//creative//
Fall 2017
Thanksgiving Break: Freshman Year
Ruthie Gottesman
With the weight of three sleepless nights, I lie in my bed and surrender myself to Mandy Patinkin’s sweet tenor voice in Sondheim’s “Sunday in the Park With George.” The YouTube video is a recording of the 1986 Broadway show, so the picture is grainy, soft, and tinted yellow. Jesse texts me that his bus is running late; he will be getting in to Port Authority at 7:44 PM. It’s 6:30 PM and I plan to leave my dorm to meet him soon. As I wait, I decide to close my eyes and let Patinkin’s milky voice envelop me as he pleads with me to understand why he has to finish painting the hat. The notes of the orchestra streak the inside of my eyes with different colors and before I know it, I’m asleep.
I wake up in a state of confusion. With clouded eyes, I open up a text from Jesse—“Almost there!”—and rush out the door. I get off the subway on 42nd Street and make it to Port Authority, just in time to greet him as he steps out of the building’s doors in the midst of a rush of people. As usual, his wild hair sticks out in all directions, his bulky headphones hug his neck, and his arms are looped through his enormous backpack. When he leans down to kiss me, I think about how he’s taller than I remember. The bustle of the city rages on around us.
“Let’s go home,” he says. He smiles at me with his coal eyes as I slip my hand into his.
***
“Come on!” I cry to Jesse, who is fumbling to retrieve his Metrocard from his flimsy leather wallet. When we’ve both made it to the other side, we run towards the screeching sound of the approaching subway. I am slightly ahead of him as we struggle to heave our bags down the stairs. We push our way into the crowded 1 train before the doors close. The two of us finally come to a point of equilibrium once we wrap our fingers around the pole.
The group chat of our hometown friends is in a flurry of activity when we get off the subway at Penn Station. We make our way onto the Long Island Railroad and gratefully sink into our seats, free of the weight of our luggage. As the train moves forward, I think about how much work I have to do over break—how could I have not realized before now how many papers were due next week? When we reach Port Washington, the town is obscured by darkness—I don’t even realize that we’re home.
***
The five members of my family launch into action once my dad puts the pizza box on top of the oven, just as we always do. My fingers count the edges of five ceramic plates in the cabinet and yank them from under a large bowl, creating a loud clang. Sarah holds the refrigerator open with her back as she heaves a filtered pitcher of water from the shelf and lugs it to the table. Without hesitation, my mother cries with all the power in her lungs, “JACOB! DINNER!” Jacob slowly makes his way to the dining room once the episode he’s watching on Netflix has ended. It occurs to me how this routine is still being played out everyday, just without me.
***
The screen door shuts behind me with a bang as I run down my driveway. I turn onto Luquer Road, stepping lightly on the pavement and feeling its pressure on the soles of my shoes. I’m acutely aware of how empty the space is around me and how wide the road is. As I climb up to the peak of Luquer, the Manhattan skyline looms into view. I stop for a second and allow the city landscape to settle on my horizon. Blinking blots of color adorn the far away buildings. The city looks so still—it feels strange not to be in the middle of it all, to just be an observer.
I finally reach the corner of Amherst Road and knock on Allegra’s front door for the first time in months.
“Come in!” Allegra bellows from the depths of her house. I walk into the living room and look around me as I shrug off my coat. The wooden floor and stairs are coated in deep red carpet. Frail, lacy lampshades make the light softly linger in the atmosphere. The house smells of pinecones and pizza.
Four of my high school friends are sitting by the fireplace. They excitedly motion for me to join them on the floor. Their chatter has a subdued tone to it; they don’t talk a lot about college. Instead they’re showing each other funny videos they’ve come across on Facebook, talking about new board games they’ve discovered, and relaying how their siblings have reacted to their homecomings.
Slowly more people begin to trickle in. Samantha talks about all of her nights filled with dancing and delinquency. Alice tells us stories about her terribly inconsiderate roommate. Carly intertwines her long fingers with mine and tells me how much she missed me over and over again. The room becomes full, as people mold themselves into the deep cushions of the couches. I crouch on the floor and move from conversation to conversation, flushed with excitement.
***
I’m sitting in the kitchen, picking bits of leftover stuffing out of a glass container and recapping with my mom about how well Thanksgiving dinner went. I suddenly get a text from Lauren, asking if I’m around to go for a drive with her.
She picks me up about ten minutes later. We play “Sweet Baby James” and dreamily listen to James Taylor’s silky voice intertwined with the light strums of his guitar. We park at the town dock and note how it’s much emptier than it was this past summer. The water rhythmically brushes up against the dock and then retreats.
After a silence, Lauren clears her throat.
“So, I don’t really know how to begin, but, um, how do I put this ... Andrew and I broke up.” She continues to talk as I sit next to her nodding, silently marveling at how a two year relationship can unravel so fast.
***
When I get back to my room, my sister is fast asleep. She is neatly wrapped in her navy blue comforter, and only her face shows. Sarah’s cheeks look like they’re made of putty, I note, as I tiptoe past her bed to my own. I suddenly realize that it’s my first time sleeping in my room in a while. The blanket is too light, I think as I lie in bed. And I’m much too close to the ground.
***
We go to Jesse’s house and settle on his living room couch. Jesse props his laptop on his knee and puts on his favorite episode of The Office. I watch laughter emerge from his pink lips and crinkles spread around his eyes. I nestle my head on his cotton T-shirt and he wraps his arm around me, creating a pool of warmth on the small of my waist with his hand. I absentmindedly watch him enjoy The Office, while playing with the soft dark hairs on his wrist.
At 11:30 PM, I ask Jesse to drive me home. We silently head to his car and I watch him back out of his driveway. The tires of the car roll on the silky pavement, gracefully gaining speed. Suddenly, I start to think about how we have done this drive so many times before. How we have gone down the snaking street of South Road and how we have waited at the light to turn onto Harbor Acres and how we have sped down Port Boulevard without seeing a single other car and how this all has always happened at around 11:48 PM, 11:49 PM, rushing to make it back to my worried mother waiting up for me at home. I feel the weight of all this, so I rest my head in the palm of my hand and look ahead through my warm teary eyes at the blurry traffic lights that bleed out in every direction.
“Are you ok?” Jesse asks me as his tires roll to a stop on the gravel in front of my house.
I nod.
He walks me up to my bright red front door and, of course, he kisses me goodnight.
***
I stare at a blank page which has been open on my laptop for almost all of the break, unsure of which essay to even start working on. Wanting to narrow down my focus, I copy and paste the poem “And That Is Your Glory” by Yehuda Amichai into a Google document and read it through. I can hear in my head my professor reciting the last three lines of the poem with a grandness, but a softness in his tone that he reserves for few occasions. I start to dissect the poem line by line—slowly finding clarity through taking notes on each verse and then taking notes on those notes. I discover that Amichai is happy to live hiding from the world with a lover who is the only God he needs.
“I see you standing by the wide-open fridge, revealed/ from head to toe in a light from another world ...”
***
“White Christmas” is playing through the speakers of Allegra’s house as we adorn her Christmas tree with heavy ornaments. Allegra has requested that her family do Christmas tree decorating early, so she doesn’t have to miss it while she’s at Emory.
We all sit on the couch afterwards and play for each other new songs that we’ve discovered. We agree that Thanksgiving break isn’t long enough.
***
“You smell like a bonfire again!” Sarah cries when I get home. She crinkles her nose.
“How was Allegra’s house?” my mom asks. “Did you say goodbye to everyone?”
I nod. “It wasn’t too dramatic, we’re all seeing each other in like three weeks.”
I hop into her bed with Sarah and we decide to put on home videos in the VCR. The first video that comes up on the screen is Sarah and me when we were about 2 and 3 years old waltzing around the living room with Disney princess high heels on our feet and crowns of flowers sitting on our heads. The screen crackles and then I see my mother holding Sarah close, rocking to “What Do You Love More Than Love” by Dar Williams. My mom’s wild hair is held back by an auburn clip, so we can see the crinkles around her sparkling eyes. I’m dancing around their feet in a state of complete contentedness. My mom snuggles her face in Sarah’s little ringlets gathered into ponytails by two bright scrunchies. I can picture my dad looking at his wife behind the camera and thinking about how beautiful she is. Dar Williams’ voice is as clear as lake water and everyone is laughing.
I wake up in a state of confusion. With clouded eyes, I open up a text from Jesse—“Almost there!”—and rush out the door. I get off the subway on 42nd Street and make it to Port Authority, just in time to greet him as he steps out of the building’s doors in the midst of a rush of people. As usual, his wild hair sticks out in all directions, his bulky headphones hug his neck, and his arms are looped through his enormous backpack. When he leans down to kiss me, I think about how he’s taller than I remember. The bustle of the city rages on around us.
“Let’s go home,” he says. He smiles at me with his coal eyes as I slip my hand into his.
***
“Come on!” I cry to Jesse, who is fumbling to retrieve his Metrocard from his flimsy leather wallet. When we’ve both made it to the other side, we run towards the screeching sound of the approaching subway. I am slightly ahead of him as we struggle to heave our bags down the stairs. We push our way into the crowded 1 train before the doors close. The two of us finally come to a point of equilibrium once we wrap our fingers around the pole.
The group chat of our hometown friends is in a flurry of activity when we get off the subway at Penn Station. We make our way onto the Long Island Railroad and gratefully sink into our seats, free of the weight of our luggage. As the train moves forward, I think about how much work I have to do over break—how could I have not realized before now how many papers were due next week? When we reach Port Washington, the town is obscured by darkness—I don’t even realize that we’re home.
***
The five members of my family launch into action once my dad puts the pizza box on top of the oven, just as we always do. My fingers count the edges of five ceramic plates in the cabinet and yank them from under a large bowl, creating a loud clang. Sarah holds the refrigerator open with her back as she heaves a filtered pitcher of water from the shelf and lugs it to the table. Without hesitation, my mother cries with all the power in her lungs, “JACOB! DINNER!” Jacob slowly makes his way to the dining room once the episode he’s watching on Netflix has ended. It occurs to me how this routine is still being played out everyday, just without me.
***
The screen door shuts behind me with a bang as I run down my driveway. I turn onto Luquer Road, stepping lightly on the pavement and feeling its pressure on the soles of my shoes. I’m acutely aware of how empty the space is around me and how wide the road is. As I climb up to the peak of Luquer, the Manhattan skyline looms into view. I stop for a second and allow the city landscape to settle on my horizon. Blinking blots of color adorn the far away buildings. The city looks so still—it feels strange not to be in the middle of it all, to just be an observer.
I finally reach the corner of Amherst Road and knock on Allegra’s front door for the first time in months.
“Come in!” Allegra bellows from the depths of her house. I walk into the living room and look around me as I shrug off my coat. The wooden floor and stairs are coated in deep red carpet. Frail, lacy lampshades make the light softly linger in the atmosphere. The house smells of pinecones and pizza.
Four of my high school friends are sitting by the fireplace. They excitedly motion for me to join them on the floor. Their chatter has a subdued tone to it; they don’t talk a lot about college. Instead they’re showing each other funny videos they’ve come across on Facebook, talking about new board games they’ve discovered, and relaying how their siblings have reacted to their homecomings.
Slowly more people begin to trickle in. Samantha talks about all of her nights filled with dancing and delinquency. Alice tells us stories about her terribly inconsiderate roommate. Carly intertwines her long fingers with mine and tells me how much she missed me over and over again. The room becomes full, as people mold themselves into the deep cushions of the couches. I crouch on the floor and move from conversation to conversation, flushed with excitement.
***
I’m sitting in the kitchen, picking bits of leftover stuffing out of a glass container and recapping with my mom about how well Thanksgiving dinner went. I suddenly get a text from Lauren, asking if I’m around to go for a drive with her.
She picks me up about ten minutes later. We play “Sweet Baby James” and dreamily listen to James Taylor’s silky voice intertwined with the light strums of his guitar. We park at the town dock and note how it’s much emptier than it was this past summer. The water rhythmically brushes up against the dock and then retreats.
After a silence, Lauren clears her throat.
“So, I don’t really know how to begin, but, um, how do I put this ... Andrew and I broke up.” She continues to talk as I sit next to her nodding, silently marveling at how a two year relationship can unravel so fast.
***
When I get back to my room, my sister is fast asleep. She is neatly wrapped in her navy blue comforter, and only her face shows. Sarah’s cheeks look like they’re made of putty, I note, as I tiptoe past her bed to my own. I suddenly realize that it’s my first time sleeping in my room in a while. The blanket is too light, I think as I lie in bed. And I’m much too close to the ground.
***
We go to Jesse’s house and settle on his living room couch. Jesse props his laptop on his knee and puts on his favorite episode of The Office. I watch laughter emerge from his pink lips and crinkles spread around his eyes. I nestle my head on his cotton T-shirt and he wraps his arm around me, creating a pool of warmth on the small of my waist with his hand. I absentmindedly watch him enjoy The Office, while playing with the soft dark hairs on his wrist.
At 11:30 PM, I ask Jesse to drive me home. We silently head to his car and I watch him back out of his driveway. The tires of the car roll on the silky pavement, gracefully gaining speed. Suddenly, I start to think about how we have done this drive so many times before. How we have gone down the snaking street of South Road and how we have waited at the light to turn onto Harbor Acres and how we have sped down Port Boulevard without seeing a single other car and how this all has always happened at around 11:48 PM, 11:49 PM, rushing to make it back to my worried mother waiting up for me at home. I feel the weight of all this, so I rest my head in the palm of my hand and look ahead through my warm teary eyes at the blurry traffic lights that bleed out in every direction.
“Are you ok?” Jesse asks me as his tires roll to a stop on the gravel in front of my house.
I nod.
He walks me up to my bright red front door and, of course, he kisses me goodnight.
***
I stare at a blank page which has been open on my laptop for almost all of the break, unsure of which essay to even start working on. Wanting to narrow down my focus, I copy and paste the poem “And That Is Your Glory” by Yehuda Amichai into a Google document and read it through. I can hear in my head my professor reciting the last three lines of the poem with a grandness, but a softness in his tone that he reserves for few occasions. I start to dissect the poem line by line—slowly finding clarity through taking notes on each verse and then taking notes on those notes. I discover that Amichai is happy to live hiding from the world with a lover who is the only God he needs.
“I see you standing by the wide-open fridge, revealed/ from head to toe in a light from another world ...”
***
“White Christmas” is playing through the speakers of Allegra’s house as we adorn her Christmas tree with heavy ornaments. Allegra has requested that her family do Christmas tree decorating early, so she doesn’t have to miss it while she’s at Emory.
We all sit on the couch afterwards and play for each other new songs that we’ve discovered. We agree that Thanksgiving break isn’t long enough.
***
“You smell like a bonfire again!” Sarah cries when I get home. She crinkles her nose.
“How was Allegra’s house?” my mom asks. “Did you say goodbye to everyone?”
I nod. “It wasn’t too dramatic, we’re all seeing each other in like three weeks.”
I hop into her bed with Sarah and we decide to put on home videos in the VCR. The first video that comes up on the screen is Sarah and me when we were about 2 and 3 years old waltzing around the living room with Disney princess high heels on our feet and crowns of flowers sitting on our heads. The screen crackles and then I see my mother holding Sarah close, rocking to “What Do You Love More Than Love” by Dar Williams. My mom’s wild hair is held back by an auburn clip, so we can see the crinkles around her sparkling eyes. I’m dancing around their feet in a state of complete contentedness. My mom snuggles her face in Sarah’s little ringlets gathered into ponytails by two bright scrunchies. I can picture my dad looking at his wife behind the camera and thinking about how beautiful she is. Dar Williams’ voice is as clear as lake water and everyone is laughing.
//Ruthie Gottesman is a sophomore in Columbia College and Deputy Creative Editor of The Current. She can be reached at rag2188@columbia.edu.