A few days I hung out with brother Dan again. We have been through not too much but through substantial life situations that could bond us or break us in terms of memory-holding. He doesn't hold anything against me but perhaps I hold something against him for being intensely different that I cannot call him my brother lately or anymore. But I cannot hold it against him that he is different because he IS different. Afterall we are not biologically brothers and we are from separate parents. The inclination and tendency to keep calling him brother only highlights my intense interest in having a brother and a desperate need to call up relationships in the face of anonymity and in the face of cynical strangerness in NYC. Dan and I snooped 8th Avenue but I wasn't entirely present during our hangout mostly because I was feeling incredibly lethargic and the haze of 8th Avenue made me a little turned off. Not much has changed considering 8th Ave is mostly stuffy and I had feelings that I would be spending money with Dan. He ended up paying for me and updating me on his life which is nearly as cynical as mine. He doesn't consider the future any more brighter especially when he said "Cancer? So you have cancer, you can't do anything about it." His unpoignant response was laid bare. I'm not sure if he said it out of spite because he was reacting to my negativity or because he really felt as if life deals people an upper blow to their vitality. I cannot say that he was angry at all but I do know that Dan drifts into indifference once in a while. I am glad that we roamed the new supermarket which has changed a lot. My ex and I walked it a year ago, it was where we lost forty dollars that I returned to her. The supermarket had changed its layout dramatically and it became a strip mall concentrated on one fourth of the block's end. Also there were restaurants that reminded me of any other food court inside of malls especially the Queens Center Mall which Linda and I ate at. I took Rachel there four years ago as well when I courted her. During our two times hangout I took her to the mall and also to a sushi restaurant which I'm not sure if it was her idea or mine. But it turned out that I had to "give over" certain feelings and reconcile the situation with Nick who I continue to believe harbors intense feelings for her. Back to Dan who I consider my key to Baruch and also my key to understanding bromance. He paid for my meal twice now and I am left high and dry wondering when I will pay him. The reason why favors and acts of closeness are different is obvious: favors are done not by choice but by response while acts of closeness are voluntary and from the heart. No friend tells another friend that they will do a favor straight out of the heart because a favor necessarily entails a reciprocation of the favor in a like manner.
The Friday morning began as early and a wakeup call to June. But the wakeup call was rather slow and slight because I didn't have school to move me forward or to alert me what day it is. School seems the holding ground or standpoint to focus certain people like me. I overheard at the Open Mic last night a conversation between two girlfriends: one of them said "I want to go back to school...I just need something to do." This poor girl also needs structure in her life as well and her usual studying habits will probably provide her that, she insists. I assume that she studies a lot based on her Asianness. Friday was rather laidback for me but it wasn't consistent laidbackness. In the morning I met up with Patricia half an hour later which prompted me to wait at a bus stop and watch Hispanic and Spanish people congregate and talk in loud voices. The scenes were wild but not as filtered as the ones in McDonalds only a street away. Our first hangout took us to Tiny's Giant which was on the corner of my past internship spot, AAFE. Patricia cleared up my confusion and confirmed that Hispanic and Latino are interchangeable terms. She also said that if I walk with a girl and she is walking on the outset of the sidewalk it means I am selling her. This was a rather funky fact to know. I took a picture with her but then my camera was rewound the wrong way which led to me wasting 36 shots and a five dollar roll. I suppose that Patricia's openness conceals rarely anything but I am especially distanced if communication isn't top priority. I fear that I was a bit offputting and a little too uptight for her at times when she is very loose in terms of attitude and carrying a conversation. She doesn't hold herself the way I do, sometimes in strict bowels of statements of laughs that do not entirely mean their tone of laughter. Sometimes my constricted laugh indicates the willingness to laugh with you at a certain joke even when it doesn't stick to me as overtly funny or as funny as you laughed it to be. I wonder if this playing-it-off or agreeing-with-you is offputting if it is less genuine. It depends if she considers this surface action as genuine or disingenuine or if she even cares at me. It would be extremely sad if I made a mountain out of a molehill and she doesn't care because she's more open.
Unfortunately I had to leave an hour later to go to my old high school smack dab in Brooklyn where the train track curves right above the rear gate which is open and the booth is empty as ever. I rode the train one hour down to Bay 50th Street and prayed that the D did not go on the N line. When I arrived I sensed the change in the air, the season, and the atmosphere was simply light, diffuse. There were not as many ghetto kids standing by John's Deli or by the other deli which goes unnamed because it's sign is not as prominent or outstanding as John's Deli. I also noticed the "trashyness" (Thomas called it trashy I assume because of its succinct pollutedness and dust) of the location because of its darkness under the train tracks. I made my way through security which was rationally a space of being void and not existing because I was submit to a loss of individuality. Everyone goes through the scanner and everyone is made to enter the cage of the machine in which you are stripped of your individuality and self-importance. All the guards were new and Mr. Occhiogrosso made his entrance incredibly nonchalant and chill. We flowed into the music wing which remained the same to the exception of a repaired floor tiles. The windows were still agape and every few minutes the train rolled by with creaks and screams emitting from its clackety tracks. The space was devoid of Miss Byrd's voice or her rhythm as she steps down the generous hall where we used to practice for talent show or for the annual spring concert. Those were the good times when parents were invited to this middle-of-nowhere place on a one fourth acre of land and listen to music inside a mediocre auditorium that delivered okay acoustics. I could not imagine that four years ago or even five this hall was a playground for me and my friends to stroll down. Now it was silent as ever and fobs marched down the place in groups to only signal the continuation of first generation immigrants' children. When Mr. O opened the black door to the left which contained all the instruments that Steinberg used it was a rush of memories. I would tune my guitar inside that long cavernous space lit by a singular light. I would wash my hands there sometimes. It was also there that I found Nicole Suissa whom I jammed with for a few months after. She was my singing buddy and inspiration who share my same birthday. Though we dissipated for very similar reasons that I parted with Cathy, it became clear that nostalgia was part of my denial that moment. When I climbed upstairs I dreaded bumping into Mr. Perez (Perez bumped into me and Joe six months ago at Burger King when he was eating two whoppers to substitute his lunch and dinner before his DJ-ing gig: there he offered advice on finding work because the econ was in the downfall) because of his sideways meanness and his subtle reproachment. He is overall a cool, practical guy but he did not favor me returning to school and wandering the halls nonchalantly because it would be his responsibility to watch over me and make sure that I do not disrupt classes or instigate suspicion among the security guards. Seeing Dr. Ojo made his day because he is apparently cynical and flamed about his career teaching boisterous kids. I actively sought out Mr Solo who I bumped into only half an hour later at the two set of ugly green doors. His similar attitude and composed personality brought me back six, seven years ago when I developed film in his dark room and I observed the red safe light and I also met Xia and Beisi through Mr. Solo. It was clear that my memories were jogged. He despised the DOE for letting go of all teachers and having them reapply again. He also said that maybe Beisi and I could start an alumni photography site and link it to his JDHS photo site to bridge the gap between students and graduates. I suppose the most exciting part of my visit was not only Mr. Occhiogrosso's rehearsal for Tannenstock next Friday, but it was seeing the English department, mostly Mr. Talignanny whose alma mater is also Hunter College. Mr. T looked a tad older because his hairline was receding and his hair was thinning. Also his eyes were greying and his cheeks were receiving a few more wrinkle lines. But his energy has been retained along with the vociferous tendencies of the english department itself. Mr. Calabro and Ms Babsky still taught next to each other. When I saw Babsky I knew I had to say hi because four years ago on graduation she offered me advice to think outside the box. She reminded me once again that finding work should not be difficult because "you've [me] always thought outside the box, Ken." She would end the conversations with "off you go" to incite a go-do-it/move yourself to action attitude instead of a lethargic mmm-I'll-think-about-it attitude.
Practicing with Mr. O brought back memories of the last jam only half a year ago when I played a song with him and videotaped it. But I resented having done that because my voice sucked in that song. Observing his students mull through rehearsal was intense and inspiring. I feel sorry for Mr. O to have to tolerate two graduates who were complaining about filming rights and not being able to practice. Mr. O has always been a man who followed the rules and he does make exceptions but his trust cannot be violated in any way because he does keep tokens. I played two songs that did not hearken Mr. Tannenbaum much because if I was to remember him I would play Slide by the Goo Goo Dolls which was my beginning song in Dewey. I also felt like I didn't do his memory justice other than just being there and performing for him next Friday. However this opportunity is no less uplifting because I get to remember him and his intense vigor on the guitar five years ago when we jammed for the spring concert. The best part of my day came from the acknowledgement of Tina. I wanted to say hi to her when she entered. But I realized that we were different people and that her college life had probably shaped her. But my interpretation is without reason: people always change, how can you pack them into one single day when you haven't seen them in over five years? I am grateful that Tina has been visible of me when she passed me and asked You go to Hunter right? I felt relieved that this awkwardness has dissipated and that it has vanished. Now I can talk to her and be myself without being awkward and silent mouse. I remember faintly taking an interest in Tina when I found her Myspace page and her featured song was Vulnerable by Secondhand Serenade. It was then I listened to that song a dozen times and tried to play it during my senior year. I didn't know much about Tina so I decided that to know her I would listen to that song and try to understand why she would feel this way, because she does listen to the song and features it, it must be her favorite song at that time. I live lives vicariously in a way (not to be confused with stalking) in order to find out who certain people are and what their interests are. I did the same for this sophomore named Joey during my junior year. I picked up TTYL by Lauren Myracle a year after and skimmed it to realize that it was a trashy teen book that glorified text messaging and instant messages.
I can't say that returning to Dewey was intense, but I can say that it brought a level of nothingness back into the spaces around my heart. I felt more distant than ever probably because I expected to see more teachers. This nothingness comes from a denial that I had spent four years of my life in a high school that will be closed and then reopened with a new name and with a new feel. I am in denial that I have walked these halls because I am unstable at the moment in my life, so how can I appoint a specific phase of my life during a phase of my life in which I am overwhelmingly confused about? How can I be clear about my life now by looking at the past? I can't simply say Wow look far I've come because the school jogs memories but in time these memories become unclear, befuddled, faint, and blurry. They begin to lose their potency and they begin to lose their importance in a way.
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