Upper East Side #11

by Ashley Valentine

  Kaliq looked around at her familiar room. There was the tiny glass ballerina atop her mahogany jewelry chest. The kilt-wearing teddy bear from Scotland he used to make say dirty things until Chanel squealed at him to stop, even though she was laughing hysterically. The giant mahogany armoire with crazily printed underwear spilling out of it. The little silver box on her night table that he knew was full of her baby teeth.

  “Did Porsha call you?” Kaliq asked, resting his head on the bed behind him. He looked up at the white eyelet canopy overhead and recognized the little brown burn mark he’d made in ninth grade.

  She shook her head. “Why?”

  He squirmed uncomfortably on the carpet. “I don’t know.”

  Chanel just smiled and turned back to the album. An eight-by-ten photo of her in the fifth grade, dressed up as a fairy, peered up at them. “My hair is green.” She blushed and tried to turn the page.

  “No.” Kaliq sat forward and reached for the album, flipping the page back so he could study the picture. Little Chanel trapped underneath the clear plastic, wearing a pink satin gown and wings, a sparkling silver wand in her hand. “You look beautiful.”

  Chanel rolled her eyes. “Anyway...” she said, turning the pages, “why did you come over here again?”

  Kaliq shrugged, Chips’s words still echoing in his brain. If he could only figure out what thinking with his balls actually meant, maybe he could figure some shit out. “I was in the neighborhood.” He looked down at a picture of him and Chanel. He didn’t remember taking this one. Their cheeks were pressed close together, flushed and smiling, and it was taken from above, his arm holding the camera out in front of their faces.

  “Is that—” he heard the words tumble out of his mouth.

  “It’s from the day I came down from Ridgefield,” she said quietly, finishing his thoughts. Chanel swallowed hard, looking down at the page. “The day we...”

  Kaliq knew before she’d even said the words. It was a photograph from the night they’d lost their virginity to each other, more than two years ago. He couldn’t help thinking about her soft skin and the fun they’d had. Some documentary about the Ten Commandments was on TV that night, and when they’d turned it on after they’d made love for the very first time, Chanel had yelled out, “You parted my red sea!” He smiled, remembering how happy they were, how they’d stayed in each other’s arms until the sun rose.

  “I don’t even remember taking it,” Chanel added with a shrug of her shoulders before she reached out and started to flip to another page in the album.

  “Me neither,” Kaliq said, reluctant to let go of the page. Why couldn’t happiness just stay like that—trapped under plastic and airtight sealed? Why did everything have to get so complicated? He wished more than anything that he could just go back in time to that night and start all over again.

  Chanel grabbed the book away from him, closed it, and sat up, crossing her legs Indian style. She was wearing a pair of ridiculously tiny white shorts under her cotton dress. It almost hurt Kaliq’s eyes to look at her.

  Sounds like he was thinking with, ahem, something now.

  “Kaliq,” she began, taking a deep breath, “I need to ask you something. I...I really need to know the truth.”

  “What?” His heart stopped for a second. Chanel’s almond-shaped eyes were so serious that he found himself reaching over and grabbing her hand, squeezing her soft palm in his own to comfort her.

  She squirmed uncomfortably and swallowed hard. “Did you ever get my letter?”

  Letter? Kaliq shook his head slowly.

  Chanel took another deep breath and looked straight at him. “I wrote you a letter to tell you that I love you,” she said quietly. “I always have.”

  The room was so quiet that Kaliq didn’t know whether the sound of breathing in his ears was his or hers. Sitting there with Chanel, on the floor of her room, everything felt right. And simple. In fact, when he really thought about it, things between him and Chanel had always been simple—it was life that had complicated them.

  And somehow it felt totally right for him to kiss her. He leaned forward, his bare knees sinking into the carpet, and pressed his lips to hers. As he breathed in the scent of her, he felt his limbs relax, his body going limp with relief and happiness.

  Kissing Chanel was the exact opposite of having a pair of stilettos thrown at his head—it was absolutely effortless. They staggered to their feet and she pushed him down on the bed, kissing him back eagerly.

  And the rest is history, repeating itself.

  TO:mgrove18@gmail.com

  FROM:perma_green420@hotmail.com

  Subject: Changes

  Hey Mekhi,

  Dude. I guess you and me are going to be roommates at Evergreen. I don’t know about you, but I’m totally stoked on going out to Washington. I’m from this shit-ass town in the boondocks of Idaho, and after eighteen goddamn years here I need to get the fuck out.

  It’s not just that living here bores me to tears, but the people here just have no respect for the earth, right? If the kids I grew up with spent a quarter of the time they spend cooking meth in their basements focusing on the fucking earth, we’d have solved global warming by now. Honestly. It’s like with smokers—why do they do it? I can’t stand people who damage themselves and others for no fucking reason, you know? It’s all about respect.

  So what about you, bro? You stoked for school? I hope you’re not bringing too much stuff, 'cause I hear our rooms are pretty small. I’m pretty neat, mostly because I don’t have a lot—I try to simplify, stick to the basics, you know. The only thing about me that’s high maintenance is my allergies—I’m allergic to coffee beans and will go into anaphylactic shock if I’m even near a coffee ground. Trust me, it’s not as cool as it sounds.

  Are you signing up for that frosh orientation camping trip? Sounds pretty fucking sweet to me. Getting to know our classmates, spending some time out in the open country, living off the earth—way it should be, man. Way it should be.

  Peace, love, and unity,

  Urth Greenberg

  18

  Mekhi sat on the curb outside the Strand, a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Taxis rumbled down Broadway, pouring black smoke out of their tailpipes. A stream of tourists flooded the sidewalks, mopping their sweaty brows and looking questioningly into the musty old bookstore as if trying to gauge the strength of its air-conditioning. The heat shimmered off the pavement in waves and Mekhi pushed his long straggly twists back from his forehead with one hand.

  For the past few days, he’d bailed on the shifts that overlapped with Gabriel’s in an attempt to postpone their inevitable talk. He just didn’t know what to say when Gabriel told him he wanted to be more serious, more official. Avoidance had seemed like a good plan, but then this morning his boss had threatened to fire him if he didn’t come in, so he’d spent the day in stealth mode, hiding out in the gardening section and ducking behind bookshelves whenever he heard footsteps approaching.

  “Hello Mekhi.” An unfamiliar, elderly voice startled him.

  He looked up from his perch on the sidewalk and recognized Aggie, the seventy-something receptionist at Riverside Prep who wore a different wig every day. Today it was black and curly, sort of like Ernie’s hair from Sesame Street.

  “Hello Aggie,” Mekhi mumbled. This was the problem with New York—you couldn’t get a second of peace and quiet without running into someone you knew. Aggie would probably want to have tea with him now, maybe get in one last heart-to-heart before he left for college.

  Or take him wig shopping?

  “Well, Mekhi, it’s lovely to run into you like this, though I can’t stay and chat. Congratulations on your recent announcement, and I’m sorry I missed your party!”

  Mekhi watched in shock as Aggie smiled, patting her wig, and then shuffled off in the direction of the discount books racks. He gave her a slight wave and then sighed, pressing his back against the brick wall, which felt like it was se
aring his flesh through his damp T-shirt. Well, that was weird. Did his mom invite the entire world to his coming-out party?

  He adjusted his butt on the hot pavement and pulled a notebook from his ratty black messenger bag. If he didn’t get something written for the wedding soon, he’d be seriously screwed. But the trouble was, nothing was coming to him. What did he know about marriage anyway? How was he supposed to write about loving someone for the rest of your life when he couldn’t even figure out his own love life?

  Good point.

  As he looked up from the blank white page, he saw Gabriel stroll around the corner, wearing a white button-down shirt and stiff white jeans. Oh God. Gabriel stopped when he saw Mekhi sitting there. Then he smiled and hurried over.

  “Hey.” He touched Mekhi on the shoulder. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” His voice sounded genuinely concerned.

  Mekhi looked at the cement. He could feel his T-shirt sticking to his back with sweat. “I’ve been sick,” he mumbled, coughing into one fist and looking away. He noticed a group of tourists approaching and he wondered if he could duck in with them and make his escape. “Really sick.” His gaze shifted tentatively to Gabriel, who was staring at him with something like amusement, his eyes creasing at the corners. “I just didn’t want to give it to you. I think I’m still pretty contagious and—”

  Gabriel cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Listen, I really wanted to talk to you about something.” He sat down next to Mekhi on the sidewalk.

  Mekhi stayed silent, fiddling with the pen in his hand. The throng of tourists came and went, but he knew he had to sit there and stick it out. He dreaded the words that were sure to fall from Gabriel’s lips any second now. Let’s do this thing. I want you to meet my parents. I want to show you things only another man can.

  Gabriel cleared his throat and continued. “I thought that me and you had a pretty good thing going.” He stopped, his words hanging in the air above their heads. “But...I’ve kind of met someone else.”

  Huh? Mekhi stared at Gabriel, his mouth open. He felt like he’d just been smacked in the head with a two-by-four. Two girls dressed all in black stepped around them, practically trampling them with their combat boots and giving them a dirty look for blocking the sidewalk.

  “I met this amazing guy at...um...” Gabriel looked down at the pavement and ran a hand through his hair before continuing. “A party...and, well, we kind of just had this really intense connection.” He put his hand on Mekhi’s forearm, squeezing hard—but in a brotherly, reassuring way. “I’m sorry.”

  This time, Mekhi didn’t squirm at his touch. “Don’t worry about it.” He patted Gabriel’s hand. “It’s totally fine.” He sighed, breathing in the heavy August air, which suddenly felt a whole lot less oppressive.

  A look of relief swept over Gabriel’s face. “I know you’ll find somebody special,” he declared in a rush, removing his hand from Mekhi’s arm. “And I hope we can still be friends,” he added, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

  “Absolutely,” Mekhi enthused. “Definitely.” He looked out at the bustling city traffic and wondered briefly whether his “somebody special” could be right here, before his very eyes, among the masses. Two girls sat at an outdoor table in front of the restaurant across the street, sipping lemonade as they surveyed the passersby from behind huge sunglasses. Across from them sat a guy in a baseball cap, iced coffee in hand, reading a magazine. He looked up and caught Mekhi staring, and Mekhi quickly averted his eyes.

  “Soooo...” Gabriel looked over at his closed notebook. “What are you working on? Another future New Yorker poem?”

  “Ha.” Mekhi snorted, opening the notebook and holding up the blank page. “I’m supposed to be working on a poem for Yasmine’s sister’s wedding, but I can’t think of a thing to say. I mean, what do I know about marriage?”

  Gabriel wiped his hands on his jeans. “All you have to do is envision the person you love most in the world—the person you want to wake up with in the morning and go to sleep with at night.” He paused, blushing deeply and running his hands through his hair. “Even if you haven’t met that person yet, you just have to imagine them! I mean, with me and...” Gabriel looked sheepishly at the ground. “I can’t imagine wanting to do those things with anyone else, you know?”

  “I guess.” Mekhi stared at the cracks in the cement. “I just don’t know if there’s anyone I feel like that about...anymore.” He closed his notebook and tucked it back inside his messenger bag.

  Looking at Gabriel’s feet, Mekhi noticed he was wearing black socks with little white monkey faces on them. Mekhi didn’t know exactly what his type of guy—er, person—was yet, but he was pretty darn sure his soul mate didn’t wear monkey socks.

  “I mean,” he started again, looking over at Gabriel, who was listening intently, “how will I know when it’s the right person?”

  Gabriel held Mekhi’s gaze for a moment before standing up. He slapped the back of his white jeans with both hands. “You’ll just...know,” he said quietly. “You’ll know when you know.”

  Mekhi looked out again at the sea of people on the street—the wide-eyed tourists with their cameras, the skater kids who flocked to Union Square in the summer, the NYU students who were moving into their apartments a few weeks early, lugging hand-me-down furniture, arms loaded with boxes. In the few minutes that he and Gabriel had been sitting here, hundreds of people must have walked past. If he stayed a little longer, those hundreds would soon be thousands. How could you find one out of thousands? Wouldn’t it take forever?

  Gabriel stuck his hands into his pockets. “You’ll know when you can’t imagine seeing anyone else after the day’s over, and even though you just saw them a few hours ago, you can’t wait to see them again that night.”

  Mekhi nodded mutely, still dizzily watching the crowd on the sidewalk as if it held all of life’s answers.

  “Well, I’d better get back to work,” Gabriel said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I’m not even on break yet—I just snuck out to talk to you.”

  Mekhi remembered himself and stood up, slinging his messenger bag over one shoulder. He grabbed Gabriel’s arm before he walked away. “Hey,” he said, moving closer. “Thanks...for everything.”

  Gabriel smiled. He wrapped his arms around Mekhi’s back and squeezed tight, clapping him on the shoulders before they both pulled back.

  As Mekhi watched him walk away, he couldn’t help feeling a little sad. Not about Gabriel, but about love in general. He wanted what Gabriel had described: someone to sit around and drink coffee with in the morning. Someone he could do all those dopey, ridiculously romantic New York things with before he left for Evergreen—like watch every Woody Allen movie filmed in Manhattan, or take a carriage ride through Central Park under a full moon. Someone to wake up with every morning, the light covering their bare skin like a golden blanket...

  Cinnamon fury. Why did you leave me?

  He pulled out his notebook and scribbled furiously, unsure of what he was writing.

  Eyes closed, our bones ache.

  This isn’t chemistry or geography.

  It’s physics. Pure physics.

  Mekhi still wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but it was something to do with friction, and friction caused heat, and when he thought about heat he couldn’t help but think about a certain prickly-headed girl lying next to him in bed. His hands began to sweat as he continued to write.

  Not feeling so gay anymore, eh?

  19

  “Watch where you’re going, man!”

  A yellow cab swerved on the shimmering black asphalt, almost grazing Yasmine’s arm as she crossed Broadway, squinting into the afternoon sunlight. The cabbie’s rude grating voice lingered in her ears. Did he say man? Yasmine smiled smugly to herself. Well, she thought, picking up the pace, that’s what you get for having such a sleek, aerodynamic hairstyle.

  Doesn’t she mean androgynous?

  She’d gon
e downtown around noon to film some of Ruby’s East Village hangouts in the daylight, but now, faced with the sweltering heat of the day, she was ready for a break. She rubbed her stubbly head with one hand as she waited for the light to change.

  The Strand bookstore was half a block away, its carts of moldy discount books parked out front. Yasmine wondered if Mekhi was working; she’d been avoiding him the last few days after the whole romantic-gay-poetry incident, but maybe she’d just stop by and say hi. She watched the little red hand warning her to stay put.

  College was just around the corner, and soon Mekhi—along with just about everyone else—would be gone. Well, Ruby would be around, but it wasn’t exactly the same between them anymore, now that she spent every waking second with Piotr. Yasmine couldn’t help feeling kind of...obsolete. Maybe it had been a mistake to stay in the city, but she’d wanted to study film at NYU for as long as she could remember, and now she finally had her chance. Plus, she loved New York. The trouble was, it was going to be a whole different city without Mekhi.

  The light was taking forever to change, and she could feel the sweat running down the insides of her legs and into the black patent-leather platform Mary Janes on her feet. As she shaded her eyes from the glare, she suddenly noticed Mekhi across the street, standing near the carts of used books with Gabriel.

  They were talking, and then Mekhi opened his arms and Gabriel stepped into them, squeezing tightly. Even from where she was standing Yasmine could see that Mekhi’s eyes were closed as he hugged Gabriel, his body totally relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen him in ages. She’d seen them talking at his coming-out party, but Mekhi had looked so uncomfortable it had been hard to believe they were actually together. Now it was more than obvious that they were a happy couple, totally in love.

  Yasmine turned around and began walking quickly back down Broadway, pulling a pair of vintage white sunglasses from her battered bag to cover her eyes—which were rapidly filling with tears. The poem had been one thing—after all, Mekhi’s poems were always a little strange—but to actually see him embrace another guy was something else—it was real. Had he always been gay? How had she never known?