Shira's Tale(Wattys2017)

Chapter 5

The night is young and New York is shining. I am jogging and my flesh is expelling sweat. My thin locks of hair are glued to my temple and the thick strips tied up in a bun which I'm hoping doesn't collapse. Music is pounding in my ears and my Nikes are tackling the cracks of the road.
I use this time to think, to observe, to reminisce and to endure. My feet speed, my eyes navigate and my heart pumps endorphins, and my mind wonders.
I watch people I see in the street who I pass, whom I may possibly never see again.
I pass two plump women who have probably just finished their shifts at a grocery store or at a restaurant . You can see from people's clothes in New York how wealthy they are; these women are not. They're cackling on about something, they are happy and don't give a shit what people think of them. I decide to greet them and they chime a friendly greeting to me in harmonic unison.
I am suddenly zoned into a thought of my childhood:
There used to be a bakery around the corner from my home- it was called Mass's Baking Heaven. The 'Mass' stands for Massachusetts , and they were possibly the best bakery in the whole state. They sold anything from donuts to double layered cakes to Oreo conolis. They supplied all the birthday parties I had as a child. My parents depended on them to make my birthday cake; whether it was a Barbie cake, a Beauty and the Beast cake, a SpongeBob cake or a cake with a marzipan Canon camera for my 16th-Mass's never failed us. During tough days in high school, my friends and I would drag ourselves there; order milkshakes and suddenly everything would feel better.
The place was run by a plump, Italian-American husband and wife who had skinny children . Both their son and daughter attended my elementary and middle school-their son was in my year . The couple's names are Lydia and Archie Tow . They are possibly the friendliest shop owners you could come across in Boston. They would ask you about what was happening in your life when you came by, you'd ask them and by the time you'd left the shop you would be aware that one of their cousin's kids' had punched another kid in the face or had accidentally shaved their whole head of hair off. The Tows have a very uncanny and interesting life.
Mass's is still open and strong . I visit the bakery everytime I am in Boston.

The women are gone and out of sight. They are just another key to my memory. I'm listening to Haim, one of my favorite artists at the moment. My thoughts are clear and I'm stuck in reality. I watch my feet sketch across the concrete and feel my bun bouncing and tilting slowly above my head. I watch people walk past me. Some are dressed in work attire, normal clothes or in tourist attire. There is family of three coming my way ; they are wearing sneakers and the daughter has a camera around her neck . This makes me form a small smile. I can hear from the way they speak that they're not American- maybe British or Australian. I'd be able to hear them better if I took out my earphones.
The wife has dyed red hair that is cut just passed her hairs and has pinkish skin. The husband is wearing a Superman shirt, a cap with the American flag print across the top and bears broad shoulders. The daughter is about thirteen or fourteen with bushy, dark hair and braces gated across her teeth.
The family makes me think of when I came to New York with my family when I fourteen.
My family and I stayed in a hotel just out of the city in New Jersey. There were two double beds in the room and I was forced to share one with Brooke. We would take a bus to the city everyday for our five day trip and explore the city. I was using my Dad's camera at the time and wasn't a serious photographer just yet. I was only playing around and taking photos with no actual knowledge of what made a brilliant photo. We were like that family-dressed in comfortable clothing and sneakers on our feet. We had meals at the best diners around the city , explored the huge Barnes and Nobles and saw a broadway show- Hairspray I think it was.
I knew by the time we went back home that I wanted to spend my life here. And look where I am now.
I continue jogging, panting my humid air, sweating, exercising-thinking.
Did Brooke realize the same thing when she came to New York? Did she have the very plan from the beginning-but kept it to herself? Yup, my plan was just a drafts of hers. She probably had a whole physical plan on colorful wax paper with sticks and gel pens stuck on the inside of her closet door at her boarding school. Mine had always been in my head and abstract as my thoughts.
I suddenly think of her : her restaurant, her elated and irritating smile, her concerned eyes. I want it to all go away, disappear and never come back.
Suddenly, I have a flash shine through my eyes. Not physically, but a memory. It's me in college , my first year. No I don't want to think of that, no.
I stop in my tracks, pull myself to the side and lean over my knees. I wipe my sweat from my forehead and blink tears in my eyes caused by the wind. I always forget to blink as I run and end up being exposed with sweat and tears on my skin. I lick my lips and pant heavily. I don't know why, but panic is spreading through me. Is it too much? This life? Am I too unstable for this normal life?
I start inhaling and exhaling like the idiot I am. I swallow slippery spit and I squeeze my eyes together.
I'm okay, I'm okay.
I am fine.
I rise from my halted posture and continue jogging. I'll be home in five minutes to my safe room, my home. Bengi will be waiting for me as well as the food in the fridge which I will combine to make a tasty chicken salad. My mouth waters just as I think about it.
Tomorrow, I will go to work, teach the future generation and then watch movies with Maureen.
Wait, I'm having drinks with Elijah tomorrow night.
I stop in my tracks again, my heart skips a beat.
Fuck.