has ever said anything, as loudly as the shade of red she used to X out my application), “This isn’t Jankburg, Pennsylvania .”
“I’ll vouch for him,” I hear.
The hallway falls even more still, if possible, and from sixteen floors below us a siren whirs past, and you can practically hear the flap of a pigeon’s wings from outside the window.
“I can vouch for this boy.”
And when I turn, it isn’t my imagination talking, or Mrs. Rylance or Uncle Robert.
It’s a woman with Mom’s noseand Mom’s chin and Mom’s sad almond eyes, but with better hair, straighter and trendier, and an umbrella and rain boots and the look of a thousand lost dreams all over her shoulders.
“Aunt Heidi.”
Explanation Time
W e find another corner.
These audition studios are a series of corners, hallways connecting to hallways, like an Escher drawing, a staircase becoming an upside-down door. I have a hunch there might be no actual rooms at all, that when you walk into the “audition studio,” it’s actually just a direct drop-off to the street below.
And that’s what I’m staring at, frozen: an ant path of cabs, a city of yellow where everything would be grey back home.
“Well, long time no see, Nathan,” Aunt Heidi says, clicking one of those free pens people get at banks, click click click .
“I’m—I can’t believe this,” I say, turning from the window. I’m not sure what I am most: embarrassed or freaked out or just knocked to my senses by seeing a forgotten blood relative. Someone I haven’t laideyes on since I was a toddler. Someone I only really recognize from the pictures Mom keeps hidden. “I’m really sorry I never thanked you for all the cool cards you sent me,” I say.
“Yeah, well,” Heidi says, taking off her rain boots and pulling up two wool socks. Wool socks: that would’ve been smart to pack. “Most aunts probably send money, so don’t be too hard on yourself, Nathan.”
“Nate, now,” I want to say, “I just go by Nate, now,” but I don’t want to stutter, so I just go, “Uh.”
Heidi puts her rain boots back on and looks me up and down, just like Libby did in my yard right before sending me off on my maiden moron voyage. But Heidi’s eyes are more concerned. Judgmental. “Nathan, what were you thinking ?”
“You ran away from Pittsburgh yourself, Aunt Heidi,” I want to say, “and tried to make it in the big city, so don’t look at me like that,” but instead I say, “I dunno.”
A man comes out of the snack shop, holding a banana and a packet of Protein Graham Crackers, whatever those are. I’m starting to get the sense that you can’t get anything in New York without something else coming with it: You can’t get directions without getting condescended to, and you can’t even get graham crackers without somebody injecting them with protein.
“How—how did you know I was here?” I finally say, the most obvious question to lead with but one that begs an answer I don’t want to hear.
“Your friend Libby,” Heidi says, taking my shoulder and gently pushing me back, so a few grown-up dancers can pass us, “told your older brother.”
“She did what ?” I say, or shriek, and press away from the wall.
“Keep it down, Nathan.”
How could Libby do this to me?
“Your brother got injured at some track event,” Heidi says, her eyes doing the Manhattan Dart, “and got home early and found your friend Libby going through his underwear drawer.” Libby! “It sounded like quite a thing.”
“Oh my God,” I say. Holy Cats ! ( Cats wasn’t technically a flop, but Libby says it was, artistically, so it’s on our list of alternate swears.) Holy Cats , I can’t believe Libby would do that, except I can.
“And Anthony asked her what the heck was going on, and she broke down and told him everything. That she’d seen an audition for E.T ., online, and couldn’t make it because her mom would never let her go to New York. Not with—I don’t know, I
“I’ll vouch for him,” I hear.
The hallway falls even more still, if possible, and from sixteen floors below us a siren whirs past, and you can practically hear the flap of a pigeon’s wings from outside the window.
“I can vouch for this boy.”
And when I turn, it isn’t my imagination talking, or Mrs. Rylance or Uncle Robert.
It’s a woman with Mom’s noseand Mom’s chin and Mom’s sad almond eyes, but with better hair, straighter and trendier, and an umbrella and rain boots and the look of a thousand lost dreams all over her shoulders.
“Aunt Heidi.”
Explanation Time
W e find another corner.
These audition studios are a series of corners, hallways connecting to hallways, like an Escher drawing, a staircase becoming an upside-down door. I have a hunch there might be no actual rooms at all, that when you walk into the “audition studio,” it’s actually just a direct drop-off to the street below.
And that’s what I’m staring at, frozen: an ant path of cabs, a city of yellow where everything would be grey back home.
“Well, long time no see, Nathan,” Aunt Heidi says, clicking one of those free pens people get at banks, click click click .
“I’m—I can’t believe this,” I say, turning from the window. I’m not sure what I am most: embarrassed or freaked out or just knocked to my senses by seeing a forgotten blood relative. Someone I haven’t laideyes on since I was a toddler. Someone I only really recognize from the pictures Mom keeps hidden. “I’m really sorry I never thanked you for all the cool cards you sent me,” I say.
“Yeah, well,” Heidi says, taking off her rain boots and pulling up two wool socks. Wool socks: that would’ve been smart to pack. “Most aunts probably send money, so don’t be too hard on yourself, Nathan.”
“Nate, now,” I want to say, “I just go by Nate, now,” but I don’t want to stutter, so I just go, “Uh.”
Heidi puts her rain boots back on and looks me up and down, just like Libby did in my yard right before sending me off on my maiden moron voyage. But Heidi’s eyes are more concerned. Judgmental. “Nathan, what were you thinking ?”
“You ran away from Pittsburgh yourself, Aunt Heidi,” I want to say, “and tried to make it in the big city, so don’t look at me like that,” but instead I say, “I dunno.”
A man comes out of the snack shop, holding a banana and a packet of Protein Graham Crackers, whatever those are. I’m starting to get the sense that you can’t get anything in New York without something else coming with it: You can’t get directions without getting condescended to, and you can’t even get graham crackers without somebody injecting them with protein.
“How—how did you know I was here?” I finally say, the most obvious question to lead with but one that begs an answer I don’t want to hear.
“Your friend Libby,” Heidi says, taking my shoulder and gently pushing me back, so a few grown-up dancers can pass us, “told your older brother.”
“She did what ?” I say, or shriek, and press away from the wall.
“Keep it down, Nathan.”
How could Libby do this to me?
“Your brother got injured at some track event,” Heidi says, her eyes doing the Manhattan Dart, “and got home early and found your friend Libby going through his underwear drawer.” Libby! “It sounded like quite a thing.”
“Oh my God,” I say. Holy Cats ! ( Cats wasn’t technically a flop, but Libby says it was, artistically, so it’s on our list of alternate swears.) Holy Cats , I can’t believe Libby would do that, except I can.
“And Anthony asked her what the heck was going on, and she broke down and told him everything. That she’d seen an audition for E.T ., online, and couldn’t make it because her mom would never let her go to New York. Not with—I don’t know, I
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