City Love(11)

It’s good to know that I could take out another student loan if I ran out of money. Not that I’m going to run out of money. And not that I want to be in debt until I’m eighty. But it’s comforting that I could still cover housing if I had to resort to Plan D. Having a Plan D is part of my survival strategy. The thing about Plan D is, even though I know I won’t need it, having it waiting to catch me like a trapeze safety net is reassuring. Plan D helps me breathe easier when I’m feeling anxious about the future. Like about how I’m going to pay for everything. Or about putting myself through four years of college in one of the most expensive cities in the world. When the anxiety becomes unbearable, I construct as many alternative backup plans as I need to. One particularly excruciating night I had to go all the way down to Plan Q before I could breathe again.

Darcy is a sweetheart. She seemed way more relaxed at dinner than she did when she burst into the apartment yesterday, wired and chucking her clothes all over the place. She could have just been delirious from her long flight. Or dealing with something completely unrelated. There’s no reason to assume she snapped at me because of anything I did. I definitely judged her too harshly. My cynical side has been known to flare up. Trusting people more would probably be a good thing. I could start working on that right now with this trust activity we’re doing.

“Trust that your fellow counselors will catch you,” our camp orientation director tells us. “They will not let you fall. Your eyes will be closed when you let yourself fall back. You won’t be able to see them. But trust that they will be there with their arms outstretched, ready to catch you and protect you.”

This trust activity is one of the many activities we’ve done today. It’s our first day of orientation as camp counselors. The campers don’t start until next week, after public schools get out, but I love this day camp already. It’s on the Lower East Side. This area is very 70s New York City. Or at least what I imagine 70s New York City was like. I saw some guys rocking tube socks and those vintage red short-shorts with the white racer stripes down the sides. One girl I passed on my walk from the subway had a huge ’fro. Adidas circa 1982 were spotted along with tremendous headphones. The Lower East Side is classic New York in the best possible way, as if time could be preserved here forever like in one of those amber bubbles on Fringe.

Mica is up next for the trust activity. We clicked right away over the best conversation at lunch. I was ranting about some lacking behavior I saw on the subway that morning.

“This guy lunged for the only empty seat,” I was saying, “as if he didn’t see the lady with a baby heading for the seat first. He just dove right into it.”

“Unacceptable,” Mica agreed.

“I know, right?”

“Why can’t people be nicer to one another? Did he really need to sit down that bad?”


“He didn’t look sick or anything. And all of his limbs were working.”

“Did you give up your seat?”

“I would have, but I was standing. Another guy let her have his seat, though.”

“We need more guys like him. Can you imagine how beautiful the world would be if everyone acted the way they’re supposed to?”

“Seriously. How hard is it to treat others the way you want to be treated?”

“I’m saying.”

It was the best first conversation I’d ever had with anyone. Mica totally gets me. We were obviously meant to be friends.

Mica stands with her back to us. We’re gathered behind her in two lines, one on either side of her. I stretch my arms out with one crossed over the other and grasp hands with the boy across from me. This lattice structure we’re making is strong enough to catch everyone as long as we work together. One counselor is standing at the far end to grab Mica’s shoulders if she slides back too far. When we’re ready, Mica crosses her arms over her chest, closes her eyes, and lets herself fall back while keeping her body as straight as possible. We catch her.

Mica will also be a freshman at UNY. I’ve heard that college is where you establish lifelong friendships. I can’t wait to get started. My friends in high school weren’t exactly the kind of friends I wanted to have. They were a decent group, but I didn’t feel like any of them really got me. College is my chance to meet new people who will truly understand me.

On the subway ride home, I take out my book and lose myself in another world. I left off at one of those really good parts where you don’t want to stop reading but you have to because real life is demanding your attention. I’m so absorbed in the story that I don’t realize the lady next to me is reading over my shoulder.

So. Freaking. Rude.

There are levels of inappropriate behavior. Throwing a plastic bottle in the regular garbage when a recycling bin is right there is bad. Not looking to see if someone is coming up behind you before you let the door swing shut is worse. Talking too loudly on your phone in a confined space with other people is straight-up offensive. But reading over someone’s shoulder? That’s borderline harassment. From the casual look on her face, I can tell the lady sitting next to me is completely oblivious.

Someone sat down on the other side of her at the last stop. Which she naturally took as an invitation to scrunch closer to me. Now she’s all wedged up against me, invading my personal space.

I don’t think so.