Korê in New York

What happens when a kid refuses to leave the past behind? What happens when the past won't go away? Read on and don't worry about the emotional damage.

1. Almost Flying

   Dad left us on Thursday. He went to parts unknown to work. He left before I did. He said he would be gone seven to nine days. He did not say he was going “now that things are stable.” Dad did not lie unless he had to. He did not have to lie this time.

   At a dress rehearsal after school, I felt the first cramps. This was the first time in three months, I had menstruated. I remembered the drill, but the pain was all ready bad by the time I excused myself to make my way back to my locker to get my purse with the secret stash of supplies and the naproxen for the pain. Why had I left all this shit in my locker? Why had I lost count of the days?

   It was just my luck that the janitorial crew had closed the portcullis that blocked the way to the hall behind the gym which held the freshpersons’ lockers. A cramp doubled me over as I rattled the gate like an idiot. I did get a custodian’s attention though. The man, brown skinned and wrinkle faced opened the gate after I pleaded with him that I needed medicine very badly.

   I was shakey and half doubled over. Chin took my place on the battens. Javonovich asked me if I needed to go home. I told him I’d be sick wherever I was. By seven pm, I could stand erect, but I was in too much pain to eat and needed my strength to study under blankets in bed.

   By Friday, the worst of the pain was gone, but it left fierce nausea in its wake along with a dull achiness all over my body. I suffered through another dress rehearsal and returned home around 10pm. We went late because we ran through the musical one and a half times. Opening night was one week away.

   I thought of that as I twittered on the subway. Unity_grrl, Sxxy_Raven, Sxxy_Pache and the rest seemed far away. Only a direct message from Sxxy_Sistagh, aka Margolin Sidlow brought me alive. I told her I was sick and that I was busy with lighting crew, studies, and didn’t have time for much including shopping and days at the beach. I did not end Margolin her care free existence which was only care free because her parents were people of importance. I wondered how much longer my dad would be a person of importance. I tried not to think about that.

   Friday night, RoAnn gave Nervy Worm supper, and I went to bed without eating. I awoke Saturday before dawn and studied for a bit and then dressed. We had Saturday rehearsals and I needed to be in Brooklyn around 9am. RoAnn and Ivanna were still sleeping, but I woke Nervy Worm as I dressed.

   “Where are you going?” she asked.

   “To rehearsals at school,” I answered.

   “But it’s Saturday!” my little sister pleaded.

   “So what…We open on Friday.” I hoped that would be explanation enough.

   “Are you going to be gone long?” asked Nervy.

   “I’ll be back early tonight,” I was honest. “We go to Fairway today. Want some head cheese?”

   “Yeah…can we get more zucchini?”

   “Sure thing. You’re my favorite Nervy Worm.”

   “You’re my favorite Kore,” my little sister replied.

   I drank Dr. Pepper from a bodega as I rode the 2 Train into Brooklyn and walked through the early spring morning to Brooklyn Tech. I must have been light headed because I fell off the battens while completing the safety checks which have become routine while Micha and Javonvich practice their profanity.

   “Come on, Bihar!” called Micah.

   “She’s just resting. She’s real fucking comfortable there,” Javonovich complained.

   Both boys forgot how sick I had been at the end of the week. “Let me catch my breath please,” I told them. I pulled myself back on to the battens. Once you have fallen you are either scaird for life or never scaird again. I was just tired, hungry, and thankfully, exquisitely numb.

   At the end of rehearsals around three o’clock, Micah told me I had done an excellent job. He asked me if I was feeling better. “A bit,” I said. I needed food.

   Some time on the subway trip home, my brain turned on. I decided I needed both a breath of air and something decent to eat. I’d detour through China Town and get some dumplings at a short order place and watch the street and eat. Then I’d walk back through the subway, maybe even as far up as NYU, site of the first riots last fall. That had really been the start of something big.

   I called home on my Blackberry, but got on answer. I left a messages saying I’d be home before 6pm. I found a short order store with stools and ordered three random kinds of dumpling one of which had some kind of interesting sea food in it. The others had flavored pork. They were squishy and warm. This was the first solid food, I’d eaten in two days. I drank hot tea with the dumplings and had the ret of my Dr. Pepper as I walked nother. The late day sky was grey and promised rain. I did not care. It was good to move singly and anonymously with the crowd. It was good to walk and pretend I did not have a care in the world and that there was nothing about which it was worth it to care.

   I was sad to descend into the subway again and begin the trip uptown. I changed trains at Columbus Circle near where I had bought my Dr. Pepper in another time and world. I got off the subway at 90th Street and Central Park West. I greeted the Dominican door person at the Ardsley and headed upstairs.

   Nervy was waiting for me when I let myself into Apartment 9L-M. “Ivanna is in North Carolina,” were the first words out of  my little sister’s mouth.

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