After drinking coffee and brainstorming something to do in this town, Laurel and I decided to go for a walk in the troubled haven of New City, NY.
We had just finished off our Starbucks and had nothing to do. Later that night, we ended up showing up to Dunkin’ Donuts, before getting dirty looks from a former classmate and feeling forced to leave. Other highlights included trying to find a restaurant that was still open, so Laurel could pee, and eating Wendy’s French fries.
As we were walking, I some voice calling my name.
“Sara Fruman! Sara Fruman!”
Shoot. Who knows me?
True, I did grow up in this town and was well-known in high school, though I don’t think that was a good thing.
Still I was shocked that someone was calling my name. Everyone has seemed to be out of the country, at school, or avoiding each other.
The car pulls into a parking lot, adjacent to “The Clubhouse,” a New City bar, which I’ve never been inside of given that I still have about six months to go until my 21st birthday.
Marc greets me. He is an old friend of mine from Hebrew School, and I’ve known him since elementary school. He is kind and excited to see me. His arms wrap around me, giving me a friendly hug. This summer, he might be the only not awkward encounter I’ve had with someone I haven’t spoken to in a while. He is a bit tipsy and offers me a ride, which I turn down. We were walking to walk, not to get somewhere.
Marc’s genuine excitement to see me makes me brings a full smile to my face. When I juxtapose his friendly nature to an old classmate hiding his face to avoid us at Dunkin’ later that night, the difference is similar to getting a hug and then getting slapped in the face.
I’m not sure why I saw Marc that day; I hadn’t seen him for years, but I’m certain there was a reason.
I’ll never understand why the warmth of life slips through some faster than others, but I’m certain I’ll always remember Marc by my last encounter with him.
After realizing that there is nowhere to go after nine on a Tuesday night, my friends Lauren, Laurel and myself decided to hang out at the local Dunkin’ Donuts.
Since we are 20-years-old, the bars were off limits. We had already spent time at the Palisades Mall and Wally’s, a local ice cream shop. As we sat down to discuss life, the coffee shop filled up with our graduating class.
Lauren was salutatorian of our graduating class. She currently attends Brown University and is studying mathematics and economics. Laurel attends the Pratt Institute of Design in Brooklyn and is a graphic design major. I didn’t become friends with either of them until my senior year of high school, and the two of them are a couple of the only friends I have left from Clarkstown South.
First, Brian, a friend of mine from high school, walked in with his friend, Tom, and ordered coffee. Brian is a nice guy, who is also 20-years-old and is studying math and economics at the University of Virginia. I had never had a full conversation with Tom, who was much “cooler” than me in high school. He is the same age and attends the Rochester Institute of Technology; he is majoring in marketing.
After the two of them sat down at a table next to us, Lauren, Laurel and I naturally censored our conversation. About two minutes later, if not sooner, the boys decided to join us. We preceded to have a somewhat awkward conversation.
Tom said, “Sara where do you go to school.”
I responded, “The University of Colorado at Boulder. My life is awesome.”
Tom then said, “I’ve seen pictures of your 4/20 celebration.”
I then responded, “Yeah. 4/20 is huge.”
I then went on and on about my 4/20, which I don’t think he actually cared about at all. People love to ask about 4/20, the event and skiing are just about the only questions I get.
The rest of the time was spent talking amongst the five of us. Soon after, another two guys from my graduating class showed up.
The two of them said “hey” to Tom. I’ve never had a conversation with either of them and was couldn’t help but wonder whether or not they are straight. Both of them dress way too well.
They walked out and spent about an hour outside of Dunkin’ Donuts, lighting cigarettes every couple of minutes.
Not much time had passed, but the time was already 1 a.m.
Of course, two of the oddest men from my high school class walk in, with their moms.
One of them just graduated from our local community college, Rockland Community College or SUNY Rockland. He always talks to my little sister, which creeps me out. He used to be chubby, but now he looks overly thin. The other guy goes to some acting college and is a Jew for Jesus, which I always find interesting.
I instantly became interesting on why their mothers were up at 1 a.m. on a Tuesday night. My mom always goes to bed by like 10 p.m. I never found out.
The whole night was strange. I couldn’t help but wonder if this is the only place open in the entire county.
Since the time was about 1:30 a.m., and I had to wake up in the morning, I went home. High school feels far away, but if I was awoken tomorrow and was told that I had to return, that college was a dream, I’d believe it.
UPDATE: We also saw Stephen Baldwin at some point at some point. I guess I really didn’t care, but others think this is important information.
With no recent responsibilities, I have turned to a life of drugs, sex, and rock and roll.
And by drugs, sex, and rock and roll, I mean reading, “Miss O’Dell.”
Chris O’Dell appears to be the most lucky woman in the world. She stumbles into a job at Apple and gets to spend years and years spending time with the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, etc., and their fantastic wives.
I’ve spent the past few days living vicariously through her. It was almost as if I, myself had had sex with Ringo Starr, meditated with George Harrison and snorted lines with Keith Richards. In reality, I spent my rare amounts of free time reading and trying to think of ways to entertain myself.
O’Dell’s life appeared to be ideal. She did not have a “real job” for many years and regularly found herself in every rock-and-roll woman’s fantasy. Despite, all her highs, and she was almost always high (or drunk), I’m not sure if I would actually trade my life.
Sure, my life currently appears to be painfully boring, but I manage to never have “lows” as low as O’Dell’s, the lows of drug addiction.
On a brighter note, she has her own song, written by none other than George Harrison. I’d trade just about anything for that.
“I’m the only one down here/ Whos got/ nothing to say/ About the war/ Or the rice/ That keeps going astray on its way to bombay. /And the smog that keeps/ polluting up our shores/ Is boring me to tears./ Why don’t you call me, miss odell?”
Listen to the full song: “Miss O’ Dell”
Until I find a way to make my life more interesting.
Until I get my own song.
You’ll find me here and really bored, for another week, anyway.
Most people would not consider being stuck in Rockland County, NY, a death sentence.
I am approximately 30 miles from New York City, in the suburbs of the city.
Last summer, I avoided being home. I spent time in Israel and had a fabulous experience.
I don’t know what I will do with myself. I have a few friends left, many of which will barely be home.
I escaped life here. I moved to Colorado. Why am I back?
There was a moment today that it occurred to me that I might kill myself. My sister was taking up the living room and kitchen and has been sick, and thus around all the time. My father took up the downstairs. My mom was in my room, playing on the computer. I realized that there is absolutely no space for me. I miss my apartment. I miss my life.
In short, this blog will be an experiment on how I deal with being “home.” On the bright side, this summer will not last forever. Thankfully, I avoided community college. I escaped.