Kathleen Considine

Dinner ran later than expected. It’s 10:56 pm by the time I finally excuse myself from the annual reunion dinner at II Posto Accanto with my college girlfriends. We silently all know we’ve outgrown each other, but no one would ever dare to admit it. If we don’t post the video of us forcing a picture-perfect smile while cheersing our drinks on social media, the world might combust or something. They had all opted to stay as late as staff would allow. Me on the other hand, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. There’s only so much of my precious time I am willing to donate to those girls. We have nothing in common anymore and our priorities lie on opposite sides of the universe. I secured an advertisement job right out of college; it’s not exactly what I planned on doing for the rest of my life, but I make six figures and don’t have any repulsive rugrats ruining the course of my life. I count that as a win.

I’m feeling the effects of the drinks, but not enough to fake sincerity for much longer. A spiffy waiter on a smoke break holds the door open for me and I give him a nonchalant nod of acknowledgement. The rain drops seem to float as soon as they pass through the imposing beams created by the street lights. The sidewalks glow with the combination of this fresh wet coating and the warm lights that line the city. The streets are empty, wildly out of character for the Lower East Side. While there is not a soul within view, there are also no taxis whipping around every block, as is usually characteristic of Manhattan. The lack of taxis inclines me to begin the journey home by foot. Hopefully I’ll run into a taxi early in the trek. I can’t decide if this is an enjoyable newfound peace or an ominous cause for vigilance. I’m thinking too hard. This city takes a new form every night I step foot in it. This is just a foreign form.

The walk to my new apartment is about 20 minutes from here, 23 minutes to be exact, although I have a sneaking suspicion tonight’s weather conditions will make it drag. I pop open my Burberry pocket umbrella and try to make the best of this walk home. Window shopping the countless closed stores. Tuning into the sound of car tires zipping through puddles. The crosswalk beeps ring louder tonight than I have ever heard before. The silence of the night has a counteractive effect on my mind, but I fight that feeling. I want tonight to lean towards the peaceful form of the city that I’ve never come across, not in my 9 months of living here anyway.

What better time to romanticize walking home than when it is politely raining, leaving the city that never sleeps speechless for once. I can’t help but take advantage of this moment. I hum “Singin’ in the Rain” as I do a majestic twirl with my umbrella. I allow my feet to leave the pavement in a childlike skip, this evolving into spinning like an undisciplined ballerina. I am

clearly enjoying myself a bit too much when my iPhone flies out of my jacket pocket. The romanticization comes to a dramatic halt as I stumble out of my spin to try to relocate my phone. Of course, it has landed itself at the bottom of the deepest puddle in sight. I’m nauseated at even the thought of sticking my hand into the murky water to pull out the phone. My perfectly manicured fingers were never destined to be subjected to such ickiness. I reluctantly bend down to meet the puddle that rudely interrupted my movie moment and bravely reach my hand in. Once retrieved, I give my phone a shake hoping to throw the muck and water droplets from it.

All attempts to turn on my phone prove unsuccessful. Great. I’ll add stopping by the apple store to pick up a new phone to the agenda for tomorrow. My attention is drawn away from my phone when I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Still squatting, I carefully look up cautiously and see a silhouette, probably 50 yards away. Where the fuck did they come from? I slowly stand up and continue on my way, trying not to overthink the chilling sudden appearance of another person. This is the city. Of course there’s going to be other people walking on the sidewalk. The rain didn’t stop me after all.

Trying to distract myself, I pay closer attention to the buildings in passing. I notice I’m coming up to the used book store I sometimes make the walk to to treat myself. The secondhand bookstore is a 15 minute walk from my apartment and just as I thought, only 8 minutes have passed since I started my trek home. “Dragging” is an understatement. What will make the time pass? Calling an acquaintance to chat might help, but clearly that’s not happening tonight. I would usually use this walk home to maximize my time and check my emails or something, but of course none of that is an option currently. My leather booties are going to be completely trashed after this shit show. Buying new Balmains: yet another task to add to an already full plate tomorrow. Ugh.

The sound of footsteps overtakes my thoughts. How did I forget I wasn’t truly alone on this walk home? Where is this person going in the rain at this time? Why is no one else out on the streets right now? I pull out my compact mirror from my bag, cracked and smudged from excessive use. I pretend to dab my cheek as I peer behind me in the glass. The person is significantly closer. Close enough for me to tell he is a man. A bald man. Although the street lights are casting a shadow over the majority of his features, his reflective head continues to illuminate the night path as much as the street lamps do. Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this dress. I look amazing, of course this bald creepy man is preying on me right now. I tug at the bottom of my dress and fiddle with my phone, praying it will find some remaining life so I can save my own.