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Brave New York

To Be Awful

By Andrew DominguezPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 12 min read
2

Schools didn’t reopen right away, nor did restaurants, nor did the theaters, including the ones Alec operated, the community-based ones, and the AMC and Arclight chains. A lot of places took their time reopening. I was surprised they reopened as quickly as they did.

We both made a full recovery, for the most part. Alec still had a hacking cough that returned every couple of days, but his breathing was back to normal. For me, my body was recuperated long before my mind. Seeing Alec cough and only cough was comforting compared to the nights where coughing seemed to be the least of his impediments. The fever, the aches, the one day and night he refused to transcend into full lucidity. I didn’t do much to improve his situation by catching it myself, but it hit him harder. Everything always hit him harder. Those memories hit me harder.


Alec eventually went back to work. I resumed my online freelance writing, and New York producers switched their Skype and Zoom platforms to Skyscrapers in Midtown Manhattan and other buildings along Broadway. Then one evening, I got a call from a faraway land.


“How are you, Jacob?” I heard from my former manager after nine weeks of last seeing him. Even with the three-hour time difference, it was still way too early for me to speak to anyone, both in person or over the phone.
 “I’m doing well. How’s everyone on your end?” Joe asked me. I could hear the oozing passive aggression in his tone.


“We’re great. Sophie is great. All three of us are great,” he continued. I had seen his Facebook about them getting it. I could have reached out but didn’t. I hadn’t reached out to anyone from back in LA since leaving.
 “We caught it.. One morning she started throwing-up, she couldn’t stop running to the bathroom everything was making her nauseous. We thought she got it, too. Turns out she got something else that will stick around for at least eighteen years.”

“Congrats,” I said as I could hear the bittersweet enthusiasm in Joe’s voice. Joe loved kids, but at the same time, he had the mood swings of a fifteen-year old stuck in a thirty-five year old’s body.


“How’s everything in New York?” he continued his passive-aggressive small talk. I wanted him to just ask.


“It’s New York,” I answered. It wasn’t anything like the New York I had fallen in love with. It wasn’t a place I loved at all.


“How’s Alec?” Joe continued to waste my time with questions he didn’t care to have answers for.


“We’re fine. Trying to get back into the groove of things,” I answered. God, could he just get along and ask already.
 “Have any of the theaters opened up?”


“They’re in the works. Not that I think anyone is jumping up and down to go see The Phantom of the Opera right now.” People were barely brave enough to go out in public. 


“Crazy year it’s been,” Joe kept going. Jesus, he just loved small talk and I was on the verge of just hanging up and saying my phone died. “Are you thinking of flying back to L.A?”


Never.

“Not anytime soon…”

I wasn’t even sure I was staying in New York. Not that I really had anywhere else to go.

“We’re reopening tomorrow, and we’re calling everyone…we can put you back on the schedule whenever. If decide New York doesn’t really work out for you…”


“I’m good here, but thanks for keeping me in mind and I’ll let you if anything changes,” I answered. I hoped that was enough of an answer to get him to hang-up.


“No worries, we’ll keep you in the system just in case…” 


“Thank you and congrats again.”


“Thanks! Have a good one,” Joe said, some disappointment in his voice as he finally ended that time-consuming call. 


I forgot all about the call within an hour. Our routine didn’t help me prioritize the topic, either. We were still staying at home on Alec’s days off; I was staying at home on most days. We spent entire days watching Netflix, going to the pharmacy or convenience store for essentials, and we cuddle naked once, a maybe twice a week. Our routine was unbending.


“Want to…” Alec asked as his hand started making its way up my leg. It was the first time that week.


“Um…this is…what’s up?” I asked, not in the mood at all.


“I don’t know, feeling it.” I wasn’t. I hadn’t been in weeks.


“We can…” Alec said, his hand gravitating down to my zipper. 


“We can?” I asked, just for the sake of asking. 


“What—” Alec said, his finger resting on my zipper. He was intuitive. He knew about Vincent before I ever mentioned his name.


“Try not to sound so enthusiastic,” said Alec. He was turned off, thankfully.


“It caught me off guard,” I said, as his hand started to retract.


“We can, don’t get worked up,” I said, saying that worst possible words ever to Alec’s ears.
 “I am worked up! That’s the problem! It’s been forever,” he said. It had only been a week, he’s was being dramatic…


“It’s only been a week!” I pointed out the truth!
 “We haven’t gone all the way since…Before you moved here! I had to travel to Los Angeles to actually fuck you!”
 I had forgotten that. I didn’t know what to say because not only was he being dramatic, he was being honest.

“Let’s watch something,” I said to defuse the situation. I was being foolish; once something got Alec going, there was no stopping him. I generally didn’t mind the character trait of his, but when it came to our relationship…


“Let’s not,” he said, his hands were now on his lap. We sat in silence for a few seconds, then I tried copying his pass at me.

“No,” he said as he grabbed my hand and put it back in its place.
 “Sorry.”

I wasn’t but hated getting into arguments with him, at least frequent ones.
 “You’re not,” he whispered to himself.
 “You’re in an awfully bitchy mood tonight,” I said, my breath almost caressing his lips as I got in his face.
 “You’re just awful,” he yelled out, unflinching. I got up and started heading towards the door for the first time in three days.

“Now you want to go outside,” I heard him whisper loud enough for me to hear. I slammed the door behind me just like he slammed that ugly word at me.


It was a warm night. The streets were busier than the last night I was out, but I still managed by without shoulder bumps or “Excuse me!” or “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” I hadn’t thought about getting out in a long time, especially since there were days during which he was sleep-ridden and bedridden. Alec was wrong. I stayed. I wasn’t awful.


I walked down 44th Avenue for a while. I had no real direction, simply walking felt nice. The warmth of the night, the few people walking down the sidewalk, keeping a distance, something I never thought I’d see in that city. There were no children, no elderly, and it was mostly Gen Z NYU kids and some aimless Millennials. They had somewhere to go, but they still looked aimless.


I walked for what felt like an hour before looking at my phone for the time. I had walked down all the way to 69th Avenue and Columbus. It was the loneliest I had ever seen Columbus Circle with the exception of the skater boys showing off their perfect abs as they skated around Columbus Monument. They were a beautiful sight and there was no foul in looking. I sat and looked at them for a few minutes, or maybe it was longer. I wasn’t keeping count. I would have looked at them all night if it wasn’t’ for him. I saw him, sitting on the pavement inches away from me. He was twice my age, twice my weight, and had half my lucidity. I had no problem tackling down vagrants and wannabe swindlers out to do me dirty.

“Sonny.” I ignored him. I didn’t even look at him. I looked forward at the beautiful sight in front of me. I had paid it forward enough with the homeless population back in L.A.

“Sonny.”
 I ignored him again. I didn’t even turn to look at him. Temptation was beginning to creep in.
 “You...”


I ignored him again and the low whimper that escaped his lips. Temptation had me torn between the skater boys and turning to look at the old man next to me.

“You…”
 I turned. I couldn’t help it. There he was, sitting down, twice my age, twice my weight, and half my lucidity. He didn’t have a bottle or pack of anything on him: he was simply an end result.

“What do you want, sir? I asked, looking at him in utter annoyance. Could he not see I was getting a temporary fix before I had to go straight back to hell!

“You…” he didn’t say anything. His hand just started to reach for my face. It was smeared with a dark smudge. I wasn’t going to let it touch my skin to find out what it was. I would rather take my chances catching the virus. I reached into my pocket, I remembered having some leftover cash from our last pharmacy visit. A $20 bill. I waved the bill at him, but his hand didn’t stop reaching for my face, so I started back away.

“This is for you,” I said again, waving it again. He wouldn’t stop moving. What more did he want from me?


“Sir…stop!”
 He wouldn’t stop. So instead of sitting and letting his dirty, ugly skin touch mine, I stood up and started walking back in the direction I came from. Turning back one last time to see them both; the beautiful skater boys and the ugly obstacle between us.

I ended up on 44th and Broadway, questioning how I ended up there. Why did I get up and leave? I was so comfortable and happy there. Also, I was not a chicken. I knew I could have taken out that dirty, pathetic, ugly fool if I wanted to. Why did I run instead?

“Ouch,” the little, delicate voice said aloud before she started whimpering.
 “Sorry about that,” I said to her, not that it was my fault she was too young to know where she was going. She had fallen on her back. I didn’t mean to be in her way, or maybe she was in mine. Either way, it wasn’t my fault because I hadn’t done it on purpose!

“Are your parents…”
 She started crying, laying there, as if she was really that helpless. She was at least ten-years old. I felt bad for her torn, beautiful blue dress. She chose to lay there.


“Are your parents around?”
 She whimpered and looked at me, her eyes filled with an accusatory sadness. She was like seven or eight; not an infant much less a harmless child. There wasn’t a scratch on her knees or anything, she had landed on her butt so worst case scenario she’d be a little sore sitting down for a few hours, at most. She was being a drama queen!


“What’s your name?” I asked out of pity. She looked so pathetic laying there.


“Are you lost?”

She stopped crying, all whimpering stopped. Instead, she reached her hand out to me. She was uglier than the other one. At least he didn’t make a scene on top of trying to physically assault me. My reflexes started to give out again, my left hand starting to reach, but not for my pocket; I was reaching to touch hers. We were a centimeter from connecting through our finger tips. I couldn’t.

I couldn’t. I walked. I couldn’t. I walked and walked and walked. I walked down through the spaciousness of 40th through 30th. I had already gone down that path twice. But I was further away from them, all three of them. I walked aimlessly until hitting St Mark’s Place. There was a tiny theater there I used to frequent with Alec before the lockdown. Alec loved it because it was one of those artsy, fartsy community theaters that supported artists not talented enough to make it on Broadway. Alec didn’t like Broadway. Alec liked supporting the fellow community of artists. Alec liked supporting the fellow community. I hated that about Alec.

The artists that performed there were both ugly to look at and listen to. Bad singing, hideous spoken word by men who should have been writing their wills instead of poetry. And the ugliest part, everyone there knew how much they paled in comparison to the mainstream beautiful performers that city showcased. Everyone there knew they were ugly and yet found an unexplainable beauty in themselves. I hated that the most about them. I hated them as much as I hated Alec’s love for them.

Nevertheless, I stood in front of that sanctuary. I stood in place, still not looking at my phone for the time. I took in everything, unlike any of the other times I had been there with Alec. The grey door with the sign reading “Closed Until Further Notice.” All I could think about was being there, alone. The one place that kept me and Alec in silence for a few hours at a time was giving me the space I needed away. Six feet; twelve feet; twenty-four feet times six feet times twelve away twice all the feet in the world away from all three of them and every other pair of threes and everyone in that resuscitating brave new city. That Brave New York. Braver than me for it was touched by the remaining NYU students and remaining Millennials and remaining skater boys and the remaining elders and remaining homeless and remaining little girls; all its ugly children. Why didn’t it welcome me and only me into its open arms, holding me and only me and promising me all of its undivided attention while giving me the space away from it I was dying for. Why didn’t it just let me be.

I didn’t check for the time until I got back home, the orange tinge of the morning sun rushing me back to safety. I looked at the couch, Alec had fallen asleep to a portrait of our first Broadway show together for my 23rd birthday. He was smiling. It was the ugliest smile I had ever seen.

He was right. I was awful.

Short Story
2

About the Creator

Andrew Dominguez

Greetings! My name is Andrew Judeus. I am an NY-based writer with a passion for creating romantic narratives. Hopefully my daily wanderings into the land of happily ever after will shed some light into your life. Enjoy!

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  • Steven Bairdabout a year ago

    Very good Andrew! Thanks

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