I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
Sometimes the ones you love will do you a favor and give pieces of yourself back to you.
They will forgive, and instead of forgetting, remember how hard times were, shake their heads, and keep loving you despite your tendency to be a fallible human being.
Someday I hope somehow says to you, “You know, I really wanted to hate you and stay angry, but I want to be your friend. I’m going to be your friend.”
My dad has been in town the last few days, and I’ve been more places and eaten more meals in this time than I have in a while. It’s not that I let myself starve or fester in the apartment, but there are nights when I just eat cereal and read myself to sleep. O, ye glamorous New York life!
Clouds hang heavy,
sagging low like teats -
rain is set to spill.
The clean, unfamiliar
smell a friendly warning,
the way you sigh, roused
before the shrill cry
of the alarm, the way
my mother would wake me.
It’s a small, small world.
Her name was Mrs. Anderson, and she had a moustache. She went into our Texas History class to substitute one day in 1995, and I’m sure she still hasn’t recovered.
After writing about my laundry debacle and my mom’s subsequent rescue, I keep recalling another time my mom bailed me out.
My mom had to talk me off a ledge last night.
I hurried home after Saturday school to meet the dad that bought the exersaucer on Craigslist. Then I cleaned up my room, ran to Duane Reade to buy some detergent, and did laundry at the apartment. One of the greatest amenities of my apartment, besides the location and proximity to everything, is the washer and dryer in our kitchen. Free laundry is a beautiful thing…or so I always thought. I triumphantly crossed all the lines off the to-do list only to find later that the washer ruined some of my whites. My two white undershirts were gray. My white pillow case was ecru. A light pink nightskirt now had blue-gray bruises all over the front.
My dad believes that moving to New York is a big step down from living in Texas. I understand that people in Texas have a lot more discretionary income, the housing is more affordable, the cities are cleaner, the public schools are better, but as far as I’m concerned, those factors don’t outweigh that New York City is really happening. I enjoy my public transportation, landmarks, constant flurry of activity, and liberal politics. I can’t imagine ever raising a family in this city, because of how hard it is to live comfortably here, but I’m really excited that I moved. When I go to Times Square - which I generally detest for its commercialism and overcrowding - I’m still awe-struck. I look up at the buildings miles above me and think, “I live here?”
The pound of rain roused me last night. I smiled half-awake, rolled over, and returned to slumber. Nothing makes me sleep more soundly than knowing that I am warm and comfortable inside when it is wet and cold outside.
Being here isn’t just about making new connections. It’s also about trying to maintain old ones, despite the distance. This isn’t easy and I miss a lot of the people I used to see daily or at least more regularly than I do now.
