twenty

We strolled the streets in silence. Everything around us—all the sights, sounds, smells, tastes—had a specific place in the new consciousness that had possessed me. The noxious exhaust from the cabs and buses; the dog shit in a pile near the curb; the ancient, hunchbacked woman who moved slow and steady with eyes straight down like she was crossing a stream that flowed through the middle of Avenue A; the siren of the ambulance delivering a bleeding boy who’d fallen down a flight of stone stairs; the laughter of a toothless beggar whose eyes revealed despair—all of it made sense somehow. It was all one singular thing: the good, the bad, the revolting, the repulsive, the joyous, the beautiful, the fortunate, the suffering, and then Veronica and myself. All filling the same frame and telling one singular story. A story that was forever in the middle, without beginning or end; an eternal folding and unfolding of events.

We sat in a café and ate falafels in pita. Through the lens of my expanded mind it was the most logical, delicious, and perfect food one could consume. Each component synchronized and synthesized into a complete, unified, and seamless thingness. The smoothness of the tahini with the crunch of the fried falafel, the softness of the airy pita bread with the crispness of the lettuce and carrots, the burn of the hot sauce with the sharpness of the onions: each part an absolute necessity to complete the harmonics. The sandwich was a microcosm of me and Veronica together in the macrocosm of New York City and all the universe beyond.

Veronica wiped some tahini off the corner of her mouth, then touched her Algiz and looked at me. “So now that we’re united in protection, are you willing to step out into the dark unknown with me?”

In an instant I crashed back into real-time regular thought: the old and familiar reality. My nonordinary perception was done and gone as if it never existed at all. In hindsight, I’m surprised her question failed to send chills or sound an alarm or siren in warning of the events to come. The way it came out of her mouth, it sounded solemn and earnest, a call to arms.

“It’s the opportunity for redemption that I mentioned. I still have the highest of hopes for you.”

“I’m in,” I replied.

In my heart I wasn’t so sure why I had to redeem myself or what I had done that made any redemption necessary. I assumed it had something to do with my reaction to her telling me about tricking with Barry. I should have explained that what I said to her wasn’t meant to be an assault or judgment on her character or the things she chose to do, and that my feelings came from a place of solidarity, respect, and care. I was being protective; she was still technically a minor, a child in the eyes of the law. It was her john who was committing a repulsive act both illegal and immoral.

But I didn’t say any of this. I said nothing at all. She was right and I was wrong. She was superintelligent, sophisticated, streetwise, mature, and mystical. I was none of the above, so I moved to whatever music she chose on her jukebox.

And that was fine by me. I would have followed her down into the sewer and stayed at her side until she was ready to come up for air.