New York City

December 31, 2020 

 

  The burning bite of bile filled my throat again, and this time, I let it spew. When I first got the urge, I’d been able to pinch it, willing it to stop. It happened the second time and I couldn’t hold back. Peace. It was all I wanted. In my stomach, in my mind, in my life. A respite from the nonsense. 

   I looked at the glowing phone, now covered in a vomity mixture of gin, tonic and hors d’oeuvres and started to feel nauseous all over again. The pitter patter of the rainfall shower would normally be a comforting sound. The sound of home. Instead it was a beacon. It honed in on Ben’s exact location. While he washed his body, blissfully unaware of what was happening, I decided. I was done.

   Letting the phone fall to the floor, I walked past the secret texts and naked pictures that had been “hidden” and the regurgitated contents of my stomach to make my way to the overflowing closet that was the size of a casket. The rental listing for the apartment boasted the cedar built in closets. Over the years, we’d acquired other different storage and chests, but the closet was where he let me keep most of my stuff. I yanked one of Ben’s pretentious designer t-shirts from its metal hanger, making it clank on the back of the wooden cubicle. I carelessly wiped the trail of puke that I could see and rubbed harder at the spots I could only feel. I dropped the white shirt in a heap on the floor and reached for my favorite pair of heels.

   When I’d been promoted, I’d spent most of my first paycheck on the sleek black slingbacks. Even though I’d found them at a sample sale, they still cost four digits worth of money. For weeks, I’d subsided on ramen noodles and rice, but it was the last time I could remember doing something that made me so overwhelmingly happy. Even if no one else understood, they meant everything to me. The shoes were four inch heels, made for summertime in the city, when you had a car service to drive you wherever you needed to be. I didn’t buy these shoes for walking. They were made for evenings when my heels could be out in the open,  and moisturized properly. They were not made for a cold winter New York evening, even if it was New Year’s Eve, with a special evening planned. 

   Hah. I almost laughed out loud at the thought of a special evening. In the height of the global pandemic, there was no place to go and nowhere to be, but we were going to dress up anyway and order food.

   I stepped into the heels and pulled them across my ankles. As I tapped across the wood floor of the apartment, I thought of the only three times I’d even worn the shoes. 

   The first time, I’d taken a cab to Hell’s Kitchen, way too far of a walk from where I lived. I’d bragged about them over brunch with a couple of girlfriends, where we’d shared stories of our sexual exploits and lack of acceptable suitors. This had been BB, Before Ben. 

I’d worn them once to work, where my feet swelled so bad that I had to go out on my lunch break to buy a sensible replacement pair to make it through the rest of the day. 

   The last time I’d worn them had been on my first date with Ben. He’d asked me out and planned the perfect date. We’d checked in with the hostess at the pretentious new restaurant before skipping across the street to listen to live jazz over a couple of old fashioneds. We’d eaten, drunk, talked, and much to my chagrin, walked. By the end of the night, the throbbing in my soles had been secondary to the throbbing in my soul. Immediately I knew Ben was different. Something special. He was the one. Any man that could make me forget about the pain in my feet was the man for me. That had been two years ago. When times were different. When the world was open, carefree and young.​

   I click-clacked across the eight hundred square foot apartment, and stared out the window for a moment, before passing the kitchen, my coat, and keys, to walk out to the winter evening.​

   “Happy New Years sweetheart,” called Ray as he reached to open the door for me. The older black man stood proudly in his pressed uniform and blue paper mask that covered his nose and mouth. Most of the other doormen either wore their mask below their nose, or didn’t wear one at all, which sent many of the building tenants in a spiral. Ray took Covid, like he took his job, extremely seriously.

   “Happy New Year to you, Mr. Ray.”

   “What are you doing differently this year?” Ray asked. His southern drawl made year sound more like “yeah”. Even after several decades of living in the boroughs for several decades, he was still an old black man from the south.  That would never change.

I hesitated for a moment, stopping in the doorway until an acceptable answer came to mind. “I’m going to do what needs to be done.” The simple answer was all I could think of. I started walking as he called out.

   “I know that’s right. We’re taking care of business in the new year. Hey, don’t you need a coat, darling?”

   “I ain’t going far.” I’m sure I looked like a complete nut job – sweatpants, designer heels, without a coat in the middle of winter, but things were going to be what they were going to be. He seemed to accept my answer, sending me on my way with well wishes and the requirement to be careful. I stepped away from the building, joining the street southbound, and made my way into the evening.

   As a native New Yorkers, Carmen, my mother, had many rules that she’d tried to impress upon me, her only daughter. First, always be aware of my surroundings. If I think someone is following me, they probably are. Don’t lollygag, walk with purpose. Models walk with their head ups and eyes faced forward, confident the ground will be there under their feet. Take a can of mace everywhere and carry my keys in between my fingers. Crazy beats big every time, so don’t be afraid to be loud or crazy. If a man follows, turn around and ask that motherfucker if he has a problem. Most importantly, don’t ever let a man, no matter who he was, take you off course. It didn’t matter if he was a bum on the street or my own daddy. I could always come home, where the love was. If I wanted to go somewhere or do something, no man was supposed to get in my way. I laughed aloud at the thought as I turned left.

   The crowd and commotion of a private party spilled out onto the sidewalk. People from all over the world made their way to the island to celebrate the impending year. This year, the celebration was muted compared to other years, but it was still there. The cheering and excitement of what was to come mingled in the air with the disappointment and inaction of the previous year. People walked in the opposite direction, toward Manhattan, piling in from Brooklyn. I walked toward Brooklyn, the borough I’d grown up in, my toes rubbing against the side of the patent leather. If I kept up, I’d have a blister, but it didn’t matter anymore.

   I was comfortably on the Williamsburg Bridge Path when I noticed him. Maybe he’d been there longer, I couldn’t be certain. The cold swept through my sweats and the ache in my feet distracted me from my surroundings, among everything else going on. The potentiality existed that he wasn’t following me, that perhaps, we were both heading in the same direction. Once on the bridge, there was nowhere else to go until reaching Brooklyn. I’m not stupid though and this is New York, where the ratio was one to one, sane versus crazy. My intuition had saved me in many different situations and my gut churned with warning.

   A woman in heels, walking alone, in the darkness of evening. The situation was so cliche I could have vomited again. My heart started to beat faster as I worked through the choices I had. Looking around, there were enough people where I wasn’t alone, but there was a good chance I could be snatched and while kicking and screaming, people would turn their heads and mind their business. They had New Year’s Eve parties to get to and drinks to down. In three blocks, we’d be over the East River, with nowhere else to go. I made an unnecessary look over my shoulder to see if the man was still there. Tall and muscular, wearing an unzipped puffy coat, he didn’t make eye contact when I looked dead at him. 

   This is not how this was supposed to go. I was in charge and I wasn’t supposed to be scared. Men weren’t supposed to change my path. I’m making the decisions that I wanted to make, and doing what I wanted to do for once in my life. Turning back east, I picked up the pace, walking as fast as the impractical four inch heels would allow. I should have put on a better pair of shoes. It didn’t matter if he was still following. He wasn’t going to be faster than me. I reached the middle of the bridge, high over the East River, at the perfect vantage point to watch fireworks, lights and celebrations. I looked at the man, who made eye contact as he moved closer, his hooded eyes circled wildly. A stranger looking to do who knows what. In a clear voice, I spoke to him. 

   “You’re too late.” I pulled my right heel from my shoe and stuck my shaking foot in the narrow slot of the bridge. I pulled the left shoe off, stepping on the freezing cold metal, and steadied my hands on the railing. 

   “Oh my God, someone stop her,” slurred a drunk woman, as I let myself fall head first over the side of the railing, pushing hard with my feet and legs.