The Long Game (Joshaya)

The City that Never Sleeps

If I go to Juilliard, I will be at my dream school. I will have reached an accomplishment that many people can only dream about. But at Juilliard, I won't have someone to move into an apartment with. Whenever I return home, I will be reminded of Riley.  I will be reminded about what life could be like if she were to stay in New York.

If I go to Paris, I'll have the opportunity of a lifetime that's offered to an even smaller pool than Juilliard. I'll be able to study in a different country, learn about their culture, and still pursue my interests. But in Paris, I won't know anyone. Heck, I only took 3 years of French, whereas I've been in Spanish since the 7th grade. I would be alone, without anyone to talk to.

In both options, I'll be alone.

That just means I'll have to meet someone new, instead of just pretending to care about how people are doing. Great.

As I think more about weighing my options, I mindlessly reach over to my nightstand for my phone so I can check the time. I feel around my nightstand, and no phone is to be found. I hear my friendship ring fall of the stand as I feel around more for my phone. I sit up and gasp, realizing I left it at the the studio. I throw on an old sweatshirt from some camp we went to during junior year, black leggings, and white vans. I search around my school bag for the keys to the studio, which were given to me by my teacher. When she found out about my audition to Juilliard, she gave me the spare keys so that I may practice whenever I feel like it.

I find the keys at the bottom of my bag and walk out of my room towards the apartment door, checking the time on the oven clock along the way. I don't worry about waking up Shawn, because the only thing he'll wake up to is Mr. Matthews or my mother's voice.

12:30 flashes on the oven, the only current source of light besides the moon shining through the window. Have I really been thinking about Juilliard and Paris for that long?

I walk out of the apartment and take the elevator down to the lobby. The person that works the front desk at night is fast asleep, his heading resting on today's newspaper and his hand next to a cup of coffee. I exit the building and the cold night air of New York hits me. Maybe I should've put on more than a sweatshirt and leggings. I jog to the studio to minimize the time I'm outside in the cold. When I reach the studio, my hands feel like they've been in a bowl of ice as I reach for the studio keys. I run into the studio and let out a big breath.

I see my phone screen lit up next to the AUX cord and buzzing non-stop. I walk over to my phone and see that Riley and Lucas have blown up my phone with missed calls and text messages. I wonder if they were together while texting and calling me, as if they were trying to gang up on me. I pick up my phone, and the most recent call was from Riley and the most recent text was from Lucas.

Lucas: Did you talk to Riley yet? I'm really worried about her. She's not answering me. (12:45)

Missed call from Riley (12:40)

I unplug my phone from the AUX cord and shove it in the pocket of my sweatshirt. I grab the keys and walk out of the studio with my hands in my pockets, locking the studio doors behind me. When I turn around, I notice the City that Never Sleeps is actually peaceful for a bit. One cab drives past, but that's the only commotion I've seen since I left the apartment. Small shops have their "We're Closed" signs up, but I can see a light in the back that's still on. It's probably the shop owners working on paperwork, bills, or paychecks. Owning your own small business sounds hard; I don't know how Topanga does it while being a lawyer at the same time.

I decide to endure the cold air and walk back to the apartment so that I could enjoy the peaceful side of New York, a side of it I've never seen before. I look down the street and the street lamps light the roads like a bunch of birthday candles lined up on the world's longest cake. I hear the breeze pass by my  ears, as if the world was telling me it's biggest secret. Not loud enough for everyone to hear, but loud enough for me.

I snap out of my daydreaming about New York when I hear the sound of glass pierce the air. It sounded really close, and I thought it was someone breaking into one of the small shops or worse, the dance studio. I turn around to face the direction of the dance studio and see a man walking towards me, his feet crossing in front of each other. He must be drunk.

I turn back towards the apartments and start walking faster, worrying about what he'll do if he catches up to me.

"Wait!" he shouts. I begin to walk faster, and actually consider running until he says, "Please I need your help." 

I stop walking and hear him coughing behind me. I turn around slowly and ball my hands into fists, which are now at my sides, ready to defend myself.

"Please," the man whispers; I barely catch what he says. Not loud enough for everyone to hear, but loud enough for me. The word is a secret he wants kept, even though there's no one around. I see a tear fall down his face, the streetlight reflecting off of it, making the tear seem like a drop of gold.

My head tells me to turn around and run, but something in my heart tells me to help him. For some reason, I don't feel threatened by him, like a lost puppy. I slowly walk towards him, keeping my fists at my sides. As I get closer to him, I see that he's wearing a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, and has short brown hair. Probably a college student from NYU. When I'm about I foot away from the stranger, I stop.

I know him. I haven't seen him in years. He was my first love.

My mouth is open in awe and shock as I see more tears fall down his face.

"What?" he asks me, wiping away his tears.

I can smell the alcohol coming from his breath, a reminder of how much more experienced he is than me. I can never change that. I wonder if he'll remember me, considering how drunk he is.

"Josh?"