City Love(55)

We stare at the enchanting couple, in awe of obvious soul mates. I wish I had stationery and a glitter pen to write them a warm fuzzy. They should know how inspiring they are.

“True love is real,” I say. “That’s what it looks like.” That’s what I’ve always wanted. That’s what I have with Austin. Now we’re the couple who inspires other people to find their own true love.

What might be around any corner in the future is irrelevant. The search is over.





TWENTY-SIX

DARCY


THERE’S NOTHING LIKE ENCOUNTERING A creeper on the subway to brighten up your day.

This one is a piece of work. A character like him—old guy, warm-weather grandpa outfit ready for an afternoon of shuffleboard and bridge at a retirement center down in Miami, tattered socks stuffed into nasty man sandals—would normally be a trip. But he’s got some serious attitude adjustment to work on. He’s been snarling at me for the last six stops. Just sitting across from me, snarling like I canceled the buffet spread at his regular early bird special. I do not know what his damage is.

Here’s what I do know: I refuse to let some random creeper on the subway intimidate me.

These guys want to get a rise out of you. They want to see how you react to being stared at or yelled at or otherwise harassed. They get off on watching you squirm as you struggle to stay focused on your screen or page or friend, pretending not to notice the lunatic growling in your face about how your grandpappy hunted his grandpappy for sport. A couple days ago I saw a girl break down. She was being harassed by a guy who sat right next to her even though there were plenty of free seats. He proceeded to tell her all the things he wanted to do to her, as if they were filming porn instead of heading uptown on the express. She got off at the next stop. He glanced at me, but I gave him a hard glare. Not me, the glare said. Don’t even try it. My sharp vibe made him move on to the next victim.

The creeper across from me continues to snarl. He can snarl all he wants. He will never get the satisfaction of watching me squirm. I’m the one in control here. He will not witness me so much as flinch.

He snarls.

I stare back defiantly.

He snarls.

I stand my ground.

He snarls.

My stop is next. I get up slowly so he doesn’t think he ran me off the train. As the train slows down and I make my way to the door, he sticks two fingers up in a V-shape. At first I think he’s acknowledging my victory. But then he puts his fingers on either side of his mouth and waggles his tongue at me.

I give him the finger as I walk out the door. I’m not afraid of him following me. No man will ever take advantage of me again, including perverts on the subway.

When I emerge from the muggy subway station to the street, I take a second to breathe. No one takes a second to breathe here. Everyone exists in a perpetual state of running/working/doing/shopping/freaking out. The only stationary people on the sidewalk are either waiting for someone or tourists. I revel in standing still while the city undulates around me. Physical tranquility is an excellent catalyst for mental tranquility. Mental note: Be still more often.

The Upper West Side is new territory for me. I’ve come in search of beach gear. Moving to New York doesn’t always allow one to bring everything they own with them. Everyone knows how small the closets are here. Most of my stuff is still back home. Sadie, Rosanna, and I are talking about going to the beach over Fourth of July weekend. So my desire to find the right beach bag and towel has officially been promoted from want to need. This girl in my art history class told me about some fun shops up here she thought I’d like.

I’m not even half a block from the subway when a girl swiftly steps in front of me, blocking my way. Am I seriously about to deal with the second creeper of the day? What am I, some creeper magnet all of a sudden? But then I realize I know her. It takes me a second to figure out where I know her from.

“Darcy!” she yells. “I thought it was you!”

“Carrie! What are you—oh right, you live here!”


We hug. Carrie is this awesome girl I met while I was backpacking through Europe. She was making her way from Paris to Rome over the course of a week. We took the train from Milan to Monaco together. Four hours of nonstop bonding over the addictive nightlife of Paris, the mellow C?te d’Azur of Nice, and the stunning architecture of Milan. Carrie and I were flying on the same unmistakable travel high. She understands the kind of freedom solo travel provides. We loved the thrill of being able to do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, without anyone else to drag us down. No pathetic walking tours. No standing in line for half the day. Just taking in culture at our own pace. Seeing her stirs a rush of nostalgia. Coming back from Europe wasn’t easy.

“Your dress is so cute!” Carrie says. “Is it vintage?”

“ModCloth.”

“I love ModCloth! Oh my god, it is so good to see you. I was just thinking about you the other day.”

“Where do you live?”

“Eleventh Street at Seventh Avenue.”

“Get. Out. I’m on Eleventh and Fifth!”

“Of course you are.”

“Wait. Why aren’t you surprised?”

“This is classic New York serendipity. Of course we live two blocks from each other. And of course we had to come all the way up here to find out. You wouldn’t believe how many people I run into on the street that I haven’t seen in forever. A lot of them don’t even live here! I know it sounds crazy, but it happens all the time.”