Chapter 26
The last time I went to the Statue of Liberty I threw up on Patty Perkins’ brand-new Skechers. Each June the fifth-grade class at Longview Elementary went to visit Lady Liberty as a special end-of-the-year celebration. Patty and I even bought matching bright red Gap logo T-shirts to wear during the prerequisite class photo at the base of the statue. But the morning of the trip I was so amped up that I ate three bowls of Lucky Charms with chocolate milk. My mother warned me, said I’d get sick, but I refused to listen to her, and even ate the third bowl just to show her I could do it. But as we rode across the choppy Hudson River on a tiny ferry, Patty and I stared up at the golden torch above the pale green-blue statue, and I started to regret my morning meal. As soon as I stepped off the ferry and on to Liberty Island, I felt my stomach swish violently, and Patty’s shoes were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
This morning I’ve only had half an everything bagel with a schmear of low-fat cream cheese, so I should be fine but I’m still apprehensive. I can’t tell if that’s because of my past history or the fact that I’m going to spend the morning observing Finn in action. When Robert asked me to write the copy for the artists’ catalog, I hadn’t yet gone to speed dating with the client and my mother wasn’t chaffing at the bit to see the two of us go out on a date designed by her. Still, I need to observe him in order to do my work. So, I’m on the 9:48 a.m. ferry to Liberty Island where Finn is interviewing a subject and getting some footage.
I step off the ferry without any stomach grumbles and go to find Finn. The stark pale aqua patina of the statue that looms overhead sharply contrasts with the gold, orange, and red of the trees that shimmer in the autumn sun. In Manhattan, the traffic and noise make it easy to forget that you’re on an island. But here, on this large rock, halfway between the state where I grew up and the city I now call home, the briny air and sound of waves crashing remind me that I’m in a very special place. The image of the Statue of Liberty has to be one of the most well-known in the world, but nothing really prepares you for the experience of being at the hem of her gown. I crane my neck to see the crown and I’m humbled by how massive she is.
Gaggles of tour groups and students crowd the pathways and line up to see inside the statue. I walk past them through the garden paths that surround the base until I find the quieter part of the park where Finn said he would be set up. I locate him at a picnic table with incredible views of Manhattan behind it. The skyline looks like an erratic EKG with random spires stretching above at regular intervals. Finn has a complicated-looking camera connected to his laptop and a light on a tripod. He’s talking with a young woman with short blond hair that’s shaved on one side.
‘Hey, Sam,’ Finn says as soon as he sees me. ‘I’d like you to meet Ekaterina. Ekaterina, this is the man I mentioned who would be joining us today. Is that still okay with you? You can change your mind, of course.’
Ekaterina looks at me and bites her lower lip. I’m dressed conservatively and I wonder if that’s making her put up her guard or if she is just unsure about meeting a stranger. ‘He is your friend?’ she asks, her voice shaky.
‘Yes,’ Finn says. ‘Sam is a new friend. He’s also an artist. A writer.’ My instinct is to bristle, but in this moment, I don’t. Ekaterina looks at the ground. Finn adds, ‘He’s also queer.’ I usually say I’m gay but I’m getting more comfortable with that identity as well.
I watch as Ekaterina takes in this statement. Her shoulders and jaw seem to visibly relax, and then a smile spreads across her face. ‘Hello, Sam. Is nice to meet you.’ Her accent is thick and reminds me of a film professor from Moscow I adored.
‘Thank you,’ I say, grateful that she’s allowing me to witness her story. I take a seat and let them get back to it.
Finn asks her simple but thoughtful questions about how she escaped Russia and what her life was like there. He always gives her a way of getting out of answering a question so she doesn’t feel trapped or intimidated. He doesn’t command, ‘Tell me what happened when you were in school.’ Instead, he maintains eye contact and nods his head. He repeats back some small detail that shows he’s been listening and then asks something like, ‘What parts of school were enjoyable?’ or ‘What do you remember about the parts that were hard?’ He’s snapping photos the whole time but he never takes his eyes off of her. From all outward appearances it looks like two friends having a conversation.
Ekaterina comes from the suburbs of St Petersburg. Her parents were both doctors and didn’t have any problem with her being a lesbian but she was harassed at school so her parents moved. ‘I acted like regular schoolgirl at new town. I tried to like boy but is not that easy when that is not who you are on inside.’ She touches her hand to her chest. ‘People this time is more violent.’
She pulls back the blond bangs on the side of her head and reveals a thick scar above her ear. I inwardly cringe, almost as if I can physically feel the pain of it, but I try not to react because I don’t want to interfere with her story or make her self-conscious. Seeing the scar makes it all too easy to imagine what’s responsible for it. I want to reach out to her and tell her she’s safe now. At least safer in the US, I think. Maybe. My mom always tells me to stay vigilant in the fight for equality. Usually, I just dismiss it as her being overly eager, but in his moment, I see a way in. I see how Finn connects his activism to his art and I wonder if there is ever any way I could do something like that.
‘They took a rock to the back of my head,’ she says. ‘Not a throw. A hit. Teachers do nothing.’
Finn stops. The moment needs attention more than anything else and he says, ‘I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m so glad you found your way out.’ He slowly approaches her making sure she welcomes him into her physical space. He puts his hand gently on her shoulder and she raises her hand up to join his. ‘Maybe we should stop for today.’
‘No,’ she says, looking up at the sky. She doesn’t allow a single tear to fall down her face. ‘I want to tell my story.’ When she begins again, there’s a new resolve in her voice. ‘Yes. I tried to be like they wanted girl to be but I could not. I try every day. That person always want to come out. That real person Ekaterina. To live. To be who they need to be. That is why I come here. To be. Just, to be.’
To be. Just to be. The words have oceans of meaning for me and I let them sink in. It’s so hard just ‘to be’ for so many people in this world. I’m fully engaged in listening and taking in her story. I’d wanted to take some notes about Finn and his work process for the catalog but I’m willing to rely on my memory so that I can stay in this moment with them. I’m caught up in Ekaterina’s story, and the proud way she tells it. It’s beautiful. The way she’s able to express herself and the emotion behind each word is so strong it could topple the statue that towers above.
I look at Finn, and he has this soft, caring focus on her. I love that he created a safe space for her to tell her story. How does he make it seem so effortless? Maybe because he genuinely cares about Ekaterina, and all the people he documents. I look at the laptop and see the image he’s somehow managed to capture: the beauty of her emotion and the magnificence of the statue in one frame that is distinctly queer. They created it together, right here in front of me. I feel privileged to have witnessed it.
The mood shifts to lighthearted easily. They talk about bands they like, Russian and Southern slang, and what it’s like to meet queer people here versus back in Russia. Ekaterina tells Finn that she started seeing a very special woman just a few weeks ago named Lil and that Lil has made her happier, and more like her authentic self, than she ever thought possible. ‘Do you have someone special?’ she asks Finn.
Finn’s eyes dart toward mine. ‘The American expression is, “it’s complicated.”’ He looks away quickly.
‘What about you?’ she asks, nodding toward me.
‘It’s complicated,’ I echo. I try not to look at Finn but I can’t help it. Our eyes connect for a half second, which stops my heart. When he looks away, I feel the loss.
‘Let’s just get some fun shots. Do whatever you want,’ Finn says, and we’re suddenly back to work, shaking off the complex emotional stuff between us. Ekaterina nods enthusiastically, straightening her collar and brushing back her hair. I grin – she seems to like the idea of being on camera.
‘You said the Statue of Liberty was the thing that most felt like New York to you, right?’ Finn asks. Now he splits his attention between Ekaterina and the lens of his camera.
‘Yes,’ she says, her eyes gazing up at the tall beauty and her beautifully draped robe. ‘I would see pictures sometimes, but she seemed so far away, so out of my reach, that I started to think maybe she wasn’t even real. Then I saw from the city, a small blue-green dot in the distance, and it still seems like a dream. But now here we are and there it is.’ She takes in Lady Liberty, from the top of her crown to the pedestal she stands on. ‘ Oy da. ’
Finn gets up and starts moving around so he can get both Ekaterina and Lady Liberty in the shot. He moves like a cat, lightly and gently, and I watch her slowly become freer and more open as they talk. She even dances around a little and explains that she took ballet in Russia for years, which explains her elegant movement.
Once he has the shots of Ekaterina, he thanks her for sharing her story. ‘I know there’s going to be so many kids who identify with what you went through. They’ll know they’re not alone.’ Ekaterina, who I thought was so steely when I first saw her, now melts into a hug with Finn.
‘Thank you,’ she tells him, ‘for letting me be me.’
When they part, he tells her, ‘Any time.’
‘So nice to meet you Ekaterina,’ I say as she picks up her bag to leave.
‘ Da svidania ,’ she says, and walks away still carrying the energy and grace of a dancer and with a bit more lightness than she had earlier.
‘Wow,’ I say and turn to Finn.
‘I know, her story is incredible and she has been so great to work with. What she had to endure in Russia was a nightmare. I hope when I’m finished creating the final collage with her portrait and her words that people understand what it’s like to be queer there. No one should have to live that way.’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Her story is important, not to mention brave. She seemed somehow relieved after.’
‘Yeah, that happens a lot,’ he says and then moves back to the table where Ekaterina was sitting when I first came over. ‘Telling your story can be powerful for the audience, but it can also be just as intense for the storyteller.’
‘We should invite her to stop by Plant Daddy.’ I could see her finding her footing in the Hell’s Kitchen community.
‘Oh, so you do it too,’ he says. ‘You’re like your mom.’
‘Do what? I love my mom but we are nothing alike.’
‘You’re a helper like her. Introducing her to Plant Daddy. Like your mom suggesting I go to speed dating. You’re really good at connecting people.’ It feels weird for him to understand that about me. It is part of who I am, I think, but I’m not even sure I’ve ever said it to myself in those terms. ‘I admire it,’ he says. ‘But in a way, it helps you stay in the background.’
Does it? Now he’s going a bit too far. I think about what he’s saying. Maybe he’s not wrong. ‘What are you scared of?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say but the real answer is everything . I’m scared of failure. I’m scared of finding out that I really suck at what I’ve wanted to do my whole life. I’m scared of rejection – professional and personal. I’m scared of being on a competition reality show and being eliminated first. The list goes on and on. I’m sure Finn isn’t scared of anything.
‘I’m scared all the time when I’m working,’ Finn confesses.
This surprises me. ‘But you’re so successful,’ I say in disbelief. ‘You were named one of the “Thirty Under Thirty to Watch”.’
‘So what? That’s all just PR BS.’ Then he realizes his audience. ‘No offense.’
‘None taken,’ I say.
‘But honestly,’ he says moving his face closer toward me. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I was so worried I might say the wrong thing to Ekaterina, or I wouldn’t find the right way to shoot it, or she’d think my questions were lame. Or she wouldn’t show up at all. But this morning I woke up and my desire to hear Ekaterina’s story was greater than my fear. I always try to find that balance.’
I like that. When I worked with Justine, it was easy because her name was on the book, and if she didn’t like what I had submitted, I would simply rewrite it or toss it out. But it was one person responding, not a larger audience. I need to balance my fear with my desire to tell my story. But I don’t know what that story is, so how can I find balance?
‘Can I ask a question?’ Finn asks.
‘That’s sort of what you’ve been doing since I met you,’ I say and he laughs gently. He’s not unaware that he has a way of getting inside my thoughts.
‘Why won’t you talk about your writing more? I’ve asked you about it a bunch of times, but you change the subject or just ignore the question.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I say, and heat flares up in my cheeks, but it doesn’t feel like it did at the movie when he was pushing me. That fire was outward rage at him. Today’s boiling point is internal. Why won’t I talk about it? ‘Listen, we really should get going. It’s supposed to storm and I don’t want to ride the ferry when it gets windy.’
‘You just did it! Right now,’ he says, almost like he can’t believe I played into him so easily. But I can’t let him get to me.
I look up at the clouds. They are still fluffy and white. No sign of impending danger.
‘Maybe I do, but we really need to get going. I need to handle some logistics for the Miami trip today and…’
Then, at the same exact moment, both of our phones sound an alert. At first, I hope it’s a special bulletin from the National Weather Service about my fictional storm, but when I look at my phone, I see it’s just the very real Hurricane Mom.
Please see attached itinerary. That’s all it says, with a link to a file.
‘Did you get this too?’ I ask hoping it’s a strange coincidence. Finn holds up his phone and shows me his screen. It looks exactly like mine.
‘I’m sorry. My mother is not very good with personal boundaries…’
Our phones buzz again. I don’t even need to ask if he got the same new message that I did, because now his name is on the group chat list. I open the link and see a reservation for two has been made at ‘Swingers’.
‘What?’ I gasp and feel my entire body clench ‘I’m really, really sorry. She wants us to go to some swingers club?’
Finn stops me. ‘Did you open the link?’ he asks.
I shake my head, and when I click to open it, I see that Swingers is not, in fact, some kind of free love orgy. It’s worse. Much, much worse.