by Ariel Schrag
“Hello,” the Hasid said to Casey, and then to Adam, “I am Jacob.” Adam shook his hand.
June offered her hand. “I’m June.”
“I do not touch women; it is my religion,” answered Jacob.
June glared at him.
Adam was impressed Jacob could tell June was a woman.
“You have three keys,” continued Jacob, taking out a key ring. “The front door to the building and a top and bottom key for your door. Very safe. I will give you these, but any additional copies you must make yourself.”
“Do you know a place around here that makes copies?” asked Casey.
“I only know a place where I live. The Hasidic neighborhood.”
“We could go there,” said Casey. “I wanted to buy a menorah anyway . . .”
Jacob’s face lit up.
“You are Jewish?!” It was as if he’d just heard the most marvelous news of his life.
“Well, half,” said Casey. “Our dad is Jewish. But we celebrate Hanu—”
“Not Jewish.” Jacob cut her off. His face retracted to cold and businesslike. He handed the keys to Adam and abruptly walked off, disappearing around the corner.
“Of course he gives him the keys,” said June. “What is he, sixteen?”
Adam wondered if he should start referring to June in the third person all the time too.
“I’m seventeen.”
“Yeah, huge difference.”
Adam ignored her. He hoped they did go to the Hasidic neighborhood to get the keys. He’d always been curious about Hasidic Jews. He’d never really understood the difference between them and Orthodox Jews until his class read this book The Chosen in ninth grade. It was by Chaim Potok—a name he and Brad had become obsessed with and repeated nonstop to each other for about two weeks—Chaim Potok, Chaim Potok—the Chaim coming out like they were hawking loogies. The book was about this Orthodox kid befriending this Hasidic kid and realizing how weird and sheltered the Hasidic kid’s life was. The Orthodox kid’s dad was a Zionist, which the Hasids were really against because they didn’t believe in Israel—they thought only God should be able to create the homeland. This was the part that struck Adam the most—he’d always assumed the more Jewish you were, the more into Israel you were, but it was actually the opposite with Hasids. He wondered if maybe the girl he was supposed to meet in New York was a redheaded Hasidic girl. Their love would be tragic and revolutionary like Romeo and Juliet or West Side Story. It would end with Adam being gunned down outside the menorah shop where they first met, the redhead throwing herself on his twitching, soon-to-be-lifeless body. All they ever wanted was love.
Casey and June were gathering up their stuff and Adam followed. They said some awkward heys to the guys on the steps, dragged everything into the foyer and then up the stairs.
“You know why Hasidic people all look so weird and sickly like that?” said June. “It’s because they’re inbred. They can only have sex with each other.”
Adam gave her a look.
“I can say that because I’m Jewish,” said June.
“You’re only half, too!” said Casey.
“Yeah, but I’m the right half!” said June.
“The inbred half,” said Adam.
Casey laughed.
June scowled.
“I heard they can only have sex through a hole in a sheet,” said Casey.
This idea complicated Adam’s redheaded Hasidic girl fantasy. Or perhaps improved it . . . He would be the first guy to have sex with her without the sheet. Her mind would be blown.
Casey undid the two locks on their door. Number 9F.
“Ta-da!” she said.
The apartment was disgusting. Adam had always thought of Hasidic people as especially clean and fastidious, but apparently that didn’t transfer to the apartments they rented. The floor was covered in trash—nasty trash, like leftover food. Mouse shit was scattered everywhere, and the molding looked chewed on. Spastic flies buzzed in the windowpanes.
“So it’s a little messy,” said Casey. “But it’s ours, guys. It’s all ours.”
Adam grinned at her. The place was their mom’s worst nightmare, and that made him love it. “I think I just heard Mom scream from three thousand miles away,” he said.
“I think that was someone being shot outside,” said June.
“Fuck, we should really clean it up before Ethan gets here, though,” said Casey.
“You mean Craigslist?” said June.
Casey ignored her and June blushed. The Craigslist joke was apparently over.
“He might be really neat or something,” said Casey. “What if he decides he doesn’t want it!”
“No!” said June.
“We should start cleaning immediately. We can’t lose Ethan—he’s perfect!”
“I know.”
For a couple of lesbians, Casey and June sure were obsessed with this Ethan.
“I’m kinda starving,” said Adam. “Is it OK if I go get something to eat real quick before I start cleaning?”
“Typical,” muttered June.
Adam indulged a quick fantasy of punching her in the face.
“Sure,” said Casey. “Just go to any corner store. They’re called bodegas, and they all make sandwiches. And the best part, the sandwiches all come with American cheese—the kind we love that McDonald’s uses.”
***
Adam made his way past the guys lounging on the front steps again. He gave them the slightest hint of a nod that could be interpreted as friendly, if that was the right thing, or non-existent, if that was the right thing.
He stood on the sidewalk and looked around. So this was New York. It was a sentiment he’d conjured up about five times already since getting off the plane, but it still felt fresh and exciting, and he wanted to keep the feeling going for as long as he could. He started off in a random direction in search of a deli. Bushwick Avenue, he noted, looking up at the street sign. He imagined himself two months from now, this street as familiar as anything, comforting instead of strange.
“Boy! I’ma beat the shit out of you!”
Adam whipped around. A fat, balding woman with her hands on her hips was staring him down.
“E-excuse me?” said Adam.
“You get the fuck back in here, or I’ma beat the shit out of you. You think I’m playin’?”
Adam started to shake his head no when he realized the woman was looking past him at a kid on a Razor scooter. The kid grumbled and rode toward his mom. She grabbed the kid’s arm and yanked him off the scooter.
“Ow!” he screamed.
Adam glanced around to make sure no one had seen him think the woman was talking to him. He went to cross the street—the light was green—when HONK! a car screeched in front of him. He jumped back to the safety of the curb. The traffic light switched to the red-hand sign, and several people barged past him into the crosswalk, barely looking. What the hell? Adam hustled after them.
Across the street was a shabby-looking store called E-Z Stop. Adam peeked his head in, and, behind the shelves of canned food and cleaning supplies, sure enough, there was a little sandwich counter. He went in and stared up at the menu. Ham. Turkey. Salami. Liverwurst. Liverwurst? The only time Adam had ever heard of liverwurst was in the book A Wrinkle in Time, which he’d never bothered to finish. In the book, some kids had made a liverwurst sandwich in the kitchen late at night, and then some fantastical stuff had started to happen that bored him. Adam wasn’t even sure what liverwurst was, but, for some reason, right then it seemed like the most delicious thing ever.
“Ah, a liverwurst sandwich, please?” he said to the guy counting money behind the register.
“Liverwurst?”
Maybe you weren’t supposed to order liverwurst.
“Uh-huh,” said Adam.
“Everything on it?”
Adam had no idea. What went on a liverwurst sandwich? He didn’t want to do it wrong. “Uh, just the liverwurst.”
Another ma
n appeared behind the meat counter and slapped together the sandwich while Adam paid the first guy. He took the sandwich outside and had just unwrapped the paper when two girls wearing giant sunglasses, threadbare tank tops with visible bra straps, and short shorts strolled up to him. The blond one had a cigarette in her hand.
“Hey, do you have a light?”
Adam did not have a light. But he brushed his hand across his front pocket, acting as if he were checking anyway.
“Sorry.”
“No problem, cutie.” And the girls flounced off.
Adam’s face flushed. Was something like this going to happen every time he stepped out of the apartment? A thrilling prospect, if it wasn’t so horrifying. He quickly turned back to his sandwich. “Liverwurst” was a thick wedge of grayish stuff squeezed between the bread. Adam was going in. He took a giant bite, and it was salty and creamy and smoky all at once. Amazing. Liverwurst was officially his new favorite food. His cell phone dinged in his pocket. Continuing to cram the sandwich into his mouth with one hand, he pulled out his cell with the other and read the text from Casey.
Ethan’s here!
When Adam got back to the apartment, Casey, June, and Ethan were sitting around on some milk crates sharing a six-pack that Ethan had brought. There wasn’t a fourth milk crate, so Adam tried to look casual leaning against the wall.
“’Sup, dude,” said Ethan, popping open a beer and handing it to Adam. “I’m Ethan.”
“I’m Adam,” said Adam. He took a swig and his beer immediately foamed all over his shirt. Ethan chuckled, but it wasn’t mean. It actually made Adam feel kind of warm.
Ethan was really good-looking—the kind of expertly-tousled-hair-movie-star guy that girls in Adam’s class went nutjob for. He was wearing a clean white T-shirt and crisp dark jeans with brand-new bright white Adidas. Adam looked down at his own shit-caked dork Reeboks, a flash of them dangling off Kelsey Winslow’s bed. He needed to go shopping immediately. What was he even thinking dressing the way he did? Obviously, cool clothes were the way to get girls. He wondered if Ethan would notice if he showed up the next day in his own brand-new Adidas.
“Yeah, it’s shit pay, but I can see all the movies I want for free. I can hook you guys up, too.”
Casey and June were hanging on Ethan’s every word. Casey looked positively entranced, and June looked as if she were being batted back and forth between her own entrancement and jealousy of Casey’s entrancement.
“I’m working at this YMCA summer camp,” said Casey. “It’s, like, nine dollars an hour, but I really love kids, so it should be fun.”
“I’m still looking,” said June.
No one asked Adam what his job was going to be, and he didn’t volunteer. He had forgotten until this moment he was supposed to get one.
They talked about when the mattresses were being delivered and who was going to take which bedroom. Ethan said he really didn’t care, and June insisted that Casey take the large one. Like Casey was June’s pregnant wife or something.
Ethan busted out his iPod dock and put on some weird electronic music while everyone moved their stuff into their respective rooms. All of Ethan’s things looked new and expensive. An iMac, with a 36-inch monitor. Some kind of recording gear. A plastic tub lined with spotless sneakers: Pumas, Nikes, more Adidas. Maybe he and Ethan were the same size? Adam also noticed that all of June’s stuff looked like shit. She walked into her room carrying a CD-player boom box that still had cassette decks.
Adam dumped his bags into his room and examined the closet-size space. It looked like solitary confinement—no windows, low ceiling. He wondered if it would make him go crazy. The idea was sort of exciting. He saw a small object in the corner he couldn’t identify and went over to examine it. It was a black plastic square, about an inch and a half long on each side, with a round plastic circle on top. The whole thing was caked in dust. Adam poked it with his toe. Nothing happened. He considered picking it up, but then decided to leave it. He’d put his mattress on top of it and pretend it wasn’t there.
***
That evening Casey and June were going to some girl’s apartment for an L Word party. The girl’s name was Schuyler, and she was a friend of their friend Roxanne from college. Schuyler was older and lived in Williamsburg. Casey and June seemed really excited to have been invited.
“We’re in the neighborhood now,” said Casey. She was leaning against the wall drinking from their third six-pack of the day. “We’re not some dorks all the way up on Morningside Heights.”
They’d plugged a couple of the desk lamps in and set them on the floor, giving the near-empty living room a cozy glow. Casey, June, and Adam were all drinking, but Ethan was in his room. Adam wished he would come out.
“I was totally down to go with Roxanne when she used to go,” said June. “You were the one who was always like, ‘It’s too far! It’s a school night!’” June followed this with a nervous laugh, waiting to see if her poking fun at Casey would fly.
“It’s not like I actually gave a shit about schoolwork,” said Casey. (Adam was pretty sure she did—Casey was obsessed with doing well at school.) “It would have been embarrassing to trek all the way across the city just to watch a TV show with people we barely know. It would totally look like we were trying too hard.”
June nodded as if she’d already thought that herself.
“This is way more casual,” continued Casey. “It’s like, we’re in the neighborhood; sure, we’ll stop by.” Casey took a nonchalant swig of beer, and Adam instinctively did too. He was feeling nice and buzzed.
“God, if Casey isn’t there, I’m gonna kill myself,” said Casey.
June gave a weak smile. “Isn’t Casey, like, Schuyler’s best friend? I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Casey sighed. “This is a good outfit, right? I look hot, right?”
“You look hot.”
June still annoyed Adam, but he couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. It was just too tragic.
“Wait, you have a crush on someone named Casey?” he asked Casey.
Casey laughed and rolled her eyes. As if she’d heard it a million times but wouldn’t mind hearing it a million more. “Yes. I have a crush on someone named Casey. I know.”
“I guess that’s just something you have to deal with when you’re gay,” said Adam.
Casey and June exchanged a look.
What? That was offensive?
“OK, we should leave in, like, fifteen minutes,” said Casey, moving on, “and I need to be at least thirty percent drunker.” She guzzled her beer.
“What are you up to tonight?” June asked Adam. Adam shrugged. What was he up to? How the hell was he supposed to know?
Casey stood up, wobbled a little, and walked toward the faint music coming from Ethan’s closed door. She paused and gave June a teeth-clenched nervous grin. June mirrored the grin back. Casey knocked lightly on the door.
“What’s up?” said Ethan, poking his head out.
“Uh, we’re going to an, um, L Word party over on Lorimer Street . . . if you wanna come?”
Ethan does not want to go to a fucking L Word party, thought Adam. He imagined Ethan stepping out, declining the invitation, then mentioning a hot club in the city he was going to tonight and saying, “They don’t card. Adam, you wanna come with?”
Ethan gave his customary little chuckle. “No thanks. I’m gonna stay in tonight.” And he shut the door.
Fuck. Was Adam just supposed to stay here in the apartment while Ethan was in his room with the door locked? That just seemed so awkward . . . so pathetic. Whatever Ethan was doing in his room was definitely cool, but the only thing Adam could think to do alone in his room was surf Internet porn. And, the truth was, he was too scared to go out into the city alone. He wouldn’t even know where to go. Adam saw Casey looking at him. He could never hide how he felt from her.
“You wanna come?” she asked. “I know you like The L Word—even if it’s for the wrong reasons.”
Adam liked The L Word because it showed hot girls making out. Isn’t that why Casey and all her friends liked it too? He glanced back at Ethan’s closed door.
“Uh, sure, whatever,” he said. And he started to chug his beer, too.
***
Outside, the warm New York night spread out exciting and exposed. Police cars with their sirens blared by, and groups of older guys slouched and murmured in the corners. Adam wondered if they were drug dealers. He imagined a phone call to Brad back home. “Yeah, picked up an ounce from the guys on the corner. . . . Naw, they give me a good deal. Neighborhood price. It’s gonna blow when I get back to the Bay and have to pay regular again.” Brad had mentioned coming to visit him for a week, but Adam wasn’t so sure. Everything would have to be perfect. He’d need to have a girlfriend, all new clothes, and a gang of cool dudes he hung with that were not Casey’s lesbian friends. He imagined Brad being jealous of Ethan.
“What, so now this guy’s your best friend?”
“We live together; you just get super tight that way.”
“Isn’t he, like, twenty-one? Why’s he hanging out with a seventeen-year-old?”
“He, like, didn’t even know how old I was for a couple months . . . He was totally shocked when I told him.”
A man pushing a ratty ice-cream cart jostled up next to them. Casey and June bought Chocolate Eclairs, and Adam got a Cherry Bomb pop. He took a sweet, icy bite, and as he swallowed was hit, blindsided really, by a sudden, momentary elation. For those two seconds, he knew—he just knew—everything in New York was going to turn out exactly as he dreamed.
“Hola,” said a lesbian, opening the door. Schuyler wasn’t far from how Adam had imagined her. Short cropped hair with bleached tips, lip ring, boy’s clothes.
“This is my brother, Adam,” said Casey.
Schuyler looked Adam over. “Nice lipstick.”
