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. Power Bars and Canned Asparagus

   It rained all Sunday night and into Monday morning. It was one of those light, steady, rains that sticks around forever. The subway stank of wet coats. The Calliope even stank of them. Eugenia asked me how I could drink cold soda with the rain just coming down. I told her that Dr. Pepper tasted good in all weather. Do I have to tell  you that the rain made me yearn for snow. Snow is white. Snow covers everything. We’re not getting any snow on May third in New York City.

   Drama club had a break day so the juniors and seniors could study for AP examps. AP’s are advanced placement exams that award college credit. I got to go out to IS 179 and fight with the computer teacher who knows business but not math. A lot of the middle schoolers prefer math. Some of the kids also wanted to learn Cad-Cam. The teacher announced there was no Cad-Cam on the machines. I mentioned Google Sketch Up. Some teachers get very upset when they find you know more than they do.

   This teacher realized she was on her way into that territory. She is just a college student and I am just fourteen. No, I am less than a month away from turning fifteen. Fifteen makes me feel very old and mature. I’m not sure why. She asked the kids why it was so important they learn Cad-Cam. This is an old strategy to make the kids feel dumb. I winced, but this was Young Achievers, and these “academically engaged” middle schoolers did not always follow the rules.

   “I want to make blue prints of my bedroom,” a Latino boy answered.

   “Why do you want to do that?”

   “My cousin from Virginia is coming to stay with me. There’s no good high schools where he lives.”

   “Academic migrants,” I thought. Then I thought: “It’s really happening.” Then I thought worse things. Troy DeVilliers was more than right. If one in four kids in New York State went with Young Achievers or took a Full Academic program, and the average was one in seven nationwide, than there had to be places where it was a lot less than one in seven to average things out. “My parents friends from West Virginia are sending their daughter,” a black skinned girl with yellow framed glasses told the class.

   Needless to say, I gave a brief and clumsy lesson in Google Sketch Up, and the teacher who had her own finals to worry about, because college finals are in May, put Sketch Up days into the schedule. After class she thanked me.

   Monday night it was still raining. I got home in time to prepare the soup with stuff and the relish tray. On the refridgerator door was a list of recommended power bars. Halston wanted their students snacking well, and dancers are addicted to these glorified cookies. Some glorified cookies, I reasoned must be created more equally than others.

   The trouble was many of these cookies were not available at Fairway. RoAnn and Ivanna went round and round about who would get the fancy Power Bars that the “professionally” dancing Ivanna now required.

   Meanwhile, I opened a can of asparagus, drained it, and dumped it on to the relish tray. “Ewwww,” a voice belonging to my stepmother said. “What is that slimey green stuff.”

   “Asparagus,” I replied. “You saw me buy it two weeks ago.”

   “I’ve never seen it like that.”

   “It’s canned. It’s good either plain or with Italian dressing.”

   “Do you think Nervy’s going to eat that.”

   “I like asparagus,” Nervy replied. “It’s good with soup.”

   “And peas and carrots are good in soup,” RoAnn remembered aloud. “And don’t forget the bread triangles.”

   “Striped rye bread triangles,” Nervy reminded her mother who had not borne her.

   RoAnn  sighed and sniffed. “With you girls, I could almost not miss Sammy.”

   “Dad will be back soon,” I said, but there was no enthusiasm in our voice. Our delicate ecology that kept away the fighting and most of the snottiness had evolved without him. All four of  us would have to adjust to him being back in the mix. He might not approve about all of Ivanna’s dancing and prima donna requirements like fancy power bars and special taps for her Capezios.

   Dad might not find the star headed celebrities that Nervy drew amusing. He might find them disturbing because there was a disturbing side to all this. He might also get very angry that ECBAS/Youth Voices constantly called RoAnn a child abuser. All over the country Dr. RoAnn Testa was becoming a symbol of evil that now out-eviled (if there was such a  word) “Wolf Balls,” my natural mother. I could only hope to be so “evil” some day, but Dad might not see it that way. His protective instincts could kick in.

   I prayed they wouldn’t. I needed to live with a pleasant Ivanna and I did not want to see my dad and stepmother fight over something about which they could do nothing.

   Tuesday I sat for my practice biology regents and finally broke the ninty percent mark. That had taken far more work than it should. “Wait until you take chemistry and physics,” Micah laughed at me during rehearsals on Wednesday. “Now those are real sciences.”

   I said I liked biology well enough, though my heart was most in French and global studies with English when we studied literature a close third. “I know you wail in literature” Javonovich sighed. “It’s a good thing we get those Stuyvesent rejects.”

   “That was a long time ago,” I reminded both boys.

   “You used to care about it a lot.”

   “Yeah, but that was in the fall.”

   “Spring changes things.”

   “Yeah, I’m almost a year older.”

   The boys sniffed and laughed. The stage manager for an imitation of the rockettes told them to keep it down. Howard still did not have his gel colors right. He was going to have to do a safety check for faded gels. I thought of the gel that sliced my hands.

   I checked twitter on the subway back to Manhattan.

   @Sxxy_Arrow  (to the whole group) — Yeah it’s true, Assholes’ legal department is suing.

   @Unity_grrrl (to the whole group) — They can’t sue. We have free speech! Dr. Asshole even says as much.

   @Sxxy_Arrow (to the whole group) — Talk to the legal department. Something about private persons and defamation of character.

   I noticed the direct message from  @Sxxy_Sistah. “Coming back to New York May 10.”

   I messaged her back: “Do you still need a tutor?”

   “Yeah…I want to see you. I want to know you’re OK?”

   “I don’t have stars coming out of my head, but I”m fine,” I thought. Then I thought: “I’m busy and I’ll try to pencil you in.”

   Then I answered. “I can see you on Sunday afternoons.”

   Dad’s letter arrived on thursday. Thatwas the email saying he’d be home late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. I felt sad that he’d miss what happened in synagogue. I wondered if he could convince the men to encourage their sons and daughters to join Young Achievers or were the men as snotty as their offspring? Did Young Achievers really need all those truck loads of snot? Wouldn’t snotty kids like the ones in teen minyan contaminate the organization? I mused on all this and missed the 92nd Street Subway stop. I got off at 96th Street instead and stood under a cold clear night.

   I looked up and saw a moon playing hide and seek in the clouds. There are no stars over Manhattan due to all the light pollution. Then I tried to remember if we had any more canned asparagus. I realized I’d bought three cans of the stuff. That was good. Nervy and I both liked it.

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