I Saw Your Mom At The Grocery Store

I

Prologue :

It's not going to be long, I promise. I just wanted to thank everyone who will take the time to read this story that's really close to my heart because it's something I personally experienced and am currently dealing with. I'd like to add that the title of this book has been inspired by one of my favorite songs, performed by the very talented Abby Cates. I forgot what I was about to say, so I guess it's not that important. I won't talk a lot throughout the entirety of the book, but I promise to take any criticism seriously and read every comment. Please be kind; I speak multiple languages and struggle in all of them. Haha, goodbye now... 

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Chapter 1

7 AM:

I felt my body moving on a surface covered in water, my breath erratic, my heart pounding as fast as a black horse unleashed in a field, and for some reason, I was holding my head in my hand. I looked around; nothing. I turned around; still nothing. Was my body floating? Was I even conscious? But without even having the time to give in to those thoughts, I heard one of the most gut-wrenching sounds I had ever heard, and just like that... I woke up in my bed, confused, my tongue completely dried, and my respiration off the chart.

I am no stranger to nightmares, having had them for a long time, but I can't pinpoint exactly when they started. I glanced around as I tried to adjust my vision to the harsh lighting in my room and the cold atmosphere; someone must have slept with their window open in the midst of the New York winter... how typical, huh? To the point where it became amusing.

Unable to get back to sleep, I decided to have breakfast while watching New York wake up—or should I say, while New York watched me wake up. I wore my worn-out sweater, a relic from my grandfather years ago. It used to be a bright red Ralph Lauren sweater, but now it's just a dark red one smelling of cigarettes and filled with small holes and paint stains. Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the same window that had stayed open all night, took my pack of Camels, and lit a cigarette as I drank my black coffee.

I always take my coffee black ever since the day a girl I used to see told me, 

"Your heart is as black as the coffee you drink." 

I find it comical now because at that time, I wasn't even drinking coffee, let alone black coffee. I don't know who she confused me with, but I took it as a sign that maybe it was time for me to enjoy the old-fashioned drink.

New York never changes in my eyes. I've been here for as long as I can remember, and I'll probably die in this city. New York is either where your dreams come true or where they die, as they say. This is what dreams are made of, right? This city has such a way with the souls of the people living in it that if you're not strong enough, your dreams will probably turn into the fire that destroys you.

I brought the cigarette to my mouth as I took the last sip of my coffee, threw away my third cigarette in the ashtray, and decided to get ready for my day. I'm a last-year student at Columbia University. I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do when I was younger, but I was really good in school, so I could've gotten into any program if I wanted to. I knew that my dad would've wanted me to enter a business program, just like him. It was ultimately what I wanted until he told me that he did the same but at Harvard, which was also the school I wanted to attend in the first place. But God forbid I ever turn into him, so I decided to do the complete opposite of what he wanted. I went to New York, enrolled in Columbia, got in, and decided to enter the art program. He wasn't really happy about that, but after multiple threats and my nonchalance towards them, he finally gave up and even now brags about me to his friends... How pitiful.

After a long cold shower and yet a second cup of coffee, I decided to dress up like I do every day: in a black worn-out cashmere sweater from my grandparents, well-fitted khaki corduroy pants, and my old Blundstone boots of the same color that I've had for as long as I can remember. I quickly looked at myself in the mirror and decided to tie my hair and put on some perfume to hide the smell of cigarettes. I took my carabiner with all my keys, threw on my Rains coat, grabbed my bags, closed my door, and mentally prepared myself to confront the New York commute.

Thirty minutes later, I was already nearing my school. To be honest, it took that long because I wanted it to. I live not even 15 minutes away from the art department building, but taking the time to smoke a cigarette, buy another coffee, and take my time was very time-consuming. Arriving in front of the building, I saw a big group of people I had never seen before in the department. Not that I particularly cared, but my brain had no recollection of seeing them. What was more surprising was seeing them smile. No one in their right mind would get into the art program and be that happy; it seemed so unrealistic. They most definitely must be freshmen. I can't wait to see the light disappear from the eyes of each one of them. I barely had time to enter the building when I was welcomed by a million unknown heads, all watching me as if I were crazy to be there. An uneasy feeling took hold of me. I immediately got out of the building and decided to enter through the back door. Since I was the only one having lunch with the lady who was cleaning, she sort of gave me the keys because she had witnessed one of my panic attacks during one of our lunch break get-togethers.

After throwing my cigarette on the floor, I finally decided to get inside and go directly to my class. Being a sculpture major has its own perks; we are pretty much secluded from everyone, which works wonders for me.

As I walked to my class, I kept overhearing conversations about a certain merger between the Columbia art department and Juilliard. It just hit me that it was the reason why the entryway was so packed and the group of people I saw in front was probably the welcome committee. Well, it makes more sense, but does that mean that the hallway will be that packed every single morning? Honestly, just thinking about that already makes me mad.

Continuing on and stumbling upon people, I kept hearing the same things over and over again. It's like the fact that we are having those Juilliard pricks is all anyone can talk about today. I kept hearing "Juilliard blah blah blah" or "Lawrence Road is genius"... Who the hell is even Lawrence Road?

In a last attempt to keep my cool and my sanity, I walked faster to my local. This month will be very interesting... As if I cared.