The City isn’t Yours

 Quote: "A man may be in as just possession of truth as of a city, and yet, be forced to surrender. -Thomas Browne

After acquiring 3 parking tickets, the third of which resulted in the towing of my vehicle, I have returned to New Jersey. Most of my parking tickets came from illegally parking in various spots all over Brooklyn and Manhattan. I’d needed to pick up equipment for the production and I’d needed to do it fast. Every spot I put my car in seemed legal, at least at the time. I quietly accepted my car being stolen on Wednesday when I’d walked to the street I’d parked it on. I was almost relieved because if it had been stolen, at least it wouldn’t be my fault. In retrospect, its a good thing that my car was taken for being 5 feet away from a fire hydrant and not stolen for parts. Still, the first pay check I would have earned from working as a PA? All going to the city of New York.

It made me realize something. The city isn’t mine. Not yet at least. I can work there, I can stay there, but it just isn’t mine. I don’t belong there. At least not yet. I’ve got to learn the rules, gain some independence and earn a little more street smarts before I can become a New Yorker. That is, if a dumb kid from Jersey ever can become a New Yorker. 

I think it’s good that I still have one semester of college left. As much progress as I’m making with the whole, courage to pursue my dreams thing, it’s still really fucking scary. I hear stories of others with similar opportunities and turn green with envy. I watch other PA’s as they complete the tasks at hand with a blase attitude, acting as if this is just another job. I turn insecure almost immediately. It’s enough to make me go running back to Target. Of course, I don’t mean that, but I feel it.

I’ll receive my diploma in January. I’ll leave the world of Thirsty Thursday’s, few responsibilities and living with friends behind. I move back at the end of August and have just under 4 months until I get thrown out into the real world with a diploma. It’s shocking really, that I’ve come this far.

Maybe this fear of the real world is what makes me look through old pictures late at night. I listen to our songs and think about the good times. I loved when we felt like a team. I remember standing in a crowded frat party, we hadn’t come together, although we’d arrived in the same car. We were in dingy basement, music pulsating, beer pong and debauchery at every turn. We met eyes as I sipped my beer and we smiled, knowingly. It happened several times that night, the two of us acknowledging the craziness around us and continuing on. 

I think about her head on my shoulder as I drove us back to school after visiting my town. We’d gone there for lunch and on the drive back, sitting in traffic, we talked about us. What we used to be, what we were now, what we’d be tomorrow. She wrapped her arm in my mine, rested her head and gave me just enough hope to hang on. I’d never felt more honest with anyone. She knew about every drunken sexual encounter I’d had recently and shrugged it off. She’d been there too. I wanted to accept those bad choices and have her accept the same.

I fight the urge to call her but it gets harder every day.