When I step outside of my apartment, my neighbor is carrying her three-month old baby in one arm and attempting to fold up a stroller with the other. I stop in front of her and point to the stroller.
"May I?" I ask her.
She nods and lifts the chubby little baby further up her hip. I press a button on the side and collapse it, folding the legs down. My neighbor, Rosa, I believe her name is, sighs in relief and thanks me. I tell her to have a good day and make my way to the elevator down the hall.
My head hurts a little, but not enough to keep me from running. I have to have hobbies, otherwise I'm convinced I'll become a part of my television. Literally. The demon fighting half-angel teens I watch on Tuesday's will capture me or I'll turn into one of those people who can't make plans because "my show is on"
The air outside is crisp and I can actually smell fall in the air over the trash bags lining the sidewalks. Fall has always been my favorite season since I was a kid. I loved waiting for the seasons to change, watching the leaves to go from luscious greens and yellow to crispy brown and burnt orange.
Late summer is football season, which leads to hockey season in October, and hockey season leads to my life being interesting for a little while. Since I was a kid I've admired the underrated season between summer and winter. I've always loved waiting for sports seasons to start, raking the leaves with my mom, and jumping into big messy piles of loose leaves and then stuffing them into plastic bags with pumpkin faces printed on them.
At my house on Clarewood, our small yard was always full of leaves because of the two massive birch trees in the front yard. Fall in Michigan never lasted long enough for my liking. By the third football game, the gloves and coats came out full force. Ice began to cover the windshields of cars and the streets grow quieter at night.
I've always loved the cold weather. Unlike most people, I thrive in it. For me the cold means sports, holidays, and a crap load of sweets in piles on the kitchen counter. Unlike me, Dakota always hated the cold. The way her nose would turn red and her curly hair would dry out, drove her insane. To me, she always looked cute, wrapped up in layers of sweaters and I swear to you, the girl wore mittens in September.
As in mittens, mittens. And I loved them.
The best park to run the track in Brooklyn happens to be the furthest from my apartment. McCarren Park is in Greenpoint, the hippest part of Brooklyn. Full beards and lumberjack flannels come out in troves in this part of the city. They bring their black-framed glasses and tiny little restaurants with dim lighting and small plates of heaven.
I don't quite understand why men in their twenties want to dress like men in their seventies, but the food that surrounds the cool kids here is well worth staring into the black framed glasses of a young man sporting a tycoon inspired mustache. The walk to my favorite park is about twenty minutes from my place, so I usually run there, then run for thirty minutes, and cool down during the walk home.
Less than one minute into running, my knee begins to ache from my fall last night. It's still funny to me, but slightly less now that I have to run on a bruised leg. Thirty seconds later, the pain is shooting from muscle to muscle.
I feel every step.
Forget this. I can't run today. I'm off work today and I don't want to sit in the house on my first Saturday off since I started working there months ago. Tessa has to work tonight. I saw it written on her little planner board she has hanging on the fridge. I pull my phone out and decide to call my mom. She's due any day and I can feel her nerves from here. She'll be the best mom my little sister could be blessed with, whether my worrisome mother believes that or not.
My mom doesn't answer. Well, my only friend is busy and my mom didn't answer. I'm officially a loser. My sneakers hit the pavement and I started counting the steps as I walk. The pain in my knee isn't too bad as long as I'm not walking too fast.
"On your left!" A woman running with a stroller calls as she passes me.
She's pregnant and the stroller has two chubby babies inside. Matching little bows and dribble down their chins tell me that this lady has her hands full.
I have absolutely nothing to do. I'm a twenty -year old college student living in Brooklyn and I have absolutely nothing to do. I feel sorry for myself. Not really, but I would rather wallow and complain about my boring life than make new friends. I don't know where to begin making friends. NYU isn't as friendly as WCU and if Tessa wouldn't have spoken to me first, I probably wouldn't have made any friends there either.
Making friends after high school is hard. The familiar faces I was used to since kindergarten mostly stayed in Saginaw and we've already lost touch. Tessa is the first person I've welcomed a friendship from since Carter. Hardin isn't included in this because he didn't give me much of a choice but to befriend him. He acted like he hated me, but I knew better.
His jealousy of the relationship between his dad and I was the epitome of everything wrong in his life, he felt. It wasn't fair that I got the new and improved version of his alcoholic, cold and uncaring father.
He loathed me for our shared love of sports. He hated the way his dad moved my mom and I into a big house, and he despised the car his dad bought me to drive. I knew he would be a difficult part of my new life, but I had no idea that I would be able to identify with his anger and see through his pain. I didn't grow up in a perfect home like he assumed of me. I had a father who died before I had a chance to know him.
The stories my mom tells me about the man, his name was John David, make me miss him without even knowing him. He was a humble man, she says, who passed away from natural causes at an unfairly young age. I would have been lucky to know him, but I didn't get the chance. Hardin's pain came from a different beast, but at the end of the day, suffering is one thing we shouldn't compare to others.
Pain is capable of coexisting, this I've learned.
The biggest difference between my upbringing and Hardin's falls on our mothers. My mom was fortunate enough to have a good job with the city and my dad had a chunk of life insurance that we were able to fall back on. Hardin's mom worked long hours, barely bringing in enough money to support the two of them. I can't pretend that I know how he felt, hungry stomach and angry mind.
It's difficult for me to imagine Ken the way Hardin knew him when I've only know him as the kind, lighthearted, and sober man he is today. He's done so much for my mom and he loves her as much as anyone could.
He loves her more than liquor and Hardin hated that, but now he understands that it was never a competition. If Ken could have, he would have chosen his son over the bottle, but sometimes people just aren't as strong as we force them to be.
All of Hardin's pain festered and grew into a fire that he couldn't contain. When everything hit the fan and Hardin found out that Ken isn't his birth father, the fire took one last breath, licking at him one last time. He made the choice after that to take control of his life, his actions, and himself.
Whatever his therapist is doing is working, and I'm glad. The processing change in Hardin's behavior has done wonders for my mom, who loves that angry boy as if she gave birth to him.
I should have left a voicemail for my mom.
During my walk I pass a couple holding hands as they walk their dog and feel even sorrier for myself. Should I be dating?
I want the convenience of having someone around all the time, but I'm not sure I could actually date anyone right now. Other than Dakota. The whole dating process just seems so grueling and it's only been six months since Dakota broke up with me.
Is she dating?
Does she want to?
I can't imagine anyone ever knowing me better than her, or making me as happy as she did. She has known me so long and it would take years for anyone to know me as well as she does. I don't have years to wait, I'm not getting any younger here.
The couple stops for a kiss and I look away, smiling because I'm happy for them. I'm happy for the strangers who don't have to spend their nights alone, jerking off in the shower. Gah, I sound bitter.
I sound like Hardin. Speaking of Hardin, I can call him and blow at least five minutes before he hangs up on me. I pull my phone from my pocket and tap on his name.
"Yeah?" he says before the second ring.
How polite of him.
"What a warm welcome."
I cross the street, continuing my aimless walk. I should get to know this neighborhood better anyway, may as well start today.
"Warm as I'm gonna get. Do you need something in particular?" I can hear the forced softness in his voice. It makes me smile.
An angry cab driver shouts out of his window at an elderly woman as she crosses the street in front of his car.
"I'm looking at your future self, actually." I tell him, laughing at my insult.
I watch the scene in front of me to be sure the woman makes it across the street.
"I'm bored and wanted to talk about your trip here," I say into the phone.
"What about it? I haven't booked the flight yet, but I'll be there around the thirtieth."
"Are you staying in a hotel, or at my apartment?" The old woman reaches the other side of the street and I watch her as she takes the steps into what I assume is her place.
"What does she want me to do?" His voice is low, cautious.
"She says she's fine with you staying at the apartment, but if she changes her mind, you know you have to go."
I don't draw many lines between the two of them, but Tessa is the priority in this situation. She's the one I hear crying at night. She's the one who's trying to become whole again. I'm no fool, Hardin is probably even worse off, but he has found himself a support system and a good therapist.Tessa has no one.
"Yeah, I fucking know that," he bites.
I'm not in the least surprised by his annoyance. He can't stand anyone, including me, coming to her rescue. That's his job, he thinks. Even though he's the one I'm protecting her from.
"I'm not going to do anything stupid. I have a few meetings and wanted to maybe hang out with you and her for a while. Honestly, I'm just happy to be in the same state as her."
Instead of pretending that I know all the craziness that went down between them, I focus on the first part of his sentence.
"What kind of meetings? You're moving here already?"
I sure hope he's not. I'm not ready to be in the middle of a war zone again. I thought I would have at least a few more months before the magical forces of insanity brought those two back together again.
"Fuck no I'm not. It's just some shit for something I've been working on. I'll tell you when I have time to explain the whole thing, which is not now. Someone's calling on my other line." He hangs up before I respond.
I look at the time on my screen. Five minutes and twelve seconds, it's a record. I cross the street and shove my phone back in my pocket. When I reach the corner, I look around to gage where I am. I'm still learning to navigate this neighborhood.
"Landon!" A voice yells my name from across the street.
I search the sidewalk and see Dakota.
Damn that woman and her lack of clothing. She's dressed the same as the other day, tight spandex workout shorts and a sports bra. Her chest is on the smaller side, but she has the perkiest tits I've ever seen. Not that I've seen a lot of tits, well, not in person. She's waving at me as she crosses the intersection. If this isn't some sort of fate driven sighting, I don't know what is.
(Author's note: I'm leaving tomorrow for Russia!! I'll be updating from there! This will be my furthest trip I've taken! Where's the furthest place you've traveled? I'll update again on Sunday! xo)