Escape to Manhattan: Five

My plane touched down in Minneapolis late Sunday night. That afternoon I’d had one last lunch with Christian in Central Park and we’d spent the day lazily reading The New York Times and walking through the city, eating hot dogs from street vendors and snapping pictures on my disposable camera.

Seeing Minneapolis unfold below me from the airplane window felt comforting. Sure, the gnawing reality of college and my ordinary responsibilities started to creep back, but somehow they didn’t feel debilitating like they had before. Now it seemed manageable, like something to be endured and finished up.

I made my way through the Minneapolis airport, collected my bags from the luggage carousel, and walked out onto the street. My best friend, Dylan, waited curbside in his black Saturn with his hazard lights flashing. When he saw me he started honking and waving. He got out of the front seat and rushed around the side of the car to hug me.

“So, how was it?” Dylan asked. He popped the trunk and helped me toss my things into the back of his car.

I sighed and smiled. “Dylan, it was amazing.”

“I want you to tell me everything about it. Don’t leave a goddamn thing out,” he said.

We got into the car, buckled up, and sped onto the highway. As we merged onto I-494 heading home I told him everything I could think of as we zoomed back into the city.

At last I was home. But I knew it wouldn't be for long.

* * *

I returned to the daily grind of college life. The semester finished much quicker than I had imagined, culminating in a flurry of exams and lengthy term papers. I spent hours holed up in the basement of Wilson Library, my fingers virtually attached to my laptop and eyes glued to heavy, dusty textbooks. But when the semester finished a few days before Christmas I felt a momentous sense of relief.

I made the trek back to the suburbs for a few days to celebrate Christmas with my family. It was hard to leave the city and my fabulous little one-bedroom apartment, but it was also really good to see my mom and dad and little sister.

Since I’d been back from New York I had spent many afternoons in class daydreaming about Fifth Avenue and Washington Square Park or the Metropolitan Museum and Times Square. I wanted to have one more drink at Therapy with Christian and take one more walk through Central Park on a Sunday morning or stop for a huge oversized slice of New York pizza after seeing a Broadway show. The photos from my trip not only played randomly on the desktop of my computer but also in the back of my mind.

On Christmas Eve I opened presents with my family and watched yet another screening of “It’s a Beautiful Life.” Long after my little sister had tucked into bed, with my parents following suit soon after, my cell phone rang.

It was Christian.

“Hey kiddo,” he said. “How’s Minneapolis?”

“Well, you know, it’s as good as Minneapolis gets. And how’s my darling New York City doing?”

“It’s quiet. Snow is falling. It’s crunchy, light snow, sort of like feathers falling from the sky.”

I sighed. “God, I’d give anything to be back there.”

Christian laughed. “Well, honey, I may just have your ticket.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“I had a little conference with my roommates tonight and found out that they’re both going to be moving out at the end of May,” he said. “Shane is moving in with Pam and then Kathryn is moving back home. So that leaves me with a three bedroom apartment and no roommates.”

My heart started racing. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Christian said. “I’m asking if you want to come and live with me in New York.”

I screamed with laughter and then immediately clapped my hands over my mouth, remembering my sleeping sister and parents.

“Christian, of course I’ll move to New York! Of course, of course!”

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

That night Santa Claus didn’t have to bring me anything. I already had New York.

* * *

Dylan had been my best friend since my freshman year of college. We met on campus when we both ended up on a task force to organize a Lawrence v. Texas debate on campus. The debate was a huge hit, but more importantly Dylan and I hit it off right away and became fast friends. We bonded over screenings of old Hollywood flicks, a secret love of pop culture, and fascination with politics and activism. I’d never had a brother but meeting Dylan sort of felt like meeting my long lost sibling.

It was with that in mind that I found myself driving my parents’ Jeep Cherokee to Dylan’s apartment after midnight on Christmas. I called him as I drove over.

“Dylan, it’s Jordan,” I said. “I’m coming over.”

“What? Why? Is something wrong?”

“No,” I said, “something is right.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ll explain when I get there,” I said, hanging up.

I jammed the Jeep into a tiny parallel parking space on Nineteenth Street and bound up the stairs to Dylan’s apartment. I knocked on the door and heard Dylan unchain the door. He stood there in a shirt and tie, probably freshly back from Christmas Dinner at his mom’s house, looking a bit confused.

“Dylan, what are you doing after graduation?” I asked, still standing in the hallway.

“Jordan, did you really come over here at 1 a.m. on Christmas to ask me that?”

I walked past him and into his warm apartment. I took off my shoes and made a beeline for his couch. Dylan narrowed his eyes and sat down on the couch across from me.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Dylan asked.

“Christian called me last night and told me that his roommates are moving out of his apartment in June.” I let that information sink in and then continued. “He’s got two open bedrooms in an apartment on the Upper East Side, just begging to be filled.”

Dylan’s eyes widened. “So what are you saying?”

I leaned forward. “Dylan, do you want to move to New York after we graduate?”

Dylan closed his eyes and laughed. “Oh my God. Uhm, let me think for a minute.”

“No, don’t think!” I said, leaning forward even further. “Let’s just do it! I mean, what the fuck are we doing after graduation, anyway? I’ve got a goddamn degree in English and you’ve got a degree in art history. What the fuck are we supposed to do with those? And if we can’t do anything with it here, then let’s do nothing with it in New York City!” I stood up and started pacing around the living room. “Dylan, we could so do it.”

“Jordan, what would we do for money? For jobs? I mean, you can’t just—”

“But you can!” I said. “We could be cater waiters or get temp jobs or serve tables until we figure something out. We’ve both got talents and we could just take some shit jobs until we figure out what we want to do there.”

“Could we make enough money to survive?” Dylan asked, still looking pensive.

I shrugged. “Christian and his roommates are doing it. Why can’t we?”

Finally a slow, lazy smile spread across Dylan’s face. “Do you really think we could do it? I mean, is this a real thing?”

“Dylan,” I said, “I don’t think there’s ever been something more real in my entire life.”

Dylan nodded. He looked up at me. I’d been pacing around the living room but now I stopped in my tracks, imploring him to say something.

“Well,” Dylan said, “let’s fucking do it. Let’s move to New York.”

* * *

Going back to school for your last semester is so much easier when you know that you’re working toward something. Dylan and I had a purpose and a goal, something to work toward. Not a day went by when we didn’t talk about New York on the phone, endlessly imagining what it’d be like, what we’d do for jobs, what we might one day make of ourselves in one of the greatest cities in the world.

I’d made the dumb mistake of taking all my last hard classes in the fall, but that meant for the spring that I had nothing but fluff classes left. In fact, I only had classes three times a week, and even then one was in film study, one was in photography, another was a contemporary fiction class (i.e. read a novel and write a book report), and a class on the history of jazz. Not too shabby for a last semester.

Dylan and I started working double shifts at the restaurant downtown where we both worked and saved piles and piles of cash. We stopped buying almost anything and instead saved everything, knowing that we’d need every penny we could to make it in Manhattan.

It was worth it. Especially when May finally came.

* * *

My mom hugged me as we stood next to the U-Haul. Dylan and I had packed it to the roof with all of our things. We’d already said goodbye to Dylan’s mom and dad and now it was my turn to say my goodbyes.

“Oh God, I love you,” my mom said, hugging me with a ferocity I couldn’t remember feeling in years. It felt like I was heading off to the first day of school or something, except that Manhattan would be a much, much bigger school, and one without defined subjects and grading.

“Mom, you’re coming out for the Fourth of July,” I said. “It won’t be that long.”

My mom released me from her tight hug. Her eyes were rimmed with tears. She was fighting them valiantly, but it was a losing battle. She looked at Dylan and then at me. “I want you boys to drive safely. And if you get tired you have to promise me that you’ll pull over and take a nap.”

Dylan and I promised. Then my mom hugged me again. Her knuckles whitened with the force of the hug.

“Mom, I’m not leaving forever,” I whispered.

When I spoke the last of her resolve faded. She started crying. “But I feel like you are,” she said. “I mean, Jordan, really, are you ever going to come back here?” she asked, gesturing to our quiet suburban neighborhood. A tear meandered down her cheek and she brushed it off. Then she smiled. “Oh, baby, I know you’re not coming back.” She gripped my shoulder and brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “I’m so proud of you, Jordan.”

Tears started welling up in my eyes. “I’ll call you when I get there,” I said, feeling a tight knot forming at the back of my throat. My mom nodded and said nothing, probably afraid she wouldn’t be able to finish her sentence.

Dylan crawled into the driver’s seat of the U-Haul and turned the key in the ignition. The big diesel engine fired up and I buckled my seat belt. My mom stood on the curb in front of our house and waved as Dylan and I drove off, heading east to New York.

* * *

Just before sunset the next day we reached New York. Dylan had been napping but when I saw the bridge into New York and the city skyline unfold in front of me I tapped Dylan.

“Dylan, wake up! We’re here!”

Dylan’s eyes popped open. “Oh my God,” he said. “I can’t believe it!”

We laughed like two crazy guys who’d just won the lottery.

As the sun made its descent behind the skyline of Manhattan we pulled into the city and into our brand new lives.

* * *
THE END
* * *

Josh H., 22, is a Minneapolis-based writer.

"I've really enjoyed writing the 'Escape to Manhattan' series. I want to thank all of you who've been reading since the beginning. Your comments and e-mails have been so wonderful. You all rock! I hope each of you has the chance to go to New York sometime soon and fall in love with the city. It's truly one of my favorite places."

Josh H. can be reached at joshcentral@hotmail.com

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