I count the months off on my fingers in the train on my way home. I’ve been here for one year and nine months.
And I’ve dated a lot of boys. I don’t have enough fingers to count them.
Tonight I went with Julianna to a party where we didn’t really know anyone.
“Have we been here before?” she asked me.
“I think so.”
“With Kris with a K. . .”
It is the same place-- there’s a canoe hanging above the bar.
Kris with a K was the first boy I hooked up with after moving to New York. Jules invited me to dinner with the two of them, we ended up at this bar with the canoe, and Jules said, “I’m going home. You’ll be fine, right?”
It seems like a million and one years ago. It was the day after the first iPhones came out. Kris with a K’s was the first one I’d ever seen. He let me zoom in and out on things.
He was truly beautiful. Skin deep. One of those people who lucks out with a serendipitous mix of ethnic traits. Fully aware of it, too.
I woke up in his bed. He needed to go train for a triathlon or something. Of course. I needed to go home. I was hungover, bedraggled, and couldn’t find my subway. I’d been in the city maybe two weeks. When I finally got on it, I was afraid I was going to hurl.
It was not a shining moment of a night. And now, one year and nine months later, I’m back at the same bar.
It’s happening a lot lately. Boys have smeared their memories all over this city. There’s the place where David started puking because it took him 29 years to realize he’s allergic to pine nuts, the tiny restaurant where I had grilled cheese with Cooper one day before I went to the airport, and the place Prince Charming would take me for pancakes. The bar where I met Sandeep? That’s the second first date I’ve had there. And I’ve had two first dates at a little wine bar and restaurant on the UES-- with Ravi and some guy whose name I’m 90% sure was either Mike or Bill. I keep walking by Gyan’s apartment, not on purpose at all.
I can’t remember all the names or faces, but this city is full of them. New York is not so big at all.