Dirty Loud Crowded
By Erika Ehren
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Erika Ehren
ISBN: 978-1-4657-8070-6
Smashwords Edition, License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Timeline
9/4
I slept on the kitchen floor with my dog last night because it felt like the right thing to do. It felt like the only thing to do. And, no, that’s not the first time I’ve done that, but it’s been a while. At first I tried lining up a few chairs and lying like I was trying not to fall off a stretcher on the way into an ambulance. But after I realized that I’d never get comfortable, I got one of the towels we use to wipe off the dog’s feet after it rains and just got on the floor with him. The brown spots could have been mud, dog shit or dead mouse guts for all I know, but, whatever.
You’d think I’d care that a team of five muscle-head movers walked in on me this morning giving me a look like I’d just spent the night making sweet, sweet love to a canine. They seemed to be hinting that I should report myself to the proper authorities when I move into my new neighborhood. Anyway, they don’t get it, they don’t understand the circumstances, and I don’t care.
When I woke up this morning, I had very little to do. On principle, I boycotted all packing, except for my own stuff. It took all of two minutes to pack anything I cared enough to bring. More importantly, and at the top of my to do list, was stashing all of my private stuff in a very good hiding spot in the basement just in case anyone gets nosy while we’re gone. When I asked if I could put a lock on my closet, my mom asked why. I told her that I knew people (my cousins) would snoop or steal stuff while we were gone. She told me that I was being ridiculous. I think she’s being ridiculous – has she ever met them?!? These are the same kids who she caught red-handed two Thanksgivings ago rifling through the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She blushed every time she saw them for the next six months, but she’s forgotten all about that, apparently.
But the most depressing task today was packing up Stone’s stuff for my aunt and uncle, whose house he’s staying at. I gave them a few of my tee shirts and made my uncle promise he’d put them in Stone’s bed so he can remember me. My dog, not my uncle. He probably won’t, though, let’s face it. I mean, they’re fine people, even if they raised a couple of little ratty thieves. I just really wish we didn’t have to leave our dog behind. It makes me feel like a shithead. The problem is that pet friendly buildings are becoming extinct in New York City. That’s how my dad put it. I’m not sure if he said it like that to sound more dramatic or if that’s how people talk around there. My parents swore it was something considered, but since Dad’s company found our apartment, we didn’t have much say. Mom says (but comes short of promising) that we will go home as often as we can to see Stone. Yeah right. So, I’m glad I slept in the kitchen last night.
Now, with all my work done, I’m just sitting in my room, stealing wireless from our next-door neighbors, doing some last minute music downloading and posting this. My iPod broke again the other day for the eightieth time and my parents bought me a Walkman to replace it. I’ve got the sort of parents who flat-out refuse to buy things for me unless it’s my birthday or Christmas, so it’s abundantly clear that they did it to keep me on their good side because I have been so pissed about moving. And, before you ask, no, not the cassette player type. What kind of shitty-ass bribe would that be? They probably don’t make those anymore, anyway.
We’re leaving soon. It’s depressing as shit and I feel like I’m going to puke. My sister keeps barging in here to ask if I’m excited and remind me that we’re leaving soon, as if I need reminding. Mom can’t get over how fast the movers are working. To me it seems like they’re taking a lot of breaks and unpacking stuff we already packed only to repack it. Read: wasting time. But, what do I know? I’ve never moved before. But this has got to be wrapped up pretty soon because we’re not taking much at all. The apartment is supposed to be really small. My parents decided that we will buy some crappy furniture at a thrift store when we get there, since it’s only temporary. I can’t believe that I have to sleep on a used bed and eat at a used table and probably eat off of used plates with used silverware. I won’t be surprised if my parents make us brush our teeth with used toothbrushes. “Sorry honey, there is no room in the moving truck for your toothbrush. We’ll just pick one up at the thrift store.”
I was going to run over to my friend’s house to say goodbye, but I feel too dorky doing that. And, the more I think about it, he should’ve come over to say goodbye, right? I’m the one who’s leaving.
Oh, and just to let you know… I was going to call myself Tenement Donster for this blog. You know, like the Queen song from Sheer Heart Attack. But, I thought the Donster part made me sound like a tool. Then I was gonna do Tenement D like Tenacious D, but I didn’t want JB and KG mad at me. So I decided to go for Tenement Don instead.
Posted by Tenement Don at 10:45 AM
9/5
We're here
Pulling up to our new place was surreal. Eh, no. People overuse that word, don’t they? There was nothing dream-like about rolling up to our new place. In fact, I don’t think it gets much more real. There was a hooker across the street lunging at any guy passing by and even stalking a few of them for another couple of blocks; the cops were escorting some crazy looking old guy wearing tap shoes as real shoes into the back of their car; outside a diner, a guy in an apron licked his fingertips after finishing a cigarette and walked back inside; some lady with long witch hair, but an angelic face, was closing up her scarf and purse sidewalk store for the night; some teenager was cursing out a deli guy who got her shoes wet dumping out a bucket of water that used to hold yellow carnations; and some kid was playing basketball in a hoop he’d attached to a fire escape. Okay. Living here is going to be a little bit different.
After handing us the single, dinky-looking key to our apartment and the very bent front door key, my dad kicked us out of the car and went circling around for spots. Wondering if that bent key would even work, I realized that it wasn’t gonna matter. The not-as-heavy-as-it-looked door was closed, but not locked. “Ooh, kids, I don’t like this one bit,” Mom said with a little bit of terror in her voice.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I told them with my back against the door so they could get by. The entranceway smelled like wine and mildewy mops. The steps seemed to be different heights, some slanted up and others down, and the railing was angled almost too far away to hold onto while climbing. While my sister and mom practically ran upstairs like they were magnetically drawn to the apartment’s front door, I walked slowly trying to take in every hideous detail. The linoleum squares in some spots looked like they’d been pried up by someone searching for some drugs they hid there once in a panic. I tried to tell myself that the drips of dark red leading to my apartment were cranberry juice, paint, or something my mom and sister had just spilled up ahead of me.
There was already a doormat outside our door, which seemed nice at first, but then you realize the people who lived here before us just didn’t want to pack up or even touch their grungy dirt carpet before they moved. So, instead, they left this mat for us which instructed us to WIPE YOUR PAWS. Is someone trying to rub it in that my fucking dog wasn’t allowed to come?!?
The door handle is so small it looks more like the knob for a kitchen cabinet. And, you know what, not a bad clue, because once inside, I realized the place wasn’t much bigger than the cabinet off of our kitchen at home where we keep back-up pasta sauce and canned beans. So, you know, we’re living in a pantry. But we’re all together, my parents will surely remind us. In fact, that’s just what my dad did when he got back upstairs and my sister and I spewed about fifty different complaints at him. He gave my mom a look, poked around for a couple of minutes and then headed back downstairs to double check that his parking spot was really a real spot and that he wasn’t towed.
The apartment is so small that when the guys were dropping off our stuff, we had to find a corner or smush up against a wall so we weren’t in the way. They just dumped everything, which wasn’t much, in the center of the room, and we’d sort it out later. The bathroom door is right in the middle of the living room, the kitchen is about three feet big and the wall between the bedrooms is clearly fake, and made out of paper mâché. Truly. You should touch it.
We put away some kitchen stuff, set up the TV and ordered Chinese. My dad’s company hasn’t done much, but at least they set us up with cable, Internet and lights. But beyond that, we’re living like animals in here. We all slept on the floor last night. If I described how dirty the carpet was, I might throw up just thinking about it. As my sister and I complained and whined about missing home, Mom kept saying it was like a big slumber party. My dad said it was like a big camp out. I kept saying it was like a horror movie. I was only half serious, but I have seen a movie that started out just like this. After a while, their let’s-make-the-best-of-it attitude started pissing me off and I went into my (shared) room to be alone. But, I couldn’t start sleeping, because I couldn’t stop thinking. I heard the click-clack of horses for some reason. I wasn’t expecting that. I can see that getting annoying after a while. After running myself through just about every negative emotion a person can experience in two hours, I fell asleep.
And this morning, bright and early, we are going to a Salvation Army that my parents read about online. I swear, they’ve never mentioned second-hand stores in their whole lives and now it’s all they talk about. They claim it’s just a few blocks away, so we’re going to walk. Kill me now. It’s only about 6,000 degrees outside and I have to romp around town with my family, when all I want to do is be alone thinking of ways to run away or get kidnapped. I suppose I can think of ideas while we’re walking as long as my family doesn’t interrupt me by talking.
The shopping list includes: three beds, one couch, a coffee table, something to use as a desk and maybe a small table with chairs, if we can find one that will fit. Oh, and let’s not forget that used toothbrush, some used toilet paper, used notebook paper for school and a roach motel. No, I didn’t see or hear any roaches last night, but I sensed them.
Posted by Tenement Don at 8:22 AM
9/5
We got pretty much everything we needed at the Salvation Army or a decent substitute. We paid some sketchy guy 75 bucks to deliver our stuff later that day. There were some hours there where we thought we’d made a huge mistake, but he finally turned up near 8 o’clock.
I set up my refurbished mattress as soon as the guy dropped it onto the floor. They didn’t have any box springs and my parents kept reminding me that it’s only temporary. I kind of feel like rat bait so close to the ground, but what are you gonna do? I sprayed the bed with Lysol, then put on a mattress cover, then my sleeping bag, then my sheet and then my blanket. I hope there are enough layers now between the previous owner and me. I saw a news special where they told us the truth about refurbished mattresses. I tried to remind my parents, but they claimed not to remember seeing it. Typical.
We walked up a few blocks and got some pizza at a place called Sacco. Really good pizza, very nice guys. There weren’t any open tables, so we just stood right outside the store and ate. They’ve got a walk-up window. Who’s ever heard of that? Anyway, at the very end of my second pepperoni slice, I was so proud of myself for catching an oil drip right in the nick of time and my dad had to go and spoil the moment by telling me he’d take me to see where my school is tomorrow. I was hoping they forgot about that…
Posted by Tenement Don at 9:39 PM
9/6
What kind?
Our water tastes funny. They always say that NYC has great water. Maybe it’s just another thing that people say is great about New York, but really isn’t. Like Broadway shows or night clubs or how late stuff stays open. Although who would bother to hype up the water when there’s so much else going on here? Who knows? Maybe the water’s fine and it’s our pipes. I wouldn't be surprised if these pipes were made from animal bones or clay. The building is a little on the old side. Anyway, my mom sent my dad and me out to get coffee for them and hot chocolate for my sister. I wanted a Mountain Dew, personally.
There is a deli right across the street from our place. They only had bagels and rolls and I was kind of in the mood for a doughnut. I told my dad I’d check out the bakery at the end of the block. He gave me a few bucks and I headed down. They had really loud music playing and it was kind of packed, but there was no one else on line ahead of or behind me. The cashier still acted like she was insanely rushed for no reason.
The exchange:
Me: Two glazed doughnuts, please.
Cashier: What kind?
Me: Two glazed.
Cashier: Yeah, what kind? (Annoyed)
Me: Two glazed. (Frustrated)
Cashier: WHAT KIND?!? (Mad)
Me: Two glazed doughnuts. That’s it. (Kind of confused)
Cashier: $1.89.
I paid and she handed me the bag.
The reality only clicked after I left the store:
Me: Two glazed doughnuts, please.
Cashier: $1.89.
Me: Two glazed.
Cashier: Yeah, $1.89! (Annoyed)
Me: Two glazed. (Frustrated)
Cashier: $1.89!!! (Mad)
Me: Two glazed doughnuts. That’s it. (Kind of confused)
Cashier: $1.89.
I paid and she handed me the bag.
That was embarrassing! I'm an idiot. It was loud as shit in there, though. So, no, actually, I’m not an idiot. Oh, no! What if that girl goes to my school?
Posted by Tenement Don at 11:07 AM
9/6
Two barber shops diverged in a one block radius
I am constantly getting bad haircuts. I just got back from getting my latest. There are two barber shops on my block and I think I chose wrong.
I walked over to the chair as the guy was sweeping up. I damn near flipped the thing over when I stepped onto the footrest and the whole thing came up off the hairy floor. The barber dropped his broom and scooped me up like I was a friggin' damsel in distress. Everyone was staring at me. I think maybe even people on the sidewalk saw it through the window. And aren’t the chairs supposed to be bolted to the floor?
“So, you want a Caesar cut?”
Whoa. Whoever said that? “That's the one with the bangs, right?” He didn’t respond, so I continued. “No. No. You can just buzz it.”
“So, just a little off the sides?”
“No, you can buzz the whole thing. I usually do a 2 all around and a 4 on top.”
He is a barber, for crying out loud, so I assumed he knew what I was talking about. As he worked on my hair, I could just tell that he wasn’t using the right settings.
“You can go shorter,” I said.
“So, you want me to cut less hair off?”
“No, I mean you can cut it shorter.”
“But I already buzzed this half…”
He clearly had no idea what I was talking about. Finally, someone who wasn’t such a moron explained what I meant and he finally got it right – kinda. There is something that looks off about it. Maybe it is longer on one side. Maybe my head’s misshapen. Could the floor be slanted? I don’t know. I keep finding hairs he missed just sticking straight out. And I think he cut the back of my neck with the razor blade, but I haven’t taken a look. The mirror he gave me was so dirty that I couldn’t see shit, but I still nodded approvingly and said, “Looks good. Thanks.”
Later on, my dad and I walked over to my school, which is conveniently close for days I’m running late or skipping class. It takes up practically the whole block and is surrounded by really tall prison-style gates, which were, ironically, wide open. Because everything else around it is so big, it’s hard to tell if this school is bigger or smaller than my real school. Guess I’ll find out tomorrow. My dad offered to walk me to school on the first day. I had to beg him not to. I’ll be fine. He’ll probably stalk me anyway.
Posted by Tenement Don at 4:38 PM
9/7
How could I ever like it here?
We went for breakfast at a place called Renaissance a couple blocks up. We got a booth at the window and four giant sticky menus. I tried to order coffee, but that didn’t fly. Great home fries, good over-easy egg, shitty, under-toasted English muffin. I walked in on an old guy taking a dump in the bathroom. He wasn’t reading a newspaper or anything. He was just sitting there staring at the door as if waiting for someone to bust in. Nobody forgets to lock the door, especially when you’re taking a shit. That was horrifying.
During breakfast, my parents explained again how money was going to be tight because we have to pay rent here and all the other bills back home too. Okay, I get it: we’re poor, we’re broke, no more doctor visits, no new shoes, and probably no more food or something. Is this our last meal? Is that what they’re getting at? If so, I would have ordered something way better.
“I think I hate it here,” I told them. “I’ve thought about it and I can’t see how I will ever like it.”
Their forks dropped at the exact same moment. My mom’s eventually fell onto the floor. “Don’t say stuff like that! Don’t you know we’re doing our best here?” I couldn’t even see her face since she was practically under the table, but I know the look she was giving me. The look like I’m the worst kid on the planet and she wants to slap me or something. When she got back up and fixed her hair she tried to repeat it, “Donnie, we’re doing the best we can.”
“Mom, yeah, I heard you. You just said that. No offense, guys, but this is definitely not doing the best you can. You could have figured out a way for me to stay at home.”
“Inside voices,” my sister said. I rolled my eyes and told her to shut up.
“Mom, Dad, don’t you think it’s a little weird that Craig and Lisa are willing to watch our dog, but not their own niece and nephew? I could have stayed at home and they could have just checked in on me if they didn’t want me to live in their house. I would have been willing to go over for dinner every night to prove I’m not dead or in jail. I’m not an idiot, you know. I could’ve handled myself. Do I deserve all this? I mean, I just don’t get why we’re all here. How come Dad couldn’t’ve just come alone?” As I said that last part, I knew I went a little too far.
My mom was too busy looking around the restaurant to see how many people were staring at us to respond, but my dad said, “You know what? There are plenty of fathers out there who would love to skip out on their family for a few months. That’s not me. That’s not how this family works. You know that. This is the best decision for our family. It really is. You don’t see that? We get a chance to live, for a little while, in the greatest city in the world.”
“That’s debatable.”
His laugh sounded like a snore and he shook his head. “What do you know? We just got here. Why don’t you give it a chance?”
“This place doesn’t deserve a chance. It’s loud, it’s dirty, it’s crowded. Our apartment sucks, I have to share a room with her…”
My family decided to humor me and sat back to listen to the rest of my rant. “I can’t stop stepping on the back of people’s shoes while I’m walking, we don't know anyone here, we have no money, there's nowhere to hang around, I miss Stone, I wanna see my friends, I wasn’t allowed to bring any of my stuff, I wish I had my bike, and now I’ll never get my license.”
“Wow,” my mom said. “Is that all?”
“Jesus, Don. Anything else?” my dad wondered.
“I hate you guys for ruining my life.”
My sister reached for more syrup and announced, “I like it here. I just wish I remembered to bring my unicorn nightgown.”
Ugh. I shimmied my way out of the booth and walked back to the apartment. Since I don’t have a key yet, I had to sit on the curb like an idiot waiting for them to finish breakfast. When she got to the building, my mom kissed my head and unlocked the door. My dad squeezed my shoulder. “Trust me,” he said. “It’ll be an adventure.”
Posted by Tenement Don at 9:05 AM
9/7
Before heading out to Central Park, we picked up sandwiches from across the street. “Please tell me we aren’t having a family picnic,” I pleaded. They ignored me. But I didn’t need them to answer because, let’s face it, I knew it was true. My mom and my sister split a tuna sub, my dad ordered something called a Cuban, and I got a salami and provolone. We put our stuff on the counter.
Clerk: Hey, buddy. How you doin’? Those sodas cold?
(I thought he was asking in an ‘I hope they’re cold enough for you’ way)
Dad: Yeah, they’re pretty cold.
Clerk: Are they from the floor or the fridge?
Dad: The fridge. Why?
Clerk: The ones from the fridge are more expensive.
Dad: Are you serious? Why the fu…
Clerk: Look, that’s just the way it is, man. I don’t do the pricing. But it costs my boss money to keep sodas cold.
Dad: So I’m chipping in for his electric bill?
Clerk: Yeah, I guess so. If that’s the way you want to look at it. You want these drinks or not? You want to exchange them for warm ones?
Dad: Warm sodas? No. We’ll take these, I guess.
Trying to enter the park at busy Columbus Circle, I got rammed into by a skateboarder, which caused my sandwich to come flying out of the plastic bag from the deli. And before I had a chance to grab it from the ground, the sandwich got run over by a kid on a longboard. As he whizzed on by to catch up with friends, he took a wadded up five dollar bill from his pocket, threw it toward me and shouted, “Sorry, dude. Was that your lunch?” Five bucks out of nowhere? I wasn’t so mad all of a sudden. And I still ate my roadkill sandwich anyway.
We set up shop on a hill with a view of the baseball diamonds. How the hell do they end up on these teams? Some were all kids, a couple were all grown-ups, and others looked to be all-ages. While a team or two wore professional style uniforms, most were wearing street clothes. And the fields were so close that if anyone got a really good hit, someone playing in another game on another field would have to catch the ball and throw it back into their game. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. After most of the games wrapped up (and I couldn’t tell who won any of them), we packed up and moved on.
My sister almost shit her pants when she saw a merry-go-round. I laughed out loud when my parents asked if I wanted to go on with them. They’re already making me share a room with my sister; I have to draw the line somewhere with these people. I declined their lame offer, but they were nervous to leave me alone outside the ride. I pointed out two cops and all the families around. They headed inside, but they turned back ten times on the way in and every time their horses rode by me.
There was a guy, maybe 50 years old, on a bench across from me. He was wearing a watch with a fabric band, some orthopedic sneakers, worn and saggy Wranglers, and a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. He asked the popcorn guy if there was a washroom nearby. I’m sure he was a really nice guy and everything, but he seemed very touristy. No shame in that, but it made me wonder – is that what we look like? Do we look like the geeky tourist family they make fun of on TV? Were we walking shoulder to shoulder and taking up the whole sidewalk? I think maybe we were. Were we slowing down and pointing at things while people were rolling their eyes behind us? I bet so. Oh, this is embarrassing. I wonder how long it takes to go from tourist to local.
There were about a million dogs in the park today. It made me really miss Stone. My cousins tried to set up their webcam yesterday, but it wasn't working. My aunt and uncle say that Stone is doing okay, but he isn't eating much. Well, if they aren’t feeding him table scraps, that’s the problem right there.
Posted by Tenement Don at 10:48 PM
9/8
I’ve never had a peephole before. Now, let’s not get all pervy. I mean in my door, to look out into the hall, you know, like they do in the movies. Usually it’s nothing to write home about. People up, people down, deliveries and sweeping. And most of the time, it’s just nothing. Anyway, I was about to check out the hallway action this morning, but I couldn’t see anything. I yanked open the door and it was the strangest thing. Someone had torn off the corner of a paper towel and taped it over our peephole. Why?
My little sister was freaked out and convinced that a murderer put it there so he wouldn’t have any witnesses. The logic isn’t too bad for a kid. But, her theory had a few holes in it. For starters, I didn’t see a body and we hadn’t heard any screams either. I told her a murderer has bigger things to worry about than people watching through the peephole. If he felt he needed to, he’d just kill the witnesses anyway. But killers know that most witnesses would be too scared to call the police. Plus, he can’t waste time covering up somebody’s peephole when he has to figure out what to do with the body and how to clean up the blood. She ran off crying and I got yelled at for scaring her.
Later on, we went on a family excursion to get some cleaning stuff and school supplies at Duane Reade. My dad and I were walking down an aisle, he stopped and picked up some Stridex with one hand and Clearasil with the other and casually asked, “So should we pick up some of this stuff while we’re here? I used this stuff like it was going out of style when I was a teenager.”
Oh, shoot me now. It was like he was reading off a cue card for a terrible, awful commercial. The sad thing is that he probably had rehearsed it in his head all morning. I started having flashbacks to the deodorant incident of ‘08. I know that my skin is a greasy pit of zits floating in oil. Trust me, I know. But conversations like this are much more embarrassing than the zits themselves. “I’ve got some at home,” I said, even though I don't.
As we are trying to set up the apartment, we’re finding more and more wrong with it. In the light, you can see exactly where someone dropped the iron and melted the carpet – four times. Our bathroom window doesn’t stay up, but I figured out that you can prop it open with the plunger. The only problem is that the window overlooks the air shaft/garbage pit. So, that’s a nice treat. We get a breeze, but, like, a foul breeze. The bathroom door doesn’t close all the way, and like I said, it’s right off the living room. If someone is sitting on the right side of the couch, they have a clear view of anyone on the toilet. I learned that the hard way.
I can’t believe I have to start school tomorrow. I feel like puking. Tomorrow at school's gonna be a foul breeze, if you ask me.
Posted by Tenement Don at 7:23 PM
9/9
Lunch was pretty much the worst.
They bribed a student council type named Mike to eat lunch with me so I didn’t end up sitting alone crying in a corner someplace on my first day. What ended up happening was far worse.
When I stepped into the cafeteria, the first thing that I thought was: recreation time in the prison yard. The wide open space, people wandering around aimlessly, screaming for no reason, fights breaking out, mock fights, conversations that look like they could turn into fights…
Mike led me over to a huge round table in the middle of the cafeteria, not one of the smaller rectangular tables that lined the perimeter. About ten or twelve guys were at or around the table already. Of those sitting, some were eating, others were messing with iPods and one was actually asleep. I put my stuff down and grabbed a seat. I looked around the table and saw that everyone else was eating chips, fries, cookies or nothing at all. Suddenly, I felt really lame with my insulated lunch bag. I quickly pulled it onto my lap and casually dragged out my sandwich. I prayed that my mom hadn’t written one of her special notes on my napkin.
Mike sat down next to me for a second. “Guys, this is…. uh… I’m sorry, man, I forgot…”
“Donnie,” I told them, feeling stupid because I could tell that nobody cared.
A few of the guys said hi and that was it. No one was talking to me, but I followed the conversation and acted like I was involved even though I had no idea who or what they were talking about. Then, without warning, Mike jumped up, sending his chair flying backwards at least two feet and then he headed toward the other side of the room, “Yo – Stevens! What the hell? You never texted me back last night.”
It’s not like I even knew Mike, but sitting with those guys that I really, really didn’t know at all, I felt stupid. No one was looking at me. In fact, it was like I wasn’t there at all. No one even considered talking to me.
Mike never came back.
Slowly, one by one, everyone left the table. I pretended to be too focused on my food to notice. By the end of lunch, though, I was sitting completely alone at the giant round table in the middle of the cafeteria.
Posted by Tenement Don at 6:05 PM
9/10
I was pulled out of math class and sent to the office. The security guard announced me and I was promptly buzzed in. That was weird. The office at my real school doesn’t even have doors and people wander in and out all day long.
A woman slammed the phone on the counter, “Donald?”
I nodded.
She snapped at me, “Your parents did your registration forms all wrong. Call home because someone's gotta get in here today. If people could follow directions, they wouldn’t have to come in and do it all over again.”
Calm down, I thought. “Okay,” I said.
“We don’t even have a phone number on record for you.”
“Yeah, it just got hooked up.”
“Well, hurry up and call. Period’s almost over and I’m not writing you a late pass.”
I picked up the receiver, went to dial and realized, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MY PHONE NUMBER IS!
The woman went off to do some other stuff, but she did look up at me a couple of times which made me nervous. I was thinking, I was thinking, I was coming up empty. I knew it had a lot of sevens, nines and sixes in it. Here goes nothing…
976-9767 – Nope
769-7976 – Nope
679-6979 – Nope
She was still watching me. I was panicking.
“Can I dial long distance? I can try my mom’s cell.”
“No long distance.”
“Damn!”
“Watch your language, boy.”
969-7679 – Nope
796-9769 – Nope
697-7966 – Nope
The woman came back over. “Not home?”
“Yeah, no answer.”
“Okay, well, write your phone number down and we’ll try her later.”
What choice did I have? I wrote down a fake number.
Posted by Tenement Don at 5:12 PM
9/11
The peephole bandit returned. This morning there was a Band-Aid over the peephole. What the hell? I pulled it off and looked around my hall. It’s not like I’m scared or anything, but it is weird. I wonder who keeps doing this. I don’t know any of my neighbors. I hear doors slam and stuff, people clomping up and down the stairs, but I have never seen anyone coming or going down my hall. Well, that’s not entirely true. I was climbing out onto the fire escape the other day just to check it out and a saw someone’s foot popping back inside the window next door. My mom caught me out there and screamed as if she found me strangling a cat. She made me come back in and swear I’d never go out there again. They’re always on fire escapes in the movies. Mine is rusted and rotting, but I still can't promise I won't go back out there. There is something really, really cool about being above the street, just watching everything and everyone. Plus, how cool would it be if I started to fall but was able to grab onto the last rung and had to pull myself back up before the whole thing detached from the side of the building?
School sucks. It’s so huge. There are rules that everyone knows but me. Some halls are one way. Some staircases are up only. My classes are so far away from each other that it’s impossible to be on time. I already got in trouble ten times for this, that or the other.
I skipped lunch and hid out in the library. They have desks with these half cubby holes. I slanted mine ever so slightly, so that from the circulation desk I couldn't be seen at all. Pretty sweet. I read the newspaper.
Posted by Tenement Don at 4:06 PM
9/12
My sister and I went to the deli to get coffee and breakfast. We’re supposed to be saving money, but something’s wrong with our fridge, so cold stuff is iffy. No cheddar omelets around here. And when my mom went to run the water for coffee, we (from the other room) heard a hissing sound and then a blast from the sink. My mom shouted, “Brown water, black specks. Brown water, black specks.” She was pretty much paralyzed with horror. I’d hate to see her in a real emergency. So, coffee was out and she sent us downstairs.
Again the kid was working. The one who likes to overcharge. I am still not sure if it’s legal for him to even be working because there is no way he’s older than eleven. Dad wanted an egg and cheese on a roll with bacon (money bags), my mom wanted a bialy, which she says is like a bagel, but it doesn’t look like a bagel to me. My sister got a muffin and I got a buttered roll. It came to twelve bucks with the coffees, which felt kind of expensive for what we got. The kid tried to charge us for large coffees. It's dumb to try to scam someone on something so obvious.
Today, we went on a free walking tour of the statues of Central Park. We met up with the tour guide at the Boathouse, which is really a restaurant. There were six other people on the tour with us: one couple and a few randoms. We walked along. We saw a sled dog, a couple of people on horses and a guy with a falcon. Remember, we’re talking statues here. Once we got to Bethesda Fountain it started to rain a little bit. Everyone but us and an old lady left. The tour guide pointed out small things near the stairs that I would walk right by if someone hadn’t pointed them out.
When we got to the Alice in Wonderland sculptures, the woman started telling us her whole life story. She said that she has lived in the same apartment on the Upper East Side for 39 years. She pointed to her building, but I couldn’t tell which one she meant. She said that when her daughter was a kid, she used to bring her to these sculptures and take her picture every year so she could see how much she’d grown. She said her daughter now lives in Arizona and she hopes she can bring her grandchildren here someday, when she has some.
It started raining harder. She and the tour guide were talking about a hawk named Pale something who ‘lives’ at a nearby building when she abruptly ended the conversation by practically shouting as she sped away, “It’s raining too hard. I just got my hair done yesterday!”
The tour guide turned to my dad and said, “What about you guys?”
My dad turned to us, “You guys in?”
We all nodded. I mean, we were wet already.
“Yeah, we’re in,” Dad confirmed.
“Okay, let’s go. Many more things to show you. Yeah, some people act like they’ve never seen rain before.”
We saw a few more statues and then we started talking about the park in general. He told us all about the people who live in the park at night. There is a very woodsy place called the Ramble that is so dark and out of the way that a lot of homeless people can sleep there at night and never get caught. He said they don’t have the man power to catch everyone. It’s probably not a priority either, I’m guessing. He also told us a bunch of crazy stuff about animal population control in the park and some interesting facts about bird migration.
The tour concluded, but not before the guide asked us to donate to the Conservancy. Seems like a worthwhile cause. Maybe next time. When we get rich, we’ll adopt a bench, I promise.
We got a little lost leaving the park and ended up going out by Strawberry Fields. Still, even in the rain, that Imagine circle was surrounded by hippies with acoustic guitars trying to light candles with wet matches.
Posted by Tenement Don at 2:19 AM
9/14
In English class we went to learn how to use the library. Isn’t this something a high school kid should already know? It’s not hard. I took a seat on the far side of the room near the window. I was putting my books on the floor and settling into my seat when a kid from across the room took a bag from a chair, chucked it in my general direction and yelled out, “Go long.” You gotta keep in mind, I’m not a sports guy and didn't even know what that meant. It wasn’t until I saw the purse flying at my face that I realized he was talking to me. I caught it, thankfully. Imagine if I hadn’t. He seemed like the kind of guy that would’ve made fun of me until I cried. Which I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t’ve cried.
A good looking girl I didn’t even know was in my class marched over. “Asshole,” she said as she snatched the bag from my hand.
“Me? Hey, I just caught it. That guy's the one who threw it and stole your seat.”
“Ich, shut up,” she added.
The funny thing is that by this time, the library had really filled up and the only seat open was at my table. She just cursed my existence and now had to sit right next to me.
Posted by Tenement Don at 5:35 PM
9/16
I was at my locker and a kid I’ve never met (easy to say since I’ve barely met anyone) started talking to me.
Kid: I was new last year and hated it. I still do.
Me: Oh yeah...
Kid: It’s weird because everyone’s really interested in you at first, but then they lose interest. Like that (he snapped, for effect).
Me: Well, I’m only here for a year. I don’t really care if people ignore me. I kind of like being alone anyway.
Kid: Suit yourself.
It was a weird conversation. For being such a big school, I am surprised anyone realizes I’m new. And, for the record, no one seems too interested in me.
Posted by Tenement Don at 9:37 PM
9/17
It turns out that the girl from the library is also in my science class. Today, inexplicably, unbelievably, crazily, strangely, she sat next to me. And she was acting all chummy.
Alana: Did we have a lot of notes yesterday?
Me: Just a page. You can borrow them if you want.
Alana: Are you sure? Thanks, but I won’t see you ‘til Monday – We’re doing a long weekend.
Me: That’s okay. I don’t need them. It’s mostly balancing equations anyway. You know, yesterday, the teacher actually called on you for one of them, but you weren’t here. Obviously.
Alana: Ha. Yeah, I don’t think she knows any of our names yet.
Me: She kept calling you and calling you. Your friends, I guess they’re your friends, kept telling her you weren’t here and finally she was like, 'Oh, right. Of course.' As if she knew all along.
Alana: Senile.
Then the conversation pretty much ended and she went to sit with her friends. Is she using me for my notes? How come she doesn’t want their notes?
Posted by Tenement Don at 3:52 PM
9/20
We took the subway for the first time today. Well, my first time. We walked over to 8th Avenue and took the C train to West 4th and then caught the F train. Now, we all know that hanging out with your parents is embarrassing enough. Toss in trying not to seem touristy on the subway and it’s enough to make me want to curl up in a ball and roll away. My dad in his khakis and tucked in shirt, and my mom in her mom outfit. Actually, it was the way she held her purse that bothered me.
I gripped onto a pole in the middle of the aisle trying to seem like I live here. It was grimy and I had to hold it up absurdly high because that’s where the grossness started to taper off. After about three minutes, though, my arm was going numb. I noticed some people perfectly balancing without having to hold onto anything. I tried it when the train stopped and I stumbled backwards like a jerk once it started going again. Lesson learned.
My dad was obsessively inspecting the subway map. I know it seems dumb and no one probably even noticed or cared, but I was so embarrassed. All I kept saying in my head was ‘Dad, we already looked it up before we left. Please, please shut up, sit down and try to blend in. It’s five stops to West 4th and then two stops to 2nd Avenue. That’s it. There are little kids riding the subway alone who have it figured out.’ He kept talking and talking to me as he pointed to the map and asked me dumb questions. I responded with eye bulges, the tiniest nods my neck would allow, a few mumbles and three grunts. I was trying so damn hard to make it seem like I wasn’t really with him. He’s used to that by now. It’s how I act at the movies, the mall and restaurants. I know it was rude, but I really can’t help it. Parents should know better.
We met up with a group outside of Katz’s for a tour of the Lower East Side, where we'd learn about immigrants living the American dream and all that. There was a mohawked German guy that everyone assumed was the tour guide. I don’t know what it was, but he had a tour guide look; he seemed like he’s from the Lower East Side. Or maybe it was that he was tall. We only learned he wasn’t the guide when a short Italian lady showed up and yelled at us to move closer together and stop blocking the door to the deli. “If you can’t feel someone’s breath on your neck, you aren’t standing close enough,” she told us before physically shoving us into each other.
We stood in front of Katz's for about fifteen thousand years. She did all that lame get-to-know-you stuff. As if I care where other people are from. There was a family in front of us who claimed to be from Chicago, but they were all wearing Massachusetts gear. Martha’s Vineyard this, Red Sox that. Are they from Chicago, Boston or what? It did feel kind of cool to say that we were from New York. But when she asked the locals specific questions we didn’t know the answers to, it felt less cool. She talked about bohos and bobos and then I think she started making stuff up.
Total bust. It turned out to be a boring walking lecture on local artists and buildings built during the 80s. The 1980s. This lady had us looking at the cracks in the sidewalk, which she claimed were done on purpose. Not what we had in mind. She had people heading inside an apartment building to check out the elevator. Actually, she told us to give the doorman five bucks and he’d love to let us check out the gilding. Check out the fucking gilding? A few losers did just that, but we ditched the tour at that point, got Mister Softee and headed back home.
Posted by Tenement Don at 2:08 PM
9/21
My mom got her first call home from my sister’s school today. Natalie auditioned for chorus and didn’t make it. She wrote a song about her misfortune to be sung to the tune of “Jingle Bells” from the point of view of the music teacher about my sister’s awful singing. A girl in her class snatched the lyrics and gave it to the teacher, who thought my sister wrote it about the girl who did make chorus. She’s in big trouble at school, but none at home. My parents get it. Anyway, I thought it was too funny to not post.
Singing through your nose
Screeching from your face
In my ears it goes
Talent not a trace
Try out, yes you did
Make it, there’s no way
Have a terrible, lousy voice
Believe me when I say
Oh, your voice stinks, your voice stinks
You won’t sing for me
Chorus is just not for you
The whole school does agree
Your voice stinks, your voice stinks
You won’t sing for me
Chorus is just not for you
The whole school does agree
Posted by Tenement Don at 11:04 PM
9/22
Before school, everyone waits outside the building, but inside a fence. I followed the herd for a couple of days, but didn’t have anyone to talk to and just hung out near the fence pretending to listen to my Walkman. I couldn’t really listen to it though, because I was afraid there would be an announcement or something that I needed to hear. I felt dumb and alone on that blacktop with no friends, so I stopped doing that.
I still leave for school at the same time, but I have changed my routine. I have been walking within a two block radius of school getting coffee from the different coffee carts and delis trying to find the best coffee and best deal. One cart on 50th has weak coffee for fifty cents and a deli on 10th has stronger weak coffee for 75 cents. None of the places I have tried have actual strong coffee, but a few do have good buttered rolls. So, that’s my new routine. I usually kill half an hour just roaming around, watching store owners sliding up their gates and people doing their thing. It’s amazing how much is going on before 8 o’clock. People are getting their hair cut, their shoes shined, having a full-on breakfast at the diner, getting pants hemmed in the window of the dry cleaner, even browsing in stores. All before work. How early do these people get up?
I could have sworn that Alana purposely walked past my desk today when she was coming back from the bathroom. Writing that now, I realize how dumb it sounds. There's no way. I haven’t even talked to her since she returned my notes anyway. I'm sure she doesn't like me or know my name.
My cousin finally figured out the camera so we could see Stone on the computer. He looked good. They put the laptop on the floor and he sniffed and licked and got confused. They said he is eating better now and has been playing with the dog down the street. I think about him a lot, but I feel guilty I don’t think of him more.
Posted by Tenement Don at 6:41 PM
9/23
Interesting choice doing head checks for lice on the same day as class pictures.
I didn’t go crazy or anything, but I did try on a couple of different shirts before school today. I don’t know why I keep taking these things because I don’t think that my parents have ever sent out a single picture to a family member in my life.
During homeroom, they lined us up single file and the nurse walked the line inspecting heads with a tongue depressor. “You’re okay; good; all right; looking good; looks fine; you’re fine; all set; looking good; um, wait a second – step aside, please.”
I was embarrassingly and loudly pulled from the line and sent home from school. The nurse basically treated me like a leper and I was told I couldn’t come back to school until I was deloused. Yep, she said that. I really felt like an animal. We don’t have doctors here yet, so my mom and I spent a good two hours waiting to be seen at the health center on the next block. Mom claimed to be convinced that I really didn’t have lice, yet she was absolutely leaning away from me the whole time.
We finally got into the exam room and the doctor ran a florescent light over my head a couple of times. “It’s definitely not lice. I have to say, it looks like dandruff to me.”
I don’t know what’s more embarrassing - people at school thinking I have lice, actually having dandruff, buying dandruff shampoo at the pharmacy, or the doctor’s note I have to bring to school explaining my dandruff.
Posted by Tenement Don at 8:54 PM
9/24
School sucks. What else can I say about it? It somehow gets worse every day, and yet I care less and less – if that makes any sense. The kids in my history class are especially out of control. They talk whenever they want. They just get up in the middle of class and leave. Some yell stuff out the window. A few girls hang out in the back of the room and dance. Yes, they literally practice dance routines in the back of the room.
They talk and talk and talk and waste entire periods. The teacher tries to get their attention. She gives them speeches on their futures and they aren’t even listening. Even the kids who seem smart and have potential don’t care.
The teacher was yelling so loudly today that her voice cracked. “Yo, Miss, your voice just cracked.” Someone else added, “It’s cuz she’s a white-ass crack-uh.” I even had to laugh at that one, but I felt bad when for the rest of the period, from whispers to shouts, kids were still calling her a cracker. And worse.
Posted by Tenement Don at 9:51 PM
9/25
My English teacher gave us partners for a peer-editing activity. The weird kid sitting by the door was all of a sudden the weird kid sitting next to me.
First of all, his name is Mrogwyn, pronounced Morgan. That’s not a typo. Given the strange way his parents thought to spell their son’s name, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that he spells like he does. It must be an inherited trait.
ficture = future
persent = present
quesse = guess
hirining = ironing
drak = dark
karitlorz = characters
Smryie = summary
These really are real; I was secretly jotting them down as I read his paper. I’m not exactly sure what to think. As horrifying as it is, I am not surprised. From what I’ve seen, the kids here don’t follow directions, don’t listen, don’t read, don’t do their homework, don’t do their class work and, in turn, don’t seem to know anything. I’m an okay student at home, but here I am a complete genius. If I stay any longer, though, I might start to lose brain cells.
Posted by Tenement Don at 7:57 PM
9/26
I'm really not a peeping-tom
Last night I slept for about ten seconds; I was just thinking about stuff. Plus, my sister was having a weird dream and was talking in her sleep. By the sound of it, the princesses needed dangly earrings and didn’t want to leave the roller-skating party. Of course that’s what my sister dreams about.
I listened to music for a while and got bored, then got some cereal. I tried to unfold the inside bag as quietly as I could. I opened the fridge just enough to slide the milk out without shining light into the whole apartment. Then, I brought the cereal back to my bed and looked out the window while I ate.
The horse-drawn carriages clip-clopped down the street like they do. People were coming from bars, grabbing a bite to eat, talking way too loud on their cell phones. Delivery trucks were dropping things off on the sidewalk, guys were opening up their gates, people were hosing down the outsides of their stores, bikes were whizzing by. Taxis were picking people up, dropping people off. All that action, but it’s not as loud as you’d think. In fact, it was so quiet at that time of night, I could hear the ch-ch-ch of cabbies printing out receipts, door buzzers and even people dropping stuff into the trash.