by Luke Loaghan
All Sam could talk about was getting into Harvard. Sam was really juiced up from meeting the Harvard rep.
“If you are, in fact, the valedictorian this year, then you are definitely going to Harvard. Stanton will know who the valedictorian is going to be by the end of June,” I said sarcastically.
“And what if I’m not? Then it’s up in the air and I can’t take that chance,” Sam whined. Carlos sat listening, not contributing much to the conversation.
“Well, who else from Stanton has what it takes to get into Harvard?” asked John.
We were all silent.
“There’s always Doreen,” I blurted out the first name that came into mind. John agreed. If anyone could get into Harvard, it would be Doreen.
“Does anyone know Doreen?” Sam asked.
“She’s chief editor of the school paper,” I said.
Doreen was a five foot little powder keg, and a super over achievers, even by Stanton standards. She had been junior class president, and on the debate team as well. She was one of the best debaters in the state. But that year, she was also editor in chief of the school paper and had very high grades. She had also spoken with the Harvard rep at the college fair.
Sam became intrigued with the idea of meeting Doreen. I suggested that he stop by the school newspaper office. It was a foolish mistake that I would come to regret.
After school, Sam, with Carlos in tow, came to the office and I introduced him to Doreen. He talked to her about the school paper, and mentioned how he had always seen her around school. What a load of horse manure. Sam seemed friendly and downright cordial toward Doreen. It was an act to anyone familiar with Sam’s maleficent personality.
Doreen was not gregarious at first, but toned down her usual abrasive personality. Sam complimented her on her clothes and on her looks. The color on her face changed, as did her gait. She was clearly warming up to him. I was completely in shock when, three minutes later, Sam asked her out on a date. First and foremost, Doreen was not exactly attractive, and second, she was definitely not Sam’s type. It was not that Doreen was especially unattractive; she just did not put any effort into her appearance. I suppose if she had put a little effort into make up and hair, and wore nice clothes, she would be quite pretty. Also it would help if she showered before school once in a while. I think the word is unkempt, but I’m probably being kind.
Sam was up to something. Doreen was a smart girl, and I thought she could fend for herself. She and Sam were both ranked next to each other in the top ten of all Stanton students.
It was well after five o’clock, and I headed for the subway, passing the psychic outside her store front. She asked me if I needed a free palm reading. She wore a tight black dress, which placed her chubby hips and breasts on display. She was quite the marketing executive; her outfit was clearly designed to market her services. She didn’t lack clients; after all, this was Brooklyn, home of the desperate.
My friendly neighborhood psychic again offered her services. Once again I declined and kept walking. She flashed her sexy smile and asked if I needed anything else, “other than a psychic.” I kept walking.
I wasn’t completely naïve. But I had mixed emotions about sex, and did not want to have sex with a much older woman, especially my first time. I would never pay for sex. It seemed wrong and I was pretty sure I would get it for free at some point in the future, hopefully the near future. At school we always talked about sex, but most of us really did not have any direct carnal knowledge.
By the time I arrived home, Harry had made his usual spaghetti and meatballs. We ate dinner while watching sitcoms on television. My family could not sit around a dinner table and talk without arguing. Television was a great medium to get my father in a good mood. It was the only opportunity we had to see him smile. After dinner, my father went to the liquor cabinet for his usual glass of bourbon.
That night I studied reading comprehension and vocabulary words until two a.m. My practice tests increased a few points, though nothing really significant. The SATs were just days away; I was running out of time.
I arrived at school at seven in the morning. My eyes were red, my body drained of energy. I had to study for a pre-calculus test. Math was easy for me, and studying last minute was no big deal. John was among the students already in the cafeteria studying or doing their homework.
I told John about Sam and Doreen. He shook his head in either amazement or disbelief; I was too tired to distinguish between the two. We both studied for an hour.
Stanton was a sanctuary for students who wanted to be students. The school opened at six a.m. By seven-thirty a.m. it was usually packed. At eight a.m. I looked out the window, and I could see some of the athletic teams running through the park. I could barely run a mile. My gym teacher often yelled, “Imagine this was a life or death situation and you’ll be better motivated!” In my mind, there was nothing more boring than running. I’d rather watch paint dry.
My first class was English with Mr. Zoose. He asked if I had started my Life Map.
“Not yet”, I replied.
“High school students with no idea of where to go in life are like drivers in a car without directions. Drivers need a map, some sort of destination, and then they can be on their way. Start at a destination and work your way backwards.”
Mr. Zoose explained that he regarded his twenty year high school reunion as the most fascinating experience of his life. His classmates’ lives had all taken unexpected turns. “In high school they had it all figured out, and thought they knew how life was going to be. Only those who have not lived life can say with certainty anything about the future.”
At lunch, I asked Sam what his angle was with Doreen. Sam said that he needed to know his competition better. Carlos looked up once, like a perky German shepherd, and kept on eating.
The cafeteria was noticeably quiet. Many students were in the library studying. Stanton was offering a free test prep course for the next ten days on how to actually take the test and not waste important time. I decided to attend one of these classes. I needed all the tips I could get.
Global History class was after lunch. It started to feel like the world was changing. New York City had its first black mayor, David Dinkins. The school’s black students beamed with pride. Some of the black students followed the mayor’s direction and decided to call themselves African Americans.
We had a new president elect of the United States, George Bush, and the students of Greek ancestry were not thrilled about it. He had beaten Michael Dukakis in a landslide. Our new president said that we could read his lips.
Delancey approached me in the hallway. “A woman was elected president of Pakistan. How can a country of people that don’t respect women have a woman president, and the United States doesn’t even have a woman candidate?” She kept walking before I could think of an answer.
Natalie Morales was in the hallway. She was an incredible sight to behold. She walked in an unusual way; her hips swayed, her feet moved, and her back was straight. She smiled; I said hello, then turned around to watch her walk down the hall. It was just as good to watch her walk from the back as it was from the front. I had known who she was throughout high school, but only noticed her attractiveness for the first time this week. Maybe my eyesight was starting to improve.
I’ve theorized that one day, girls wake up, and boom – they blossom into women. I don’t think it’s a gradual thing; it just happens one day, over night. It happens to boys also. Some of the student athletes had tremendous growth in a short period of time. Eddie Lo grew 4 inches and put on 30 lbs in one summer. Sandra from the swim team went from a string bean to a fully grown woman one night last spring. Natalie was an example of this. She used to be a plain Jane type of girl, but no longer.
When would my time come? Better late than never, I thought. Other guys had hit full puberty in high school, but not me. I had not grown facial hair and my voice didn’t change until junior year. Sometimes I’d look in the mirror and say �
��any day now” hoping that my chest, shoulders, and biceps would develop overnight. Weightlifting had no effect on my appearance.
I went to the school newspaper office, and fell asleep in a chair. I think I slept for a half hour. When I awoke, Sam and Doreen were standing next to me. It was odd to see them, sort of like looking at a lion and gazelle together. They had been spending a lot of time together, and Sam seemed more pleasant around her, but he was his usual obnoxious self when she was gone.
Sam claimed that he was only applying to Harvard. “It’s Harvard or nothing.” I stared at him until he recanted. Sam also had another school in mind, a college that apparently produced a lot of doctors.
“Colleges don’t produce doctors; they produce medical students,” Doreen smirked. The whole idea of being a doctor was ingrained so deep within his consciousness that he never spoke about another potential profession. This was true with a lot of the kids that wanted to be doctors. They never spoke of a second career option. Tunnel vision was necessary to get through four years of college, four years of medical school, and four years of training.
Sam and Doreen were working on their college essays and finalizing their Harvard applications. It was hard to believe that Sam was dating Doreen.
Natalie was in the SAT class. We were in the same boat; she was not sure where to apply to college, or even a course of study. We both just wanted to get the SATs over with, and apply to schools based on the results of the test. Natalie was a very bright girl, albeit with soft tanned skin, and long hair. I thought about asking her to hang out after the prep course, but I was very nervous. I summoned all my strength and energy in a single deep breath and said to her, “Let’s get a bite to eat afterwards. My treat.” It came out very loud, like I was shouting at her. Everyone else turned and looked at me. I put my head down in embarrassment.
She replied, “I can’t. I have to be home. But thanks anyway.”
Feeling dejected, I tried to play it off cool. Nonchalantly, I said, “You’re really missing out. I was going to buy you the best cheesecake in Brooklyn.”
She smiled and said, “Maybe next time.”
The SAT class was not helpful until the end, when the instructor explained that high scores and high grades weren’t enough to make it to the top schools. He said that high school resumes and extracurricular activities were equally important. This sounded preposterous. I wasn’t being cynical, but I knew the importance of the SATs. I could not remember if Sam had anything on his resume for extracurricular activities.
The next day, Sam and Doreen were in the newspaper office when I asked Sam about his extracurricular activities.
He glanced at Doreen, and described his four years of working in the lab of the hospital where his father was an immunologist. He said he had a letter from the chief of the hospital. This came as a big surprise, for as long as I could remember, Sam never really did anything after school. If I were to look up “Apathetic” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Sam next to the definition.
Afterwards, Sam and I walked to the subway together, without Doreen.
“When did you work at the hospital?” I asked and Sam laughed. He said I was too gullible. Sam explained that he wrote the letter of recommendation himself and forged the chief’s signature. He had never even visited the lab.
“Welcome to the real world!” he shouted. “It’s always who you know and what you dare to create on a resume. There’s no way that anyone can deny I worked at the hospital when the chief signed a glowing letter of recommendation. I even got one for Carlos.”
We walked by the psychic’s store front. She smiled at both of us, her usual sexy smile. The psychic asked, “Don’t you want to know what the future holds for you?”
We kept walking and Sam said, “How much?” She replied ten dollars.
Sam liked the way she stared at him, impervious to the fact that she looked at everyone this way. He wanted to try her out, but he did not have ten dollars. As usual, he asked me for ten dollars, and I said no.
“There is something about an older woman that can make a boy stay up at night,” he chimed.
I was overly anxious about the SATs, studying until about two a.m. every night. I made up for sleep on the subways, going to and from school. The night before the test, I decided to go to sleep at ten o’clock. I was feeling drained and irritable. The test prep instructor had recommended a good night’s sleep. My father asked me how I felt about the SATs.
“I’ll do better than average but not as good as I need to do.” He asked why, and I explained that I really needed a real test prep course, but it cost too much money. He felt bad about this, but we just couldn’t afford it. I dropped the subject. It was my lot in life to do everything the hard way. Maybe Christine was right about destiny.
The next morning I awoke early. My father was already at work driving a cab, his weekend job. I made scrambled eggs, and made enough for Harry. I also made a big pot of coffee, which I could not finish. I left the house in a hurry to take the SATs.
I took the subway to Stanton, and when I arrived an hour later, I was happy to see friendly faces. The test was difficult, more so than the practice exams. Vocabulary words seemed out of left field. Knots tightened in my stomach. It was unfathomable that so many of life’s outcomes could rely on one single test.
During a bathroom break, I discovered three dictionaries in the boy’s bathroom. Some people were risking everything that day.
Upon completion of the exam, I rode the subway to work. I was mentally fatigued for the last part of the exam, and rushed through it.
As the train rode into Manhattan, with each stop I felt more exhausted and cold. The test was now over; a cathartic sensation of relief came over me. One test can make or break your entire future. The outcome of the test could determine where I went to college, if I went to college, who my future friends, maybe even my future wife and potentially who my children could be. Not to mention my major and future career path. I was growing numb, and was overwhelmed with nausea.
Christine arrived at the same time. She had also taken the SATs that morning and looked exhausted. We took our break together and went outside to the brick-paved esplanade. We stood at the rail, overlooking the Hudson River.
“Don’t ask me about the test,” she said.
I kept silent.
“I don’t know why college costs so much money. It makes no sense,” she said.
I kept staring into the Hudson River, and the cold wind felt really good.
“How am I supposed to save enough money to pay for college? And what about books? College books are really expensive,” she said. “Where am I supposed to get the money?”
“In God we Trust?” I said.
“Why do we trust God so much in this country? In China the government takes care of the people, not God. In Government we trust.” Christine was a little hysterical.
“Why are you so upset?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I can afford to go to college. I need to move out of my mother’s apartment, and find my own place, and I really don’t know,” she said.
“So don’t go to college. Save up some money for a year or take out loans,” I reassured her. “It’s not written in stone that you have to go to college right after high school. Everyone has different circumstances.” She wiped the tears off her face, and we went back to work.
On Sunday Mike informed me that Christine called out sick.
“How was the test?” asked Mike.
“Fine,” I said. “Just fine.”
“You look disappointed in yourself. I bet you blew it, and now your whole future is in the toilet,” Mike laughed out loud.
In Christine’s absence, the owner sent Vincent, a worker from his other café. Vincent was about my age. He dressed very hip, with fancy black leather shoes, expensive jeans, and sported a very stylish haircut. He said he got his haircuts from Astor Place Hair Studio, in the village.
The work day was very slow; it was almost Thanksgivi
ng, and many people in the complex were already gone for the holiday. I asked Vincent about the SATs.
“I don’t need it. I’m planning on taking acting lessons downtown for a year and then heading to L.A.” he said, as he kept serving customers.
“What about having something to fall back on?” I asked.
“Something to fall back on is for people who intend to fail.”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s really hard to make it as an actor. What if you don’t make it?”
“It is really hard to make it as anything, not just as an actor. I’ll just keep trying until I do. I’ve been acting in small parts in off Broadway productions since I was a kid. I know its going to be hard, but there is no plan B. I plan on making it as an actor, period.”
The day brought few customers, and Vincent and I talked a lot to each other. We had to pass the time somehow. He was a very cool guy, different from the academic types that I was used to at Stanton. I told him that I was planning on going away to college. Vincent was not impressed with this.
“College is good for parties and girls and stuff. But anyone that really makes it in life, does it without college,” he said smirking.
“I am planning on making it and going to college also,” I fired back.
“I bet you have no clue about a future and that’s why you’re going to college,” Vincent smirked.
“So what do you have against college?” I asked him.
“It’s four years of wasting money by figuring out who you want to be when you grow up. I want to be an actor, so I’m going to LA to audition. You know…the real world.” Vincent had a point. “A college education allows you to walk around Manhattan with a trench coat, a folded New York Times under your arm, and you’ll look like you read it.”
“I’m more of a Daily News guy myself,” I said.
“I’ve got talent as an actor. Some people have talent in athletics, or music, or some other field. For people with talent, college is a wasted effort.” Vincent kept working with a customer. “Do you have any talent?”
