City Love

  “Here you are.” She made a note on her list. Then she gave me a red rubber bracelet. There was blue printing on the bracelet that said CARRY THEM IN YOUR HEART.

  Dakota gave me another warm smile. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Dakota called Vienna over from where she was standing by the edge of the lake, trying to balance on a rock with one sneaker that kept slipping.

  Vienna came over and looked at me.

  “Vienna, this is Sadie,” Dakota said. “Sadie, this is Vienna.”

  “Hey,” Vienna said.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Want to walk together?”

  I nodded.

  That first day on our walk around the reservoir, I found out that Vienna was fourteen, lived way up at the top of Manhattan in Inwood, had two hamsters named Beaker and Dr. Honeydew, loved Spree except for the yellow ones, and lost her brother when she was ten. She wore an oversize tee with her brother’s photo so everyone would know why she was walking.

  “Who are you walking for?” she asked.

  I didn’t want to talk about it.

  That was fine with Vienna. She had lots of other things to talk about. We immediately clicked that first day and have walked together every year since.

  When I approach the check-in table, Dakota gives me her signature warm smile. Her familiar scent of sandalwood incense comforts me.

  “Sadie,” she says. “Welcome.”

  “Hi, Dakota.”

  “Happy solstice.”

  “Happy solstice. I love your scarf.” Dakota is rocking a new orange and pink striped summer scarf over a flowy lime-green sundress. She clashes in the most rebellious ways. It’s one of the many reasons I love her so much.

  “Thanks, hon. You’re starting college this fall, right?”

  “Yeah, at UNY.”

  “Great school. I always knew you were a smart cookie.” She sighs. “Amazing how time flies, isn’t it? Seems like yesterday you were walking with us for the first time. How could that have been five years ago?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. But I kind of do. Five years ago feels like five years ago. Older people tend to perceive time differently. They’re always saying how quickly time passes. Dakota would have loved to trade places with me senior year. Time was taking its sweet time. It felt like forever until I could move out.

  After I check in, I relax on the hill. The lake is peaceful today. As I’ve been feeling less than at peace lately, its calm serenity is a welcome respite. I lie back on the grass and gaze out at the water.

  “Hey, Sadie,” Vienna says, climbing up to me. She’s wearing the same tee she wears every year for this. Same photo of her brother. Same dates below the photo.

  “Hey, Vienna.”

  “Long time no see.”

  I laugh. The only time we ever see each other is once a year for this.

  “How are you doing?” I ask.

  “Taking it one day at a time. You?”

  “About the same.”

  Vienna sits next to me. We watch more people arriving and greeting each other. Old friends reunite. Small cliques gather to catch up. Vienna takes off her rubber bracelet and plays with it, stretching it over and over. This year the bracelets are yellow with purple printing that says WE WILL NEVER FORGET.

  Vienna looks the same way she did when we first met. Vulnerable. Lonely. Hungry for connection. “You look good,” she says.

  I snort.

  “No, you do. Like, really good. Are you on a cleanse or something?”

  “Um, no. Restricting my body to four hundred calories a day is not my idea of fun times.”

  “Are you still a vegetarian?”

  “Of course.”

  “So it’s not an iron-slash-protein rush that’s making you glow.”

  I sit up and shove Vienna with my shoulder. She thinks being a vegetarian is making me weak. In Vienna’s perfect world, everyone would eat meat like the proud omnivores we were meant to be.

  “You think I’m glowing?” I say.

  “There is a definite glow happening.”

  I smile shyly at the grass.

  “Oh!” Vienna yells. “There’s a guy! How could I not have known? Who is he?”

  “He’s . . . this boy I just met.”

  “And he’s already making you glow? I’m impressed. What’s his name?”

  “Austin.”

  “We like Austin because . . .”

  “He’s amazing,” I answer without thinking. Or maybe it’s that I feel more amazing with him than I ever have before. There’s just something about him that feels like home.

  “How did you meet?”

  “At my internship. We had the best time hanging out last night. It started out as a spontaneous thing, but totally turned into our first date. We’re going out again tonight.”

  “Damn, girl. Sadie don’t waste no time.”

  Dakota rings a chain of bells. That’s the signal for everyone to gather by the check-in table. We’ll start walking up to the reservoir in a few minutes. Vienna and I head down the hill.

  “I’m so happy you’re happy,” she says. “You must be dying for tonight to get here.”

  “Totally.”

  “Does Austin have a cute friend? I could use some boy time later to take my mind off all this.”

  Even if he did, the four of us would never do anything together. Vienna and I would never be part of any group hang. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to be friends with her in real life. The bond we share is tight. The weird thing is, we never see each other except for once a year at the Remembrance Walk. Getting together other times would somehow dilute the intensity of our annual gathering. And I’m not sure how well our bond would hold up outside of Central Park. It’s almost as if taking what we share outside of this context would blow everything up. My friends would ask how Vienna and I met. Then I would have to tell them about the walk. Then I would have to tell them why I walk, which is something I’m not ready for any of my friends to know about. Keeping that part of my life compartmentalized is the only way I can stay optimistic. Vienna and I have bonded over our shared loss. Our bond grows stronger every year. Vienna told me that everyone in her life knows about her brother. But I need to restrict my loss to this time and space. This walk allows me to grieve one day a year. That’s all I will allow myself. All the other days, I can pretend it never happened.

  The walk begins. Vienna and I fall into step next to each other. I watch the other people around us. Some of them lost loved ones so long ago that the years have reduced their hurt to a dull ache. Others are struggling with the gaping raw pain of recent loss. Everyone deals with grief in their own way. Those coping mechanisms become apparent during the walk. Some people laugh and celebrate life. Others brush away tears, lost in their memories. Last year one woman was so consumed by grief she crumpled to the ground. The gut-wrenching sounds of her desperate sobs haunted me for weeks after.

  There’s a moment of silence when we get to the top of the reservoir. We all stand with our heads bowed. Some people put their hand over their heart. Others put their hands together in prayer. Vienna closes her eyes tightly. I know she’s remembering her brother. This is the time I should be thinking of my loss. But even thinking about everything that happened would initiate a flood too powerful not to drown in.

  We start walking again. The mood is reflective now. People are more subdued, speaking in quieter tones. I catch glimpses of buildings over the trees surrounding the park. What are people dealing with behind all those windows? How many hurting souls will remain broken forever? There’s so much secret pain in this city. It’s amazing how many of us are tied to one another by the things that hurt us the most. The most painful experiences bring us together in the most powerful ways. Walking with my people once a year is enough for me. I’m not ready to open up to anyone yet. If I ever will be.

  “So . . . yeah,” Vienna says. “I might be interested in someone, too.”

  “Ooh?”

  “He might b
e a good friend of mine. Someone I want to be honest with. But I might not want to risk ruining our friendship.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “This is all hypothetical, of course.”

  “Of course. It’s hypothetically rough.”

  “The thing is . . . I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like all of my brainpower is dedicated to imagining what it would be like if we were a couple.”

  “Do you think he might like you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.”

  “You should definitely tell him how you feel. I know it’s scary, but you have to take a chance.”

  “But what if he doesn’t like me that way? And then things become so awkward between us we stop hanging out? I’d rather have him this way than not have him at all.”

  I understand how conflicted Vienna feels. But she has to follow her heart to find the love she wants. Deep down, I know following your heart is the only way to create true happiness.

  Then there’s my cynical side. The side of me that I keep hidden from the world. I want to believe that the world is good and happiness is abundant. Except . . . there’s a reason I do this walk every year. A reason that totally sucks. What happened was so unfair. And so random. It could have happened to anyone. Is it hypocritical to be an optimist when I’m disappointed with the world? My anger is always lingering. It’s always there below the surface.

  And I don’t know how to make it go away.

  ELEVEN

  DARCY

  CHILLING ON THE WASHINGTON SQUARE Park fountain after class will definitely be one of my fave low-key activities this summer. Tons of kids are sitting around the edge of the fountain kicking back with friends or soaking up some sun. The fountain is clearly a frequent origin point for hookups, but social perks aren’t its only attribute. This whole park has a soothing energy that mellows me out. Balance is something I’m trying to be more aware of. My natural state is to be on 24-7. That might not be the healthiest thing in the long run. And I want a long run. What better way to be invincible?

  Rosanna is meeting me here after camp. We seriously need to work on that girl’s wardrobe. My heart goes out to her. She doesn’t have a lot of money to spend on nonessentials. Although I would argue that a killer wardrobe is essential. Your daily ensemble selections are how you choose to present yourself to the world. Which, I get it, sometimes a sister needs to be dragging. There were mornings back in California I was so exhausted from some all-night private-beach party I could barely pull on leggings and a cami. I mean, I’d still accessorize, but yeah. So it’s not like I expect Rosanna to be a fashion plate every single day—just most days. I want her to shine. I want her to show that fun and free side of herself I hope is hidden under her serious, critical shell. A complete wardrobe would reveal all the sides of her personality. Fortunately I can help her in that department. Soho has some of the most eclectic shops and I’m treating.

  A cute boy with a UNY tee sits down next to me. “How’s it going?” he asks.

  Maybe if he didn’t look so much like my ex he’d be my next boy adventure.

  I ignore him. The last thing I need to be reminded of is the one thing I’m trying to forget.

  He’s not giving up. “Beautiful day, huh?” he tries again.

  “Seriously?” I snap.

  The smile is startled off his face. I immediately feel horrible for being such a bitch. I’m about to apologize when he gets up, moves to the next free spot on the fountain edge, and starts chatting up another girl. Not cool, Darcy. Not cool. How could I let myself become such a hot snapping mess?

  I still feel horrible about snapping at Rosanna the day I moved in. My anger hasn’t been the easiest emotion to tame lately, which sucks. It royally, epically, historically sucks. The last person you would describe as angry is this girl. Until some boy destroyed her happy streak. But I will not let a boy shape me into a person I don’t want to be. Especially some asshole who had the audacity to dump me. An asshole I loved more than anyone.

  You could say I’m a work in progress.

  My ex ended us right before I left for New York. That’s why I was lugging all that rage in my baggage when I moved in. We were so happy together. We were so in love. Or so I thought. Then everything fell apart overnight. Turns out that our thoughts about the relationship were diametrically opposed. I thought we were going to try the long-distance thing. I thought we were going to be together for a long time. Meanwhile, he thought dumping me so hard my heart would shatter into a zillion pieces was the best way to go. Because why wouldn’t you want to devastate the girl you said you loved? Out of nowhere? With no advance warning?

  Oh, and then? I saw him out the next night. He was at Urth Caffe with his friends, whooping it up at a big rowdy table. He was totally oblivious to the fallout of his actions. Urth Caffe was our place. That’s where he took me on our first date. That’s where we went for brunch the morning after we had sex for the first time. That’s where he gazed into my eyes and swore that no girl could ever be more perfect for him than I was.

  Urth Caffe was the last straw.

  I darted over to his table. His friends immediately shut up. The sudden dip in volume caused people at other tables to look over, which was a good thing considering I wanted as many spectators as I could get.

  “Hey, Darcy,” he said, looking up at me with those big eyes I could never resist. “Why are you—”

  There was no time to think. I picked up his soda and threw it in his face. Yeah, I’m that girl. The one who slings drinks in bad boys’ faces with flair. My new motto could be Act Now, Think Later.

  This summer I’m all about being spontaneous. I love being free and going with the flow. I want to forget about consequences for a while. Keep things light. Let my anger go. This summer is mine to play with and New York City is my playground.

  Getting back to my normal happy self would be a lot easier without the jarring bursts of pain. Every time I think I’m done being hurt by him, a memory will flash in my mind so eidetic it’s like I’m right back at square one all over again. We weren’t done yet. Not even close. How could he not have seen that?

  A street performer near the fountain is drawing a huge crowd. An impressive achievement anywhere, but especially here. New Yorkers hardly stop for anything. They walk quickly with purpose. They always have someplace to be and they needed to be there ten minutes ago. But this boy is making them stop and watch.

  Short List of Events New Yorkers Will Pause For

  – someone has collapsed on the sidewalk

  – free samples

  – accident involving a mangled bicycle or bent traffic light

  – movie filming with an A-list celeb

  – a natural disaster (if it’s horrific enough)

  This boy is a lot younger than most of the other street performers I’ve seen. Back home, artists like to do their thing around the Santa Monica Pier. They’re typically dudes in their thirties or forties, sometimes even older. This boy looks like he’s my age. With his blue eyes, blond hair, and athletic build, he’s got that surfer boy look I’ve been crushing on since I was twelve. Along with the clearly entertained crowd of people watching him, I am transfixed. I can’t help myself. Surfer Boy is bringing me right back to when I first started liking boys, wishing my first boy adventure would hurry up and happen already. Watching him feels the same way watching boys I liked back then felt. Same racing pulse. Same damp palms. Same hint of vertigo. What can I tell you? This boy is already rocking my world and I don’t even know his name.

  I watch his act. He’s a magician, but not in a corny way where rabbits get yanked out of musty hats. His way is funny, sharp, and engaging. He’s very good at making the crowd feel like they’re in on the joke. Little kids laugh and their parents smile. Quirky cerebral humor rules. This boy has natural talent. He has unique tricks I’ve never seen before that he might have invented himself. He could be some kind of master genius magician. Tricks have to originate somewhere, right
? Who knows. This boy could be igniting a revolution of contemporary magic.

  He finishes his act. The crowd bursts into applause. He even gets a few whistles and one, “Righteous, man!” Some people put money in his collection bucket. The crowd scatters while he takes a break. A few people go up to him.

  I wander over. He shoots me a smile while he’s talking to the last person left. Then he approaches me.

  “Please tell me I was even remotely entertaining,” he says.

  I eye him up and down like a guy. Now it’s my turn to take control. I’m in charge. I’m the one with the power over boys’ emotions.

  “Oh yeah,” I drawl. “I’m entertained.”

  He actually blushes a little. I bet he’s never had a girl be this forward before.

  “So how’s the summer solstice treating you?” he says.

  “You can tell it’s summer. Things just got hotter.”

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Is it obvious?”

  “Only about as obvious as a ton of bricks. Wait, wouldn’t the bricks have to fall or something to be obvious? Like a pile of bricks just sitting in some vacant lot wouldn’t be obvious.”

  “Flirt much?”

  “Tragically, no. And it’s waaay too obvious.”

  “Only about as obvious as a ton of falling bricks.”

  “Are you always this forward with the dudes?”

  “No. You inspired me. I really liked your act.”

  “That makes you entitled to a magician’s secret.”

  “Sweet. I love secrets.”

  “You can’t tell anyone. Magician’s code.”

  I cross my heart. “Promise.”

  He comes up close to me. His eyes pierce mine.

  “Distraction,” he whispers.

  “Care to elaborate?” I whisper back.

  “The key to magic is distracting the audience. You want them to focus on something else while you’re working the trick.”

  “How did you pull off that orange flag thing?”

  “Sorry, that’s classified information.”

  “Do I have to be a magician to find out?”

  “No, but you might have to come out and see me again.”