by Judy Chin
1. I often find myself thinking about commercial ads like those for Expedia. The ads seem fantastical because they fail to mention the crowded airlines, customs, and the kid who keeps kicking your chair. I haven’t traveled anywhere so it doesn’t bother me. I’m ok with being home. Just me and my Yorkie, Ted.
2. Things I need to do:
Go to 404 tomorrow
Send Tiffany the updated version of the District Planning Bid form
Prepare for meeting on Tuesday
Bathe Ted
Start on the critical introduction section
Register for Fall 2019
Swing by Whole Foods
Wash the second load of laundry that has been sitting on chair
Meet girlfriends for drinks
Meditate
3. I like the heat, but it’s annoying to constantly remind myself to shave my legs and armpits. I have to shave when the hair becomes noticeable, even if it’s prickly, otherwise it wouldn’t look “wholesome.” That’s what I like about winter. I could go three to four months without shaving and no one would know. Sometimes I forget, then become increasingly paranoid when I lift my arms and think, “Oh shit, when was the last time I shaved?”
4. I’m sitting on the 6 Train coming from 28th street. The train is empty except for a lady pretending to sleep, a young couple cuddling, and me. I scroll through my phone, ignoring the fact that the girl’s hand is down the boy’s pants.
5. Two heavy set men stumbled out of the bar, knocking my purse off the table. They swayed side to side, shattered their beer bottles, and started swinging at each other. A passerby wandered down the street, spat whatever he was drinking and screamed, “Your ale tastes like piss!” It was time to go home.
6. I read somewhere that there is a similar chemical reaction in the brain between the withdrawal from a lover and the withdrawal from cocaine.
7. It was a green light, but we ran anyway. I had to piss, but didn’t want to risk getting caught so we sprinted six blocks to a dive bar. I made a beeline to the bathroom, but it was locked. Fuck! I heard giggling. I banged on the door, “Time’s up, motherfuckers!” A couple came out and glared at me. Afterwards, the girl greeted me with two shots and a cheeky grin. I downed them and sat on a sticky bar stool. Shaggy came on and she started to dance. I don’t dance. She urged me to, so I put my hands on her hips. She ran her hands up my thighs, wrapped both arms around my neck, and rested her chin on my shoulder. I whispered in her ear, “when can we go back to your place?”
8. I learned how to play chess again. Last time I played, Hurricane Sandy wiped out Lower Manhattan’s electricity. We went to Chess Forum, where we were greeted by the friendly owner who quoted T.S. Eliot: “You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.”
9. It was reported that a twenty-four year old mentally unstable man, Randy Rodriguez Santos, went on a rampant murder spree, blundegoning homeless men in Chinatown. Santos was found holding a metal bar with remnants of hair and blood. One victim was an elderly man known as “Mr. Kwok” who was described as an endearing and timid person who never asked for money. All of his victims were killed when they were asleep. Santos was last seen exiting NYPD’s 5th precinct and will undergo evaluation at Bellevue hospital. His court date has yet to be released.
10. I’m terrible at pool. I don’t even know why I try. I always scratch. And sometimes I push too hard and the cue ball rolls off the table. Other times I don’t push hard enough and it barely touches my aim. I accidentally jabbed someone’s butt once with my pool stick. That was embarrassing.
11. I’m driving down the Myrtle Beach coast with my windows rolled down. White, red, and blue lights twinkle at the horizon while the SkyWheel spins adjacent to the boardwalk littered with BPA party cups and deflated balloons. I keep driving as I pass a string of palm trees, red neon-lit “No Vacancy” signs, and souvenir shops with clever entrance designs, like the one where you enter through a shark’s mouth. I am amazed at the revenue this place gets. A hefty pick up truck with a confederate flag disrupts my gaze and cuts me off out of nowhere. My car swerves, eliciting blaring horns from the car on the left lane. The pickup driver salutes me with the good ol’ middle finger. I roll up my windows and bring my attention back to the road.
12. The other day I was in a Thai restaurant enjoying my Pad See Ew and Thai iced-tea. I eavesdropped on the neighboring table, where a guy was distraught over his girlfriend. He said, “Yeah, she was banging her ex the whole month of June. We agreed to meet up and talk about it.” His friend responded with, “I’m sorry to hear that, man.” It’s always interesting to hear the kinds of conversations people have in public spaces.
13. My alarm should ring soon, but I can’t get to sleep. Even when my body asks for it. So I pick at my fingernails and see that there are some line ridges on them. I “WebMD’d” and found that ‘beau lines’ could be a sign of diabetes or iron deficiency. I hope it’s the latter.
14. Cheap Words: I want to be more than friends. I don’t like labels, but I like “hanging” with you. You so fine. I’d slap dat ass. I want you so badly. I’ve missed you. I promise I won’t hurt you. I would never do that to you.
15. Standing on the pier, I watch the pretty white lights glow with the same reverence as they have for the past 151 years. The pier is full of strangers with kids, strangers with dogs, coupled strangers, and lonely strangers. The flags on the sailboat flutter from the night winds while silver-black currents beat against the dock. Kids with milk mustaches run amok in the forest of light as parents hold their ice-cream cones. I watch as tiny cars pass across the bridge and all he’s doing is yapping away about Sonny Rollins while I try to take a mental snapshot of this moment.
16. We get back to the lobby close to one a.m. and I make sure to close the door quietly. The lights are off and he doesn’t waste a second. Before I know it, he’s slobbering me like a dog. He wants to fuck me against the wall. I say I’m too tired and tell him goodnight.
17. Eight am rings, pick up usual at Canal’s Starbucks, greet the man who hands out cell phone fliers, clock in for the shift at the Chinatown kiosk, people watch for the next two hours, pick up lunch at May Wah, survey the rest of Baxter, clock out at 5, take one more cell phone flier, go home, sleep.
18. When they turn off the music, when they turn off the lights , when they stop serving alcohol, when they reach for their coats , when their Uber drivers pick them up on the streets, when they go home with somebody, when they go home alone, when they hug their friends goodbye, when unmade beds welcome them, when they struggle to fall asleep, when nausea hits, when the silence weighs on them, when you have to face tomorrow. And the party’s over.
19. Sitting on Macdougal, the streets are damp as I sip my coffee that has turned cold. I sketch a stranger reading a newspaper while students whisk by and live music pour out of venues. I think about the night underneath the Manhattan bridge on East Broadway. When the cafe closed after it started to rain that Saturday evening. Or the time we weren’t allowed in because I wore Chucks. And how it took a boy a whole season to realize that he wasn’t into it anymore. I am reminded of the bitterness of my coffee remains.
20. I get along without you very well.
21. Jeremy’s, Johnny’s, Gin, Verlaine, Village Vanguard, Oculus, Otto’s Tacos, Fat Cat, Pier 17, Washington, Whiskey Tavern, photo booth, flashing lights, bookmark, Solas, Lalito, Bowery, BND, Bassanova, McSorley’s, Mezzrow, McNally’s, Mamoun’s, Mulberry Street Bar, Mott St., 11th Cafe, Shake Shack, Standard, Smalls, Starbs, Stella by Starlight, Peck Slip Arcade, Dean & Deluca, Cafe Roma, home.
22. I keep having this recurring dream of a school that I’ve never been to. It may be an amalgamation of my elementary, middle, and high school, but the walls are much dingier than what I remember and I’ve never seen these students in my life. In my dream, I keep drowning in the gym’s pool. I am then transported to the middle of the ocean where I see strangers drowning, yet I stay afloat. I watch as they gasp for air and cry for help, but I can’t help them. I just watch until they go under.
23. It’s crazy what you can see now, that you couldn’t see then.
24. School starts on September 3rd, but the buildings are empty. There aren’t any students running around like headless chickens yet. Just a few tourists, skateboarders, and chess players in Washington Square Park. I sit and take it in. In two weeks, it’s all going to change.
25. Caffe Reggio, carrot cake, cannoli, and cannabis. I pour cold milk into the Darjeeling, observing puffy clouds invade the tea like smoke in air. Mesmerizing, but ephemeral.
26. Summertime, The kids were young and pretty.
Judy Chin is a native New Yorker and a senior undergraduate at SPS majoring in Humanities with the concentration in Creative Writing. She has published in Dovetail’s 2019 edition. ‘I Have Been Thinking About Summer’ is a personal reflection on her summer experience highlighting the struggles of womanhood, romance, and working in the city. She would like to thank her professors and fellow writers at SPS’s creative writing division for inspiring her to push beyond her comfort zone in order to create this piece. Judy hopes to pursue a career at a publishing company upon graduation. Outside of writing, she also enjoys horror films, horseback riding, and chilling at home with her dogs, Teddy and Onyx.