Worlds Apart (21 page)

“David, that being said, you did befriend me, and without sounding too full of myself, you know that I come from a wealthy family and you seem okay with it.”

“I am trying to be comfortable with you. But it’s not like I’m surrounded at Stanton by wealthy kids, who are all going to Europe while I stay at home.” I glanced down, and could feel that the topic had stirred up some emotion. “I’m not the kind of guy that would want to be washing dishes at the college dining hall while everyone else is having dessert or going to a party.”

“Rich people aren’t that bad; they don’t bite, you know. Well, just my father,” Delancey giggled. “Seriously David, a private college can offer you so much more. It’s smaller, more intimate, you get to know more people, the reputation is often better, the alumni associations are better, and there is financial aid.”

“Delancey, I don’t want to be in debt for the next twenty years either. Besides, what could I learn in a private college that I couldn’t learn in a public college? I know that the brand name means something, but having money to pay tuition means even more. My goal is to not be poor, and having all the debt from a private college just seems to undermine that goal.”

“David, you can be anything you want to be, and you can do anything you want to do. The sky is the limit, especially here in New York. But you only go to college once, as a true freshman. I checked out Haverford over last weekend. It’s so beautiful and quaint, and it seems so much better than what I’ve seen elsewhere.” Delancey pointed to her sweatshirt.

“It’s easy for you to say. Sure, you can be anything you want, and do whatever you want, but my goal is to get a career and not end up poor for the rest of my life. Look, Delancey, I’ve already been poor, and now I’d like to see the other side.”

Her face motioned downward as she sipped her coffee, and her beaming eyes looked upwards at me. Her high cheekbones revealed a cordial smirk, and then she said, “See you on the other side.” She had a great sense of humor.

“Don’t think I have it easy. There are so many expectations for me. There is so much pressure. From everyone, even my grandparents. Everyone pulls at me from different directions.” Then she suggested that I talk to her father about money, careers, and colleges.

“Doesn’t he hate me?” I asked.

“Oh…don’t be so insecure. Once he knows you, then he’ll hate you.” Delancey’s devilish grin appeared once more. The waitress brought the check, and I pulled out my wallet.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “It’s my turn; remember, it’s not a date.” She paid the check and we walked to back to Stanton. Her father was picking her up today, and they were going to a Broadway show.

“Which one?” I asked.

“Cats. It’s my favorite,” Delancey beamed. “What’s your favorite?”

“I’ll get back to you on that one.” I smiled, hands in pockets and shrugged my shoulders. I had never seen a Broadway show.

A fancy black car was stopped in front of the school, and Delancey tapped on its window. Her father was in the back seat, and the driver came around and opened the door for her. The car pulled away, and I walked to the subway, trying my best not to get mugged.

The next day at school, Delancey and I agreed that I would walk her home every day after school, as much as possible. It was a good way to spend time together, since I worked Saturdays and Sundays. This agreement came with much argument; after all, we were not dating, and she didn’t want me to cramp her freedom or independence.

We took the subway to the upper west side, and stopped off for hot chocolate at a café near the subway station. Her smoldering eyes were drawing me in deeper and deeper. Delancey couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could I. There was such a genuine innocence in her character; no malevolence toward anyone, and not an ill word from her mouth on any subject at all.

“Aren’t you concerned about Sam or Juan?” she finally asked. “I did see them staring us down in the cafeteria today. What is Sam’s problem?”

“Sam is kind of obsessed with you.”

“In a really creepy way, so I’ve noticed. Juan and I used to be good friends. I turned him down a few times. He really isn’t my type at all. But he is very possessive, and has told everyone that he’s going to the prom with me this year.”

“Well, I’m not concerned with either of them,” I said.

I would rather forget about Juan and Sam completely. But I wasn’t afraid of them or anyone else. If their jealousy ever led to a fight, if they ever wanted to get violent, I was prepared. But I didn’t think that would happen. Juan was the class president, and a natural born politician, with big aspirations, and likely bound for the Ivy League. But he was a fake, always smiling and shaking hands, and you never really knew what he thought. He was the kind of kid that had a thousand people that he called friend and but no one in particular.

As for Sam, one minute he was my friend and the next he was spreading rumors about me. If we ever got into it, so be it, but I planned on staying out of their way if they stayed out of mine. I wasn’t some kind of great fighter or anything, but I wasn’t the kind to back down either. Juan had an entourage with him at all times. I could see trouble coming from his friends, but not from him directly.

“What if Juan and his friends start something?” Delancey asked.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” I said.

Chapter 11

At the café that weekend, I was no longer fascinated with the details of Christine’s gangster life and stories. Christine’s stories really didn’t seem that interesting.

Christine explained that Eddie was expelled from Stanton. She was angry about his punishment and did not see any harm in Eddie firing a shot in the air.

“I didn’t know you and Eddie were so close,” I said.

“You’re the one that was his roommate on your little senior ski trip. Maybe you are closer to him than you think.”

She appeared different. I could see bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep. It was hard to believe she was just a teenager; she looked much older today.

Mike the manager awoke, and did his routine, drank coffee, ate a muffin, splashed cold water on his face. He walked around, trying to manage the employees who actually did the work, and then realized it was nearly one o’clock. He had overslept at work.

Mike asked about school, and I told him about the events of the ski trip, without mentioning Eddie by name.

“You don’t drink?” Mike asked.

“I did have a taste, one drink, but didn’t like it. It wasn’t tempting because it tasted awful. My father’s side of the family are alcoholics, so I’ve been around drunks my whole life. Sometimes I have a drink with my uncles, and my close group of friends. I am just not accustomed to drinking with everyone from school.”

“Were you tempted to smoke pot?” Mike asked.

“I was not really tempted. I have a cousin that sells pot all over the city and I can’t stand him, and there are people on my block that smoke pot on the corner all hours of the night. I’m really not into smoking anything. Besides the ski trip was not the time or the place,” I said.

“Most kids your age are eager to do things to seem cool, but you seem to have been desensitized to these vices. That’s probably a good thing,” Mike said. “When I was your age, I just wanted to drink and try whatever I could. I didn’t grow up where it was always around me. It was a cool thing to do with my friends. But you have a negative association with drinking and pot, so it’s the uncool thing for you.”

Mike asked if I was tempted to get into the fight. I shook my head no. The truth was I was tired of fighting. Every week of my life there was a fight, from bullies and muggers, kids from school, my father, my brother, etc. I really did not want to fight any more. “The people that like to fight don’t really know anything about fighting,” I said. “It’s a way of survival for me, fighting to defend myself, or fighting not to get robbed. Fighting to get home in once piece. But other people just fight to fight, and that’s not me.”

During my lunch break, I went outside and walked onto the brick-paved esplanade. I leaned over the metal railing with the Hudson River underneath it. I had a sandwich with me, and a cup of coffee. I could see the Jersey City skyline, along with a sign for the Colgate factory. A ferry was bringing people across the river from New Jersey. A building called The Winter Garden was in the back drop, and the lack of sunlight made its glass and steel beam construction seem dim.

In the offices above, people were hard at work making millions, just for the sake of making millions. I wondered if I’d ever be one of these people. Some of them were very wealthy, and had high paying jobs. I was a poor high school student from a poor family. My grandparents had been poor, and so were my great grandparents. We were probably poor before that as well. Adults do not have to deal with the uncertainty about the future that I had at seventeen. Adults may have their own set of problems, but they didn’t have school, college applications, and the prom.

A large sail boat pulled into the North Cove Yacht Harbor, just a few yards from where I was standing. The winds picked up, and I shivered. On board was a family, dressed for winter boating, with designer nautical jackets and shoes. They were blonde, blue eyed, and had perfect skin. There wasn’t a trace of wrinkles on the wife’s face, or bags under her eyes. She stood on the bow, and I watched as the wind whipped around, lashing her hair. They lowered their anchor and tied their boat. They had a daughter, a beautiful teenaged girl, with the most extraordinary blue eyes I had ever seen. The women disembarked, and were heading inside to the shops. They walked right past me, but the daughter looked up and smiled. People in Manhattan don’t usually walk by complete strangers smiling. I guess they were not from the city. She was gorgeous, and she reminded me of Delancey. She didn’t look anything like Delancey, but there was an energy about her that was similar. The daughter was my age, and looked it, unlike Christine.

The father then disembarked, and left the son, a teenager, to tie the boat and lower the sails. The father wore brown leather boat shoes, blue jeans, and a thick white wool turtleneck, like a fisherman’s sweater. The father walked by, the wind blowing through his long salt and pepper colored hair. He was a distinguished looking man, with a jaw line made of steel. The father nodded his head to me and smiled as well. Now I was certain they were not from Manhattan. The son was still on the boat. He finished up anchoring, docking, and tying the boat a few minutes later and walked off the dock to join his family.

“That’s a beautiful boat. How long is it?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if he would answer the question. If he was from Manhattan, he would probably ignore me and keep walking.

“Thanks. It is quite beautiful. It’s my Dad’s new toy, a 42-foot Pearson,” he said. He stopped right in front of me, as if he wanted to have a conversation. This was odd, because people from the city usually keep walking away even when they are talking to you. He had decent manners.

“Is it new?”

“My dad bought it a couple of years ago. Usually we sail around Long Island or up to the Cape, but he wanted to see the World Financial Center this weekend.”

The Cape of what? Maybe he meant Cape Cod. The boy had a strange accent. He pronounced every letter, and spoke softly, and with proper grammar. He sounded confident and smart.

“I can’t believe he let you do everything yourself. You’re just a kid.”

“I’ve been sailing since I was 8 years old. I already have a captain’s license.”

I paused and thought about what to ask next. “How many people can sleep in there?”

“It’s got a master cabin and 2 others, so probably 6 people comfortably.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you that you are a captain?” He said he was going to be eighteen soon. We talked for a few minutes. He was from Cold Spring Harbor, and was attending Boston College in the fall. The boy said he was going to major in history, and probably go to law school. Then he left, shaking my hand. I told him I would keep an eye on the boat, and he laughed.

“It doesn’t have a car alarm, so that’s probably a good thing.”

I liked this rich kid. He had good manners, and I could probably learn more from him than I could from my own friends. I had once thought about majoring in history, and up until now figured that people that majored in history became history professors. It didn’t occur to me that you could also become a lawyer. There’s so much that I didn’t know, but I did not have anyone to answer these questions. My father did not know much about college, or careers.

I went back to work, feeling a little refreshed.

Mike said to me that he had an answer.

“What’s the question?” I asked.

“The question you asked me a few weeks ago. What was the difference between me and my roommate – why I got messed up and partied so much, and my roommate didn’t.”

“So what’s the answer?” I asked.

“It wasn’t in his plan,” Mike responded.

“Was it in your plan to party your way out of school?” I asked.

Mike looked at me in silence, appearing to have a revelation unfolding. “You know what, I think that the partying was definitely in the plan, but I didn’t have a plan for anything else. When you don’t have a plan, you go along with the situation and other people’s plans. Circumstances become your plan. My roommate had a plan for success. He was committed to graduating and doing well in school. He had goals for his grades and his college career. He had a plan that he would only party on Fridays and Saturdays. He had a plan to get good internships. He planned for studying, and he planned for success. He also planned to only have a few drinks and never drink too much. And he stuck to his plan. I never went in with a plan. I drank what came my way. I tried pot because it came my way. I tried other drugs, because they came my way. People offered it, and I said yes, because I wasn’t planning on anything else.”