two snippets inspired by NY

Late in the afternoon, while the sun is still full of heat and promise, we wander the park searching for something to say. It’s days before the heat wave hits and already people are drenched with anticipatory sweat. You, like always, are pristine.

“I don’t sweat,” you remind me. “Well, I mean of course I do sweat.”
“Just not often,” I interrupt. “Yeah, you’ve told me.”
“How can that upset you?”
“Do you see me? We’ve been walking for ten minutes and I’m already drenched.”
“No,” You say, shaking your head. “Nobody can tell.”
“Yeah sorry, I don’t believe that.”

We walk down that path and stall under the bridge, letting the cool relief of the shade hover over us.

“So,” you break the silence. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah,” I say, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “For how long?”
“Two months. Well, two months and two weeks.”
“But you’re coming back?”
“That’s the plan.”
“But you’re not really?”

You dig your feet into the ground, scuffing them against the pavement and chew on your bottom lip.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“If we don’t talk about it now, we’ll never talk about it.”
“You could come with me,” You say. “I have enough money. We could have a two bedroom and you could use the second room as your office. Write or look for a job or—”
“It would take me two months just to sell everything I own.”
“Yeah, but you could meet me there."
“I could,” I say.
“But you won’t?”
“No,” I say. “I won’t.”

Zach and I went to New York last week, spending about two and a half days there. It was perfect timing: just after some rain and early enough in the summer that the sun was shining but the temperature wasn’t unbearable. We spent our days walking, visiting museums, taking naps, and eating.

It’s cliche to say you need a vacation, but I’ve been needing a vacation a lot more than I realized. I’m good at compartmentalizing the horror of the world, but lately the sheer insanity of things has been getting to me. By the end of the week I feel stretched too thin, like taffy pulled through a machine. I keep searching for some sort of logical through line that can describe things; some point of knowledge or fact that can make sense of the seemingly nonsensical.

In New York, we visit the MOMA and a man wearing a blazer sits next to us at the cafe and strikes up a conversation. He tells us about moving to the city from a rural state, about loving the art, and the queer culture. He asks if Austin has any good museums and I tell him the truth: no, our city really lacks the basics.

I have an over planning problem when I go on vacation. It’s a condition I’ve developed from my mother’s constant nagging desire to ensure everyone’s “having a good time.” On this vacation I tried to pull myself out of that by focusing less on having to do something and more on wanting to do something. Zach helps a lot with that. He’s easy-going and less concerned about seeing landmarks and tourist attractions. His ideal vacation is hanging around in a nice hotel room and leisurely walking the streets in search of something sweet.

This was my third time in new york in three decades, a fact I don’t internalize until Zach tells the man at the MOMA I’ve been here before. When I was younger my mother would travel two or three times a month, mostly to New York. She did little but work and often ended up eating at the Olive Garden in Times Square. As children we go with her and, during the day, stay at a daycare full of children convinced we ride to school on horses. On the weekend we visit the toy stores and attend a game at Yankee Stadium, hiking to the very top to watch with the drunk super fans.

I’ve been thinking a lot about leaving Austin. I’ve lived here for a decade now and the summer heat gets harder to handle each year. Plus, I crave something other than driving everywhere. It’s hard though. Everyone I know lives here. My entire family lives in Texas and now, my brother is getting married and talking about buying a house and having a kid.

“Just go,” he tells me. “We can visit every two months.” And though I admire his commitment, I’m not sure everything is ever so simple.