I jump the subway turnstile without paying and wait on the edge of the subway platform. At least it’s slightly warmer once I’m underground. My shivering slows down to just the occasional full-body shudder. I stare down at the subway tracks, and my vision blurs a little. I back away to lean against the wall.
There’s a woman in a business suit and heels standing next to me. It’s one of those suits with a narrow skirt, her legs bare. She must be freezing. Out of the corner of my eye I see her pull a white folded handkerchief from her satchel and pat her forehead with it. I try not to stare, but is she sweating? She must be ill.
She looks at me and smiles. “It’s boiling down here. You’d think they’d fix the heat so they don’t fry us to death before winter even gets here.”
I nod and try to smile. I look furtively around us and see dozens of moist faces, jackets taken off and slung over arms. One woman pulls at the neck of her blouse, trying to create a breeze.
I am freezing to death, and everyone else is on fire.
I pull my hat down farther, shielding my ears from the blasts of hot air that only seem to chill me.
CHAPTER 14
REMEMBERING
Seemy and I always said that the discovery of the Vegetarian Dim Sum House was the official start of our best-friendship.
We’d hung out a bunch of times before, and were growing closer and closer, but it wasn’t until that brutally hot summer day that things felt like they really clicked into place. We were down on Canal Street because Seemy had heard there was a place we could get matching sets of brass knuckles with our names on them. I don’t know why she thought we could find them down there, and I warned her Canal Street was the most annoying place in the city, especially in summer, and I would rather gouge my own eyes out than go there. Canal Street is in Chinatown, but I think it gives Chinatown a bad name. Canal Street is a ten-block stretch of street filled on both sides with tiny stores selling chintsy scarves and junky jewelry and cheap electronics. But the real reason tourists flock to Canal Street like cockroaches to a bagel crumb is the illegal knockoffs. Chanel, Prada, Gucci, Fendi. Purses, scarves, watches, wallets, whatever. I hated it. Hated it. But Seemy pouted and said she really, really wanted to go, so I gave in.
So we walked down to Canal Street, and just like I’d said it would be, the place was filthy with tourists moving slower than snails, loaded down with black plastic bags filled with contraband knockoff purses that they’d bought with thumping hearts in the back rooms of the storefronts that lined the street. And worse, every five seconds some sketchy-looking guy would walk up to us and say in a low voice, “Gucci, Prada, Birkin,” wanting us to follow him into those same back rooms to buy crappy knockoffs.
Worse still, it was hot, just ridiculously, stupidly HOT.
And then one of those creepy, whispering purse guys actually touched my arm to try and get me to stop, and I lost it. I know this city is filled to bursting with people, and sure, you’re constantly bumping into each other, but there’s an unspoken rule, the reason that people don’t go postal and kill each other every other minute. We’re crowded, but we don’t touch each other unless we have to. Unless someone’s on fire or about to step in front of a bus, you can count on the fact that no one is going to reach out and make contact.
But this guy did.
“Don’t you touch me!” I screamed in his face. “Do I look like a goddamn tourist to you?” My whole body was shaking, and I thought for a second that I wanted to hit him, that I wanted to punch him right in the nose, and it seemed like such a good idea that I was afraid I might actually do it. So instead I screamed at him again, just screamed right in his face hoping to blow his ears right off his head, and then I grabbed Seemy’s arm and pulled her across the street. We got yelled at by the traffic cop and kept walking down one side street and then another until we were on a narrow street shaded by buildings.
“Nan, stop!” Seemy was laughing, but I could tell she was freaked out. I still had her wrist, but she stopped walking, dug in her heels, and I let her drag me to a stop. “It’s okay, Nan, seriously, it’s okay.”
I didn’t even realize I was crying until she handed me the napkin that’d been wrapped around her iced coffee. It was soaked with condensation from the cup, but it felt good on my face.
“It’s just . . .” I hiccupped. “It’s so hot!” And then I turned to look at the window of the restaurant we were standing in front of. It had this giant aquarium filled with gray, bulbous fish with bulging eyes. “And what the hell is wrong with those fish!” They were so slimy and looked so soft, like they were about to fall apart, and all of a sudden I thought I was going to be sick, so I ran into the restaurant next door and asked if I could use the bathroom. I barely even waited for a yes, just bolted for the back of the narrow dining room. I didn’t actually throw up in the bathroom, just sat on the can until I stopped crying. I washed my face in the sink, and they were out of paper towels, so I dried it on my shirt.
When I came out, Seemy was sitting at a table. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the seat next to her, laughing and whispering, “Oh my God, the bathroom’s for customers only! I think we have to eat here now or they’ll call the police!”
“What?” I laughed. “Says who?”
“The owner lady at the front!” Seemy hissed, still cracking up. “Don’t look, don’t look!”
“Oh my God, you are such a country mouse,” I groaned, poking her in the ribs. “All restaurants say that, but they can’t, like, legally make you eat.”
Her face went from happy to glum.
I’d forgotten that she was kind of sensitive about the whole country mouse thing, so I said, “I’m starving, though, so let’s eat.”
“I thought you just puked.”
“Nope, false alarm. What is this place, anyway?”
“Vegetarian dim sum, apparently,” she answered coldly, not looking up from the menu.
Of course, when we retold the story to my mom and her mom and whoever else would listen, we left out the country mouse part. We just talked about how we didn’t realize that each dim sum item we ordered off the menu came with at least four pieces, so we ordered way too much, and the waiters kept coming out of the kitchen one after another with trays stacked with bamboo steamers filled with delicious dumplings stuffed with mock pork or spinach or banana. They had names like Treasure Boxes and Treasure Balls, and at first when we started eating, we were happy that the waiters kept coming with more and we were laughing at our good food fortune.
But then we started to get full, and they just kept coming with more and more food, and then all of the doughy, fake-meat goodness felt like it had expanded in our stomachs, and by the end we just sat there with glazed eyes, rubbing our bellies and groaning while the waiters laughed at us.
After that we were there at least twice a week for the rest of the summer.
CHAPTER 15
TODAY
Duke’s is your typical 1950s-themed diner crammed with calculated nostalgia. Chrome-wrapped countertop, do-wop on the jukebox, waiters in white paper hats, waitresses dressed for a sock hop. The walls are carefully cluttered with tin signs advertising drive-ins, Route 66, and soda fountains. It’s way overpriced, but it’s open all night and it’s close to Saint Marks, so it became our unofficial home base, at least until we found the carriage house. The best part of so many nights with Seemy was rolling into Duke’s at three in the morning, both of our moms thinking we were sleeping over at the other’s apartment. Toad, the dangling participle, would be there too. We’d be sobering up a little, realizing we hadn’t eaten for hours, that our feet hurt and we had to pee, and that we were in danger of getting sleepy.
We’d pool our money and get a giant plate of disco fries, and vanilla Cokes for Seemy and me, and root beer for Toad. I was never so happy as I was sitting in a booth next to Seemy, singing along with the music, teasing Toad. When we left, the sun would just be coming up, and we’d realize we had four or five hours until we could go
home to pass out. Toad always offered to let us sleep at his place, but even Seemy thought that was a bad idea. She and I would take these marathon walks all over Manhattan. If we were really tired, we’d get on the L train and sleep as it went from one end of the line to the other.
When I walk into Duke’s, Edie is at the far end of the counter. Her hair is shorter, she’s gotten coppery highlights, but otherwise she looks the same. She rushes over to greet me.
“OH, HELL NO!” she yells as soon as I sit down at the counter. “Get your ass up off my stool!”
My mouth falls open, but no words come out.
“I swear to God I am so pissed I could kill you, do you know that?” She slaps her hand on the counter in front of me so hard her horn-rimmed glasses fall off her head, skid off the counter, and clack to the ground next to me. I bend over to pick them up. “Leave them!” she yells. “I just want you to get the hell out of here!”
We have the full attention of everyone else in the restaurant now. Dale, the cook, is standing in the entrance to the kitchen, like he’s waiting to see if she needs backup.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” I tell her, slipping off the stool. “I don’t know what . . .” I trail off.
She sighs loudly, and then, as if it’s against her better judgment, she snaps, “You don’t know what?”
My voice is husky, fighting back tears. I keep my eyes on the metal creamer on the counter. “I don’t know what happened last night. I don’t know why you’re mad at me. But I’m sorry. For whatever I did. I’m really, really sorry.”
I look up when Edie groans. “You weren’t acting like yourself, that’s for damn sure.”
Everyone is still staring at us. Edie looks around and snaps, “Go back to your pie!”
They do. Then she looks at me and sighs. “Would you get my goddamn glasses, please?”
I bend over to pick them up, and by the time I’m sitting again, she’s put a glass of ginger ale in front of me. She leans on the counter, stares at me. “Go on and drink. You look a little green around the gills.”
I sip the soda, wait to see if it stays down, and then sip again.
“You weren’t yourself last night,” Edie says. “I could tell that right off. You and your little friend didn’t even say hello to me. You just followed those creeps to a booth in the back. Both of you looking like prom queens from hell.” She glowers at me. “I can see you decided to keep the look. What were you two doing with guys like that?”
I look at her blankly. “Guys?”
“You really don’t remember?” she asks.
I shake my head.
I don’t want to go down this rabbit hole. I don’t want to know what happened. But Seemy . . . what about Seemy?
“What guys?” I make myself ask. And then I add hopefully, “Was one of them Toad, that gangly kid we used to come in here with?”
“No, haven’t seen that kid for ages. Not sure who these guys were. I’d never seen them before. Seedy-looking dudes, though, older guys. My age. I’ve never met your mama, but I can bet you she wouldn’t want you hanging out with them.”
Ask the next question, Nan. “How many?”
“Two guys and the two of you. I kicked you out.”
“Why’d you kick us out?”
She narrows her eyes at me, and for a second I think she’s going to throw me out all over again. “You came in looking like zombies, your eyes were all messed up, like they are now. Weird dress, messed-up face paint. You looked like you’d been crying, and you went straight to the bathroom. Your little friend followed you. You stayed in there for so long I was about to come look for you, but then you came out and sat down with the two creeps. One of them got up and moved and made sure the two of you were sitting between them. Made sure you couldn’t get out. I didn’t like that. Not one bit. You and your little friend just sat there staring at the burgers they’d ordered for you. The two guys were having a great time. They were punching each other, really hard, so hard they were bruising, and one of them was bleeding and laughing about it. I was afraid you were going to get hit. They broke a few glasses, hit the booth so hard it cracked away from the wall. Tore the high-quality vinyl seat.” She smirks a little. “They scared the other customers. Scared me. I went into the kitchen to get Lenny so he could help me kick them out. I was going to get you girls to stay here so I could call your moms. Lenny told the guys to leave, they refused, but I was ready for that. I showed them I was dialing 911 and that did it. They left. But they took you with them. They slung their arms over you like you were going to prom or something, and I grabbed your friend’s arm and said, ‘You don’t have to go with them,’ and she just looked at me and she looked . . . scared, you know? Really scared. And then I tried to grab you, but you said, ‘I’m going with her,’ and that was it. You were gone.” She stares blankly at me for a second and then shudders, takes my glass. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She squints at me. “Though, I’m not sure if you are really okay.”
I’m not okay. I grip the edge of the counter to keep from falling off the stool. I want the spinning to stop. I squeeze my eyes closed, listen to the water-rushing sound in my head, punctuated by the sound of Edie dropping my glass into the sink. The dizziness fades.
“How’s your friend?” Edie asks. I have to blink a few times against the too-bright light. “She okay?”
I close my eyes again. “I don’t know.”
I’m almost out the door before I turn and ask, “And you’re sure Toad, the kid we used to hang out with, wasn’t with us last night?”
“Sure of it,” she says.
CHAPTER 16
REMEMBERING
We met Toad in the dark of the Sunshine Cinema movie theater on Houston Street at a midnight showing of The Goonies. It was November, and even though the days were mild, the night air left Seemy and me chilled and reveling in the hot-fire feel of rum slipping down our throats.
“I’m still cold!” Seemy whispered. “Let me put my hands on your belly.”
“No way!” I laughed, squirming out of reach and trying to keep my voice down. “You have icicle hands.”
“I know!” She was laughing hysterically. “But you’re like a big old bear oven and I’m freezing.”
I laughed about “bear oven” like it was the funniest thing I’d ever heard, even though it sent pinpricks of hot shame into my throat. Seemy took my laughter as permission, and a second later she had her hands under my shirt, pressing her palms against the soft flesh of my stomach. “Stop it!” I hissed, trying to force a laugh, squirming away so hard that I bumped into the person sitting next to me. I turned to him, pushing Seemy’s hands away.
“Sorry,” I whispered to him. Then I hissed “Knock it off!” at Seemy and she started pouting.
The kid next to us leaned over and said, “Don’t stop on my account.”
“Ew, creep!” I said, not even bothering to whisper. I gave him the most evil look I could manage and moved closer to Seemy.
On the movie screen, the Goonies went from the dark of Mikey’s attic to the rainy light of day, and the moment the light hit the theater I saw the kid’s eyes widen as he saw—really saw—Seemy. The very next second his long arm was stretched across me and he was whispering to her, “I’m Todd. Call me Toad.”
Seemy giggled, shook his hand. “Samantha, call me Seemy.” Then she nodded toward me and said, “This is my associate, Nan. Call her Nan.”
Toad grinned at Seemy, barely glancing at me. “We just met. Not to be rude, but could that be some fine island rum I smell?”
I stared at him in the dark. He was skinny and tall, a little taller than me even, which, for some reason, pissed me off. He had a big face. A horse face, I thought, or even like an elephant because his nose was kind of big. When he laughed, his lips pulled back and showed all his teeth. They were big too, and kind of came together in a point in his mouth, like the bow of a ship.
“Nan?” Seemy was saying. “Can you?”
I looked over at
her. “What?”
She was holding out her hand. “The rum?” she asked.
Toad jiggled the soda cup he was holding out, sloshing the ice around. Great. So now we were going to share with this kid. I handed her the rum, she uncapped it and poured some into the cup.
I sat there waiting for the movie to be over, waiting for this toothy kid to be out of our lives.
But he didn’t get out of our lives. He tunneled his way in.
“TOAD!” Seemy and I shrieked, pushing through the crowd on Saint Marks and trying to tackle our new friend Toad as if we hadn’t seen him in months, in years, in lifetimes. Really it’d only been a ten-minute pee break in Starbucks, but we felt alive with the invigorating chill of fall in New York, and with the long, skinny scarves we had wrapped fashionably around our necks, and with the shots of vodka we’d thrown back in the bathroom.
“Relax, girls,” Toad said, blushing red as a stoplight, trying to dislodge us from his arms, “you’re scaring the tourists.”
“Eh, they can screw themselves back to Ohio,” Seemy said loud enough to make the people around her look away. She laughed, jumping on Toad’s back. He wrapped his arms around her legs and started running down the sidewalk, making them look like a six-foot-something two-headed beast clothed in many shades of black, Seemy’s olive green scarf trailing behind them. I was used to their shtick by now, so I didn’t walk after them, I just sat down on the closest stoop to pick polish off my fingernails and wait for them to come back.
You could tell he had fallen for Seemy right away, from that first night in the movie theater. They made plans to meet up the next day, and when he saw I was there too, he said, “Oh great, you brought the grim reaper.” And Seemy said, “Nanja’s my best friend! We do everything together!”
We’d been friends with Toad only a couple weeks, and even though I’d kind of hated him at first, he’d quickly become like an elixir for our rotting friendship. The truth is, the afterglow of our first and only summer together had started to fade. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure Seemy liked me anymore. She had friends at her new school, and even though she called them snobs and only hung out with us, I knew she wasn’t exactly sitting alone at lunch like I was.
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