i’m still awake (it’s 6:30 and i’ve been up since 3:30) which is like pretty bad but makes sense considering im a degenerate at heart. i did sleep from around 10 to 3:30 which is 6.5 hrs of sleep which is not too bad i think? i’ll take a nap anyway.
it’s only around midnight back home on the east coast, and to be honest i already miss it. i like my room… i like my stuff… my books and posters and clothes. it feels safe. i miss all the rooms ive lived in and loved over the years, my first dorm at my boarding school, waterman where i had the small then the big room, steinway st with my piano, fair lights, homemade collages. it’s the apartment in astoria that i miss most of all. i was thinking about how nice it would be to sit on the R train from brooklyn all the way back to queens, the local stops hypnotically passing by, i would listen to music or read or just zone out, staring absently at people’s faces while they stared at their phones. i will never be a new yorker, im just a transplant who still has an illinois license plate and the fragile, small-talk-loving heart of a midwesterner. but i love the city, i love it, i do, i do, i love how it feels bustling and alive and exciting and crowded and cramped and rude and electric and new. i love seeing kids play under busted-open fire hydrants, trying to cool down in the heat of summer. i love standing on a crowded train platform at 3am on a saturday night, seeing weary faces and smudged makeup on the faces of partygoers heading home. i love seeing the grandpas walk around chinatown, hands clasped behind their backs, wizened eyes gazing at basketball players and children on the swings. i loved unlocking the door to my apartment with caroline, my shoulder aching from my heavy tote bag, my mouth full of stories to tell her. call me crazy, but i even love the hour-long drives from my apartment to sylvia’s, the frustrations of belt parkway melting away with her voice; i love dropping her off down the street and our quick goodbye kisses out-of-sight of her parents. i am happy to call new york home.
though of course it makes me feel sad about my relationship with my hometown, jerseyville, my childhood room, the lawn mower in the garage, my desk drawers and shoeboxes crammed with trinkets and debris of a life i no longer remember. i don’t recognize the voice that comes from my brothers room down the hall as he talks to his friends. the desktop computer where i spent my middle school years no longer has user accounts for myself or my brother. they donated the red-and-yellow fixed-gear bike i used to love to the thrift store. everyone’s room has a TV in it now, which surprises me. my dad straps an unfamiliar cpap machine to his face every night to help him sleep, and i never hear his snoring late at night, a sound that would comfort me as i slept, or would cover my footsteps as i snuck downstairs past bedtime. i don’t keep my middle school trophies displayed on my desk anymore—i realized they were plastic a long time ago—and they now stand on a crowded shelf in my closet, filled with clothes i will never wear again. im completely unaffected when, at a dental appointment, i realize the technician is the mother of natalie, a classmate i graduated with in eighth grade. im unfazed by the news that my first-grade teacher’s 22-year-old son died in a motorcycle accident. “so tragic,” i mumble, “the family must be heartbroken,” even though i can barely remember their faces or names. i’m emotionless when hearing about natalie’s two-month-old daughter, how he weighed nine pounds at birth, how he’s always laughing at something. “he’s a velcro baby! he doesn’t want to be attached to anything but his mom.”
april’s mom once commented on my moms face during the white coat ceremony, saying “that woman looks so sad.” i don’t dwell on that until months later, when my mom snaps a photo of me, and asks me to send it to myself from her phone. under “nearby iphones” i learn that my name and picture in her phone are still my deadname and a picture of boy-me, looking handsome in a graduation picture from years ago. i am stunned for a moment when the face i no longer recognize fills my mom’s phone screen. in that moment a certain sobering truth revealed itself to me—the life i can’t bear to think about is the only one my mother remembers fondly. but i hug her anyway when i get off the plane, i talk to my brother anyway even though i no longer recognize the scent of the body wash he uses, i laugh at my dads jokes even when they’re not funny. when i inevitably hear my old name and old pronouns used for me i hold my breath, swallow my distaste, i mentally go somewhere else while the feeling passes because what else can you do. what else can you do but wait until you can come back home
| previous | return | next |
|---|