The cost of living
"You already did the hardest part," says the conductor on the 7:44 to Hoboken, "you got out of bed," and the train car murmurs in collective agreement.
I do not have a lot to say this week, I mean, I worked a lot, and on Friday night we went to a baseball game, my first baseball game, my first sportsball actually, do people say that, or only my friend Rachel?
The most minor of the minor leagues, Brooklyn Cyclones vs the Winston-Salem Dash, the Cyclones lost 14-4. I can't say I followed what was happening except in the most general of ways. The colors of the field did look pleasing as the sun set, and the moon came up over the roller coaster, tangerine and full. And I thought of Frank, my boss in college, who said I was the world's second best work-study ever, after Jason, who knew baseball.
I was dressed for work the other day, and Ilya remarked, "You're dressed for success," and that felt like something Frank would have said. I am still figuring out what to wear to the office, how to look sharp while still feeling myself, when myself feels happiest in layered soft things and silent shoes. "Not everyone needs their own stapler," I think, as I walk over to the printer, and somehow this feels like a revelation. Not everyone needs their own lawn mower, either, not everyone needs their own car.
By the time I got to Coney Island on Friday, I was very tired, and the sea breeze proved temporary. A child had screamed most of the way there on the F train – "She thinks she's whistling," said her father, grinning – and I wanted to change cars but stay put, thinking this child's piercing voice would probably ward off worse disturbances.
The thing about the baseball game? It was a kind of timeout. Nothing to do but exist – or endure, for pockets of time when the announcer with the put-on King Henry persona did his spiel.
In other news: "You have to figure out where all that money went," said one woman to another as they walked into Java Love on Friday morning.
NEWSY STUFF
I signed up to read at the Remembering 9/11 gathering at Stuyvesant High School on September 9th. The first invitation, some weeks ago, offered the option of "maybe," in addition to "yes" and "no," and I said "maybe," then, and now, I've upgraded myself to a "yes." I'm thinking about what to read. I like that they had "maybe" as an option, it might be a best practice event planning thing, or it might be particular to the content and context of this particular event. Anyway, if you attend, please say hello.
If you've read "Junco and Wolf" in issue No. 33 of A Public Space magazine, I would love to know what you thought of the story! Just hit reply to this email or email kasia.nikhamina (at) gmail (dot) com
Divinity School • a letter every Sunday at sunset • if you’re always looking, after some time you’ll have seen
