soda. She gives the man a quarter, and he hands her back a huge pretzel wrapped in wax paper and a glass bottle of cola. Jane breaks off a large piece of pretzel and hands it to you. It’s warm and soft with bits of salt on the top. You’ve seen pretzel carts in Manhattan before, but Daddy never wants to buy them, no matter how much you beg. He says he can bake better pretzels at home and passes around his peanuts.
You both stand on the street, passing the pretzel and the soda back and forth. For a moment, the wind dies down, and the food and drink soothe you. After you finish, you throw away the paper. Jane tosses the bottle.
“We have to go, Jane.”
“I know, I know,” she says, wiping her mouth. “We have just enough for two more tokens. Let’s take the subway back. It’s freezing.”
You nod and brace yourself against the wind that has started up again. One foot in front of the other, that’s all you can do as you head back to Astor Place.
You still walk a little ahead of Jane, not completely sure of where you are. You want to ask someone where the subway stop is, but no one looks too friendly. You get the map out of your pocket, and as you’re unfolding it, you hear your name. You think it’s Jane, and you ignore it. Then you hear it again. This time you realize it’s not Jane.
“Ariel?” you hear again and look up. Some lady is standing right in front of you, a lady who looks a lot like your sister.
You stare hard.
“Ariel, is that really you?” she says in a high-pitched voice.
You blink. You don’t believe it. You never actually thought you’d find her, but you wanted to be able to tell her someday that you’d tried. It is your sister, but she looks different, older. She’s wearing a brown coat over a dark green dress, and black low-heeled shoes. The coat is open, and her large belly is visible, but if she had closed her coat, you might not have noticed. Her face is full and rosy. She drops the two grocery bags she’s holding. Then she grabs your shoulders and bends down a little. She’s still taller than you, but not as much as she used to be. You’ve grown in only a few months.
How to Find What You're Not Looking For Page 17
