Such A Funny Way

Chapter One- Fire Escape

Hi. My name is Miška and this is the story of how we grew up.

We moved to New York three weeks ago, which still feels like it happened yesterday or to different people. The kind of people who are braver, louder, more prepared. People who don't wake up at two in the morning convinced they've made a terrible mistake.

Our apartment is on the fourth floor of a narrow building that smells like old paint, fried onions, and something metallic I can never quite place.The stairwell groans when you walk up, like it's protesting every step. There's fire escape outside the living room window. Rusted, technically illegal-looking. When it rains, the drops hit it in sharp,nervous rhythms.

It's small. But it's ours.

Two bedrooms, technically. If you count a room that fits a bed, a desk and exactly one emotional breakdown at night as a bedroom. The kitchen is a suggestion more than a space. You can cook pasta and eggs but not at same time. And definitely not while someone is trying to make coffee. The bathroom door doesn't close properly unless you lift it slightly and lean your shoulder into it. Which both me and Monika refuse to do out of principle.

"This is how horror movies start." she said the first night, staring at them like they had personally offended her.
Still, we were smiling. Too much. Smiling like people who don't want to admit how much they just gave up.

We live together, like we always said we would when we were still in Slovakia and New York was just a dream that tasted expensive in our mouths. We have our own rooms, which feels luxurious and very adult, even if the walls are so thin I can hear her breathing when she's asleep. Or maybe I imagine it just to remind myself I'm not alone.

My room is on the left. Hers is on the right. I claimed mine first because I needed the window. I told her it was about light, which was partly true. But mostly it was about the fire escape. I like knowing there's a way out. Even if I never plan to use it.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

I'm the clean one.
That was clear on day two.

I unpacked everything immediately. Clothes folded. Shoes aligned. Books stacked by height, then by emotional level. My desk is clear expect for my laptop, a notebook full of lines, and a mug I don't drink from because it reminds me of home. I vacuumed the rug bought secondhand, wiped the counters and lit a candle that smells like vanilla and false optimism.

Monika unpacked one box.
Then another.
Then she gave up.

Her room looks like a crime scene of someone who was murdered by their own ambitions. Clothes everywhere. Open suitcases. Papers already piled in dangerously high piles. Empty coffee cups multiplying like bacteria.

"You're stressing me out." I told her, standing in her doorway.
"You're welcome." she said, not looking up from her phone.

She's brilliant. Truly. Biology and chemistry. Double major like it's a casual decision. She talks about molecules the way other people talk about crushes. With certainly. She knows exactly where she's going, even if she pretends she doesn't.

I'm different.
I chose acting.

Which means I chose uncertainty, embarrassment, vulnerability, and the constant suspicion that everyone else knows something I don't.

NYU starts next week. We've walked past the buildings many times already, pretending we belong. Pretending we're not terrified. I stand outside the school theatre sometimes and imagine myself inside, performing, failing, being seen. It makes my stomach flip in a way that feels like hunger.
Monika just looks at the science buildings and says, "Okay. This makes sense."

I envy that.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

At night, when the city gets quiet just enough to hear its own  breath,we get homesick. Not dramatically. Not the way you cry in movies. It's quieter than that. Sneaker.

We miss our families in strange moments. When I make tea and realize it tastes wrong. When Monika needs help with something I can't help her with. When something good happens and there's a pause before we remember there's no one nearby to tell.

We miss our friends too. But most of all, we miss Marco.

Marco would have loved this apartment. He would have hated it at first, obviously. He would have called it "criminal" and "an insult to architecture" and "deeply homophobic". But then he would have sat on the fire escape with a cigarette he would share with us and declare it iconic.

Marco is our favourite twink.
He hates that we call him that.
Which is why we do it.

He used to lie across our beds back home, dramatically recounting his latest heartbreak like he was auditioning for a one-man tragedy. He cried beautifully. He actually learned to cry on cue. He once told us, very seriously, that this ability of his was his favourite quality about himself.

He stayed back home because of his boyfriend. They're actually very serious now. I totally get it. I would do something like that too if l l loved someone that much.

We FaceTime him constantly. He answers at all hours, usually wearing something unhinged.
"Is New York sexy?" he asks.
"It smells." Monika says.
"I knew it." he signs. "God, i miss you."

We miss him too. The way he made everything lighter. The way he made loneliness feel unbelievable instead of real.

Here everything feels real.
Still, we're happy.
For now.

We drink cheap wine on the floor because we don't own chairs yet. We plan future like it's a game we can't lose. We promise each other things we believe will always be true.

"We're going to be fine." Monika says one night, legs crossed, back against the couch we found someone selling for good price and managed to convince him to lower it even more.

"I know." I say.

And I do. I think.

Outside, the city keeps moving. Sirens. Laughter. Someone yelling in language I don't understand. The fire escape rattles in the wind like it's reminding me it exists.

I don't know yet that everything is about to change.
I don't know about Jennifer.
Monika doesn't know about Steve.
I don't know how love will complicate everything we think we understand.

All I know is this:

We came here together.
And for now, that feels like enough.