Chapter 11
“That was harrowing !” Cash whines with extra dramatic oomph once we’ve emerged from another subway station, a little more than a half hour later.
“Well, we are living in their world,” Diya retorts. “What do you expect?”
There were no wild horses to speak of, but we did have a wildlife run-in that may haunt Cash ’til the end of time.
This time when we boarded the train, there were no dancers, no speakers, no performances of any kind—just a scattering of other quiet riders content to keep to themselves.
There was even one woman, wearing a battered satin Mets jacket that I presume has survived no fewer than eighty-six seasons and a matching orange Mets beanie, who was sitting up straight but appeared to be fully asleep.
It was a far quieter ride, which at least gave us all a chance to collect our thoughts.
That is, until the shriek.
The sound was practically inhuman, and I instinctively reached up to cover my ears—but when I turned, I realized it was Cash.
“Wait, wait, stop!” Izaac said, as Cash danced around the pole, shaking out his hands and grimacing like he just found a hair in his cocoa… and the cocoa was sewer water.
“You’re gonna make it worse!” Diya said, but I still had no idea what was going on, until I saw that Cash’s tote bag—which he’d stashed under his seat—was moving .
A moment later, the bag flopped over, and a rat the size of one of Cooper’s prize pumpkins trotted out, carrying a package of seasonal Oreos in its mouth.
“Holy shit,” Izaac and I said in unison.
“Ohhhhhh goddddd ,” Cash whined, clutching Diya’s arm, while she actually laughed a little to herself. “Is he looking at me? He just looked at me! He can smell my fear!”
I wondered whether we should try to take the Oreos or figure out how to sedate our friend, but then a stern new voice entered the chat.
“Do not move !”
I looked up to find the sleeping woman, who appeared now fully awake and less than amused in all her Mets gear.
“Oh! Are you here to save us?” Cash asked. “I’ll do anything .”
She motioned at him to sit down with an irritated grimace, and then, in one swift movement just as the train came to a stop and the doors opened, she reached into her pocket and produced what appeared to be a half-eaten granola bar and tossed it onto the platform.
The rat followed swiftly, dropping the Oreos like they were last year’s Labubus.
Cash stood back up and applauded. Once I was sure everyone would survive this episode, I switched on my camera.
The woman shook her head, then dusted her hands together.
“Oh my god, how can I repay you?” Cash asked her, and for one quick second, the woman eyed his boots. Cash took an alarmed step back and she laughed and went to return to her seat.
But then Cash called out, “Wait!” and followed her. He reached into his pocket and handed her the doughnut I bought him at Grand Central.
“It’s mint,” he said, nodding, as if this woman was going to be very concerned with the flavor profile.
“Uh, thanks,” she said. The way she studied him made it clear she thought he was crazy.
“Of course! You’re an angel,” he told her. “Truly.”
“No, kid.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m a New Yorker, which you are obviously not.”
She took the doughnut with a scowl, took her seat, and shouted her last bit of advice. “Save us all the trouble and invest in a bag with a zipper next time!” Then she gave him a reluctant half smile, and held up the doughnut in thanks before taking a huge bite.
“Oh my god, I hope you got all that, Spielberg,” Izaac says to me now, while Diya continues to comfort Cash.
“You seriously couldn’t have scripted a more real moment of humanity!” she adds.
Once again, not exactly what I was looking for, but I mentally earmark it for a blooper reel.
“I’m so glad you’re all enjoying this,” Cash replies, looking thoroughly irritated with us all.
I thought he’d be in good spirits now that there is a safe distance between him and his furry friend. It’s not like him to stay down bad—he has the brain of a goldfish, and always forgets the hard stuff after about ten seconds. You could set your watch to it.
Maybe his boots are really getting to him—either way, I seriously hope this trip doesn’t backfire and dampen some of my friends’ holiday spirit.
For now, Diya is explaining how the rat population has been displaced from their natural habitat by humans.
“Okay, well, that’s really sad!” Cash says, softening. “Now I feel bad. I can’t believe we did that to them.”
“Yep, that’s why I prefer plants to people,” Diya says. “Humans are the worst. Sorry, Bosley.”
“I respectfully disagree.” I take in this totally new neighborhood, and all the ways that humans have converted this habitat into another, different holiday-ready haven. Now this is film-worthy.
For my film studies elective junior year, I wrote a paper on the many ways the North Pole has been depicted throughout cinematic history to illustrate how different directors’ visions can lead to many different imaginings of a single place.
Most of the time, it’s been super magical and warm and cozy, like in Tim Allen’s The Santa Clause series.
But there have been other interpretations, like the more high-tech operation of Arthur Christmas or the Alpine, old-school style of the often overlooked classic Santa Claus: The Movie .
Today, as we move from one part of the borough to another, it feels like each neighborhood is a different filmmaker’s interpretation of Brooklyn.
Compared to Cobble Hill, walking along the streets of Williamsburg is like stepping into another world.
There are fewer brownstones and more industrial, warehouse-style buildings.
There’s a diner on the corner where we emerge, shiny and blue with red neon piped along the top.
There are windows with Pride flags and a barbershop and a tattoo parlor.
I try to capture the vibe with my camera.
“Okay, so it should be right over…,” Izaac says, looking at his screen, and then pointing. “… here.”
The bar has no sign, but the windows do show signs of life.
Each frames a scene happening in real time on the other side of the glass: friends sitting at high-top tables, eating wings and nachos, or watching football on TV screens in the background.
It kind of looks like a Super Bowl commercial.
But more importantly, it looks very warm.
“Uhhh, new Coze levels unlocked,” Cash says. Now he’s collected himself and is peering in the window and smacking my arm like the rat incident never happened. Something’s definitely up with him, but I’m relieved he is back to his goldfish brain for now.
“Bruh, registering off the Coze-o-meter charts right now,” I reply.
“A literal Coze-Quake.”
“All right, you two, inside,” Izaac says, opening the door, and we comply.
I’m excited to thaw out, but also to take in the scene. My lens lands on a handful of solo diners at the bar.
“I could totally see that being you,” Diya says, coming up beside me and pointing to one girl at the end of the bar with her laptop and a composition notebook—the kind I usually use to write my scripts.
“Me?” I ask, looking up from the camera.
“Totally,” she says. “Just Bennie Bosley, sitting a bar, writing scripts and being so Brooklyn.”
A warmth spreads through my chest. I’ve been so busy trying to hold on to the moment, our last year, and all our traditions that I haven’t considered what daily life might look like in Brooklyn.
Now the questions pile up. Like, can I pull off being a solo diner?
Will I ever feel comfortable enough in my own company to be a solo diner?
But thanks to Diya, now I see myself coming here after a morning coffee (or miso mocha) at Liz’s, meeting Cash and Izaac after their classes for some coworking and people watching, and man, I like it.
“Ohhh, can we play Connect Four?” Cash asks Izaac, pointing to a small coffee table and chairs on the opposite side of the bar. “Diya owes me a rematch.”
Rhapsody has basically canceled the two of them when it comes to their board games after some… shall we say, unsportsmanlike conduct that resulted in my adding the word defenestrate to my vocabulary.
“Oh, you want to take this rivalry on the road?” Diya asks him, rubbing her hands together.
“Why not?” Izaac says. “I’m sure it won’t take long for Diya to deliver an ass-whooping.”
“Way to support, babe,” Cash says, and kisses Izaac. That one I actually do manage to catch on camera.
When they walk away, Izaac looks at his watch.
“How much time do we have?” I ask.
“Not a lot,” he replies. “Which is a good thing, because get me the eff out of this place.”
Izaac is scanning the bar with his lip curled. It’s giving disgust, which is strange because this place seems pretty cool to me. And as particular as Izaac can be, he’s not usually a snob—he prides himself on being a man of the people.
“Uh, okay,” I say, but I ignore his reaction for now because there’s something I want to discuss with him and I have to be quick.
“Hey, while we have a minute, what’s up with Cash’s birthday?
I can’t believe how close we’re getting!
Do you have anything in mind? I mean, obviously I’ll make his coconut cake—it’s tradition—but also—”
“B, right now?” Izaac doesn’t even look my way, which throws me.
“Okay, maybe not now , but let’s talk soon, yeah?” I say.
“Sure.”
I get that he’s focused, but his response makes me a little nervous.
What if Izaac really is feeling less committed to their future together?
I can’t tell Cash about Izaac’s family stuff, and I can’t tell Izaac I think Cash has concerns about their future.
All I can do for now is hope smoothing things over with Audra will help Izaac clear his head and be a little less on edge.
I chew my lip, but then try to get my head in the game too. I turn my attention and my own lens back to the bar, looking for Audra. And I find her. Or at least someone I think is Audra.
“Um, holy holiday makeover. Is that her?” I whack Izaac with my free hand.
I’ve known Izaac’s sister for years and she’s always been in a blazer and a button-down, looking grown-up and professional.
But now she’s dressed in the bar’s T-shirt and black jeans, her nose is pierced, and her braids have been released into an afro and dyed a bluish-purple color.
She has what appears to be a comic book sticking out of her back pocket.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor, please—that’s my sister .” Izaac whacks me back.
“Right! Bro code.”
I turn off that part of my brain as fast as possible, but his response is confirmation—that’s Audra.
“What the hell did she do?” he asks.
Izaac has never been a fan of change if it’s not in the name of social justice.
Audra’s helping a few customers at the bar, dropping drinks and smiling. Unlike Izaac, she looks pretty comfortable with this new version of herself. I wonder how long she’s worked here, and how long it took to transition from small-town-Connecticut Audra to Williamsburg Audra.
After a moment, she looks up, scanning to see if any other patrons need attention, and that’s when her gaze lands on us.
I zoom in, trying to get her reaction up close, and I’m smiling in anticipation, but her expression does not register as happy, presents-on-Christmas-morning surprise the way I thought it would.
In fact, it’s more eggshell-in-my-sticky-toffee-pudding.
And now another question pops into my mind. What have I just walked into?