Chapter 5 #2
No wonder Charlie treated the cafeteria like he owned it. He had parents who could afford tuition. He probably ate pineapple upside-down cakes and pimento-stuffed celery for meals. He never worried about taking loans from lenders or working to make ends meet.
I couldn’t relate, and it became clear quite quickly that West Egg was no haven of equality, at least not yet. Perhaps my
expectations had been a bit too high.
My weekly schedule was about as standard as they come—six hours of mathematics, twelve of practical machine-tool training,
and eighteen hours of field training, manning elevators in the Upper East Side.
Field training started at the end of my core classes. A bus would take us into the city for the last quarter of the workday.
To get there, I’d have to cross the main quad, where my new friends, Charlie and Cannon, were hanging around by a table of
donuts and coffee. It was clear these were the champions of campus. They were inspecting every new Negro boy who walked by,
pointing and laughing—Who reeked of poor confidence? Who’d make a good target?
They would jeer at the fear in my eyes—I knew it. But despite every bone in my body wanting to slump, I continued looking
up and trekking across the grass. When Charlie noticed me, he gave his auburn waves a pompous shake, tapped his friend, and
pointed me out.
Cannon picked up a megaphone, smiled with glee, and said, “Steer clear of the falling balls, Clumsy Nick.”
Charlie placed a golf ball on a tee and pulled a club out of a bag I didn’t see. He hit it so it flew at my head at fast speed, with torque.
I ducked and my books spilled across the grass, which made them laugh.
I quickly packed them back in and stood up, but a moment after I was on my feet, something else smacked me in the forehead.
There it was on the grass—a Boston cream donut leaking a sad spot of goo.
Cannon reared his arm to throw another donut, but someone emerged from between the two menaces and grabbed his arm to stop
him.
Jay.
He began to bicker with Charlie and Cannon over the bullying, but I couldn’t hear the words. Still, I couldn’t look away.
He had the strong stature of the bullies. He wore their white T-shirts and cable sweaters, but his compassion made him look
out of place with them. Like a dandelion in between two thorns.
He caught my gaze. Thank the stars he was ambling through West Egg’s courtyard just in time to save me further embarrassment.
Does he remember that night? It was not that long ago, yet felt like it happened in another universe.
I nodded at Jay, worrying my expression was too blank to show how truly grateful I was that he’d stopped the antics. Is there something more to say? I wanted to ask.
I determined that there wasn’t, so I went about my way.
The menaces made me even later to field training than I was in the first place, and I caught the bus once everyone else was already on.
Mr. Dennis admonished my lateness, and I offered an apology and shuffled to find a seat as people chuckled at me.
I found an open spot next to Vinny and he glared at me when I sat down.
“You got cream on your face,” he said, and turned toward the window as the bus took off.
His tone was tense and unexpected. We’d just shared pieces of ourselves the other night and I thought we could be friends.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling, from his behavior now, that I’d misread that entirely.
I put in my hours at the Francophone Hotel, closing the elevator gates and saying, “What floor?”
I’d make four dollars a day for this work. It almost made wearing the tight green vest with the gold W.E. pin worth it. Almost.
I repeatedly checked my pocket watch for the day to end, and when it did finally, I took my last trip down to the main floor
with a great sigh of relief.
Vinny was in the lobby when I arrived. I saw him on the other side of the sea of students, chatting to some of his other friends
I didn’t know. I waved, and he didn’t wave back.
Did he not see me? I was sure he did and pretended I wasn’t there. That hurt like a bat to the chest. Vinny was the only person I might be able
to make a friend out of at school.
On the bus, I took my seat beside him, and he pretended not to see me again. “I was trying to get your attention before,”
I told him.
“Oh,” he said, turning to the window with disinterest. “Didn’t realize.”
What is wrong with me? I wondered, all through the ride. I sat there, feeling the awkwardness around us. Had I done something? Said too much?
The silence stretched between us through the ride. Each time I looked over, he seemed even farther away. I had this gut feeling
I’d lost him already.
By the time we made it back to the dorm, the tension was a knot I couldn’t undo. Vinny went straight to his bed, barely looking
at me as he set his things down.
He started up a jig piano record on the gramophone he’d brought from home. The upbeat tune filled the room as he moved back
and forth between the bathroom and the bedroom, humming to himself, picking out his hair.
The piano music bounced off the walls, but it didn’t break the tension. I lay back, staring at the ceiling as he got ready
for bed. And when he finally returned for good and was pulling back the top sheet of his bed, I turned and asked, “Did I do
something?”
He stopped and looked at me. “What are you talking about?”
“You ignored me today at the hotel,” I said.
“I ain’t ignore you. You showed up late to class with sperm on your face.”
My mouth dropped open. “It was donut cream,” I corrected him, with haste, as I sat up in bed. “And I couldn’t stop it! Charlie and Cannon targeted me the moment they
saw me.”
Vinny looked unimpressed with my excuse. “You could’ve wiped it off before getting on the bus. Ever think of that?”
“I would have had I known it was there. There’s barely enough time in my schedule to pause for a snack much less care about
what’s on my face.”
“You ought to care,” Vinny said, and from his expression, I knew to take him seriously. “Have you seen this place? These folks
got enough against us already, making us work elevators all day and calling it an education. You got to do better, man.”
Heat rose from my chest to my face as I considered the implications of not being “presentable.” Would I be kicked out of here? I reached up and felt my artificially softened hair, thinking about the hoops I had to jump through already. There were too
many!
Vinny reached into his dresser drawer, pulled out a black piece of cloth and tossed it to me. “Here,” he said. “When you do
that to your hair you got to wear a scarf to protect it at night.”
“Oh,” I said, draping it over my head. “Thank you.”
Vinny chuckled as he watched me. “Nick, just out of curiosity, where do you go other than class and here?”
I shrugged. “I got two jobs now and six hours of classes per day. What can I do?”
Vinny wrapped a scarf around his own head, pushing his afro down. “There’s a coed dance next month. You might as well come,”
he said, giving the invitation like a peace offering.
“What’s coed?”
He tucked into bed. “It means West Egg boys and East Egg girls all come together for a night of fun, hoping to get lucky by the end of the night. Best not to show up by yourself. You need a date.”
“Okay, so how do I find one?”
“Learn a line. Find a girl you like, strike up a conversation, and then make it seem like you don’t even need her.” Vinny
smiled proudly to himself as if he were the king of pitching woo. “I guarantee it’ll make her come to you.”
He clicked off his lights and the room plunged into darkness.
I tossed and turned with anxiety through the night. Could I make a girl come to me? I could afford to work out more. If my frame filled out my clothes, I’d have more opportunities with girls. But how to join a gym?
I still didn’t know if I was cut out for the concept of a coed dance. I respected Vinny’s challenge for me to put myself out
there more, but what the hell was a line?
On Sunday morning, I practiced my lines in the bathroom mirror.
“Hey, you look cute in that dress, li’l mama,” I crooned to my reflection, and my reflection stared back with embarrassment.
“That was horrible.” I let out a sigh—my effort felt so forced I embarrassed myself in my own company.
In the shower, I decided that pickup lines were not my forte, as they all felt unlike anything I would naturally say. After
getting dressed, I found a piece of paper sticking out of the pants I’d left on the floor. A letter?
It read:
Dear Nick,
I hope you won’t mind that I prefer to communicate in writing. I don’t mingle often as I only have a few hours of class per
day. I am part-time at West Egg and studying the liberal arts.
I just wanted to say I hope the school is working out for you on your side of things. And to apologize on behalf of my housemates.
I’ve known Charlie and Cannon forever, but I wouldn’t call them devoted friends. They still invite me to parties, but I don’t
have much use for their silly games.
It feels like I’m hanging on to my old friends while craving new ones. I notice you’re alone a lot too. Forgive me if my approach
is too direct.
Yours,
Jay
My skin tingled after reading the signature. I think it was from the feeling of being noticed. It made me both furrow my brows
with confusion and smile as questions passed through my mind.
Why had Jay written this to me? When did he deliver it, and how did I miss it?
I didn’t know.
I only knew I didn’t mind it.