new york city, sometime in the mid 50s
it's hard to tell where this whole thing started. it's even hard to tell when it ended, or if it even ended. maybe that's just me not wanting to admit that it's over.
i'd like to think it started that evening after dinner with my parents, the scraping of our forks against plates the loudest noise by far. anyone at that table could tell our family was falling apart. it's like we all knew it, but just like the events of this year, we didn't want to accept it. so we scraped our forks against our plates and ate our mac n' cheese, not pretending it wasn't happening, not accepting it, but not trying to cover it up, either.
anyone could've looked through the small windows above the sink at our kitchen table and see none of us were alike, as if we were strangers, refusing to get to know one another. like we weren't a real family, more like one in a commercial between takes. sitting there awkwardly, not knowing how to start a conversation, or maybe not knowing if the silence was better than any crumby conversation that would happen if one of us opened our mouths.
maybe it started after dinner, when i tucked my mom into bed for the last time in my life. maybe it started then because somewhere inside me i knew that this would be the last time, and what started it was the guilt inside me for not telling her. maybe if i told her that night, none of it would've ever happened, and i never would've left her side.
i swept the dinner under the cabinets because i couldn't muster up the strength to see it covering the floor, and not mustering the strength to just put it in the trash and send it away forever. it was just there, but hidden.
my dad was a great guy. a great poet, and also a great negotiator. he brought the mail from the past few days into the house and gave me a look that made my stomach want to join the dust hidden under the cabinets.
"elio," he said, in his calm, terrifying dad voice.
"yeah," i replied, swallowing the excitement and fear built up in my bones.
"were you gonna tell me you applied?"
i started to bite my lip, and my dad adjusted his glasses. i wasn't going to answer the possibly already rhetorical question. it was too late.
i walked slowly over to him, careful to keep my voice low and my steps low and my nerves low, becuase my nerves alone could be enough to wake my mom. he handed me the letter and sat down at the table, the dirty plates i had yet to wash still sat at each place, like a ghost family was still dividing the last portions of the meal. i felt almost bad for sitting down at the table, following my dad's silent gesture to take a seat with him.
opening the letter felt like an impossibly long and unachievable task.
"i got in," i said, more of a breath than a string of words.
my dad smiled. he always dreamed of going to columbia when he was younger, and now i had the chance to do what he never did.
i think that's where it really started, though i might contradict myself later. the words of acceptance, in the end, were the words that changed my life.
my dad didn't say any words of congratulations to me. that wasn't him. instead, he convinced me to promise to come home at least every other weekend to check in on him, but mostly my mom. that was the thing that got me. i knew he wouldn't be able to take care of him and my mom by himself. that's why i agreed.
that's why my dad was such a good negotiator. he didn't have to make any points. he already knew what would make me tick, he just had to infer how to get there.
i don't remember much of the next week or so before i left, because everything felt stiff and forced, the secret between me and my dad melting the glue that was trying to dry and hold everything in place. i spent most of the time out, shopping for new clothes or at the movies. i didn't say a single word to my mom. i didn't tuck her in. i didn't sweep the floor. i just existed until i could finally live.
the bus ride to columbia was hardly memorable. the campus was about an hour drive from my house, which is the only reason i could actually agree to coming home.
i felt like i was in a movie as i walked up to the entrance of columbia. students covering every patch of grass, just living their life as extras in mine.
it started as i walked up to the doors of that building with this feeling in my gut that something incredible was about to happen. i can't explain the mix of joy and anticipation but also worry and disbelief that creates this feeling. but i knew. oh god, and was i right.
i didn't pay much attention to my roommate, some bigger guy who obviously wasn't here to learn, but i don't like to assume things about people.
the first day wasn't much of as an incredible thing as i wished. it was weird not sleeping in my own bed, and even though my roommate spent the night somewhere else, i thought of mom's reaction to my leaving. i didn't even say goodbye. i left before she woke. i decided it was the best thing for the both of us.
it was like that night i was planting a seed in my bed, laying myself in the dirt and letting the fresh ground cover me in a new smell. adapting is not the word i would use, because it was a completely different person that slept in that dorm on the first night then had slept in my bed the previous night. rebirth. a new life, a new skin.
i planted myself in that bed but i was careful not to grow any roots yet, because attachment was dangerous, because it meant removal, and pain, and heartbreak.
i wanted to let my heart blossom before it was broken.
where it really started, and i mean it this time, where this whole thing truly started, was the next day after breakfast. some kind and social seniors were hosting tours for the new freshman. we were the ones that had been waitlisted, and admitted on short notice, arriving almost a month after everyone else.
i didn't apply to any other universities. that same feeling, the one from the from of the building, told me that if i didn't get into this school there was no point in going to any others of its kind because i had already failed.
before it was the success that motivated me.
now it was the adventure.
it was the tour for the new freshman who took our group to their prestigious library. our tour guide, some girl i didn't catch the name of, told our group of nine all about the original copies of numerous classics that the university possessed. they were obviously very proud.
my eyes were not drawn to columbia's collection of classics. instead my ears were pulled aside, to the other side of the room, where a deep and chocolatey sound slowly dripped into my brain and i had no choice but to find and to chew on the owner of this sound.
he had his arms crossed over his chest and broad shoulders that carried the sky. he and some other guy were discussing literature, the guy flipping through a book to find something to back up his point. they were arguing.
the other guy was significantly smaller with a much squeakier, pubescent sounding voice. he was less poised compared to the eye-catching lad who carried his argument with ease. i couldn't even hear what they were talking about, but i didn't care.
he caught me staring, like he could sense someone looking at him. embarrassed, i quickly looked away. but i felt him continue to look at me. i rubbed the back of my neck and tried to keep a smile hidden. it was as if he was silently asking me to look back up at him. so i did.
he was back in his conversation, as if i had left the room. then he glanced back.
that was when it started. the eye contact. it was nothing, just strangers acknowledging each other's presence, but at the same time, in some deeper part of each of their brains, we knew our eyes wanted to see so much more.
there was something so sensual about the way he stood, the way his hair fell and his shirt unbuttoned too far and how he held himself like he knew how to hold himself.
i tried not to stare, because i find starting uncomfortable and personal, but something about him made you want to be personal with him.
our tour moved through the library, and i was left with a tingling in my stomach that was similar to the feeling of incredibly good news or a nice cup of coffee. i felt like i didn't know what to feel, which was odd for me. uncertainty in my emotions was a red flag that whatever was happening or was about to happen shouldn't happen or should be dome some other way where i have control over my body.
losing control meant vulnerability, and if a single moment of eye contact left me with this nameless not-feeling, i didn't even want to think what else would happen with that boy.