I met Mr. Brooklyn at the beginning of the night. I was standing at the front of the restaurant with two girl friends, waiting for a table to become available in the outdoor courtyard. We had already started our tab with a round of the house special, mojitos served with a super-fun, super-fat, neon silly straw.
Almost simultaneously, Mr. Brooklyn and I noticed each other and elbowed the friend next to us to acknowledge the recognition. “I think they went to college with us,” we lipped in sync from across the room.
When you graduate from a school of less than three thousand fish, it’s exciting to spot a familiar face out in the real world. Especially from across the vestibule of a Thai restaurant in the East Village on the island of Manhattan, home to over eight million strangers.
Mr. Brooklyn sauntered over. “Well, hello there, ladies.” He said, one hand holding his scotch and cigar, the other curling his mustache. Or so his bravado seemed.
He did saunter. But he was holding a house mojito just like mine. No cigar or sleazy pickup line either. He just looked me in the eyes and said, “Hey! I know you. What’s up?”
We reacquainted as we sipped from our silly-straws.
“I live in Brooklyn,” he said.
“I live in Brooklyn!” I said.
“My friends and I are always having parties. Especially during the summer,” he said.
“I love summer parties!” I said.
“Sorry I’ve never invited you before,” he said. “I didn’t know that we were neighbors.” We exchanged numbers and he promised to invite me next time. Then, Mr. Brooklyn sauntered away.
Ten minutes later, my friends and I were led to our table, each of us relieved that we were no longer standing on our four-inch heels. Another round of mojitos!
Finishing our Manhattan dinner at midnight, we crossed the Bowery to B Bar, a big top for city drinking with oversized, red leather booths and an outdoor garden beneath a tented canopy strung with twinkle lights. We sipped vodka sodas through skinny, red straws and danced under the open sky.
Eventually I left my friends and walked from B Bar to Avenue B, where I met my boy B of the night. Ben and I went to summer camp together what seems like a lifetime ago. He lives in Philadelphia now.
My phone buzzed with the first text from Ben hours ago, back at the restaurant. He was in the city for the night and wanted to know what I was up to. Naturally, I told him I was very busy and popular because I was out with my friends and we were still waiting on a table for dinner.
He texted back that the friend he was staying with lived in the East Village, and to let him know when I was done with my dinner. After all, if we are bar hopping in the same city, we might as well hop together at some point. Right?
In between dances at B Bar, I checked my phone and responded to Ben’s requests for updates.
By 2 a.m. my friends and I were bored of the dance floor and I agreed to meet Ben for a night cap at dive bar I know on Avenue B. I’ll meet you outside. He texted back.
When he saw me from a block away, Ben smiled and started walking in my direction.
“Hey there, Charlie,” he said, his light brown hair tasseled from an already long night of drinking.
We reacquainted over a beer. When our glasses were empty, we devised a plan: I’d walk with him back to his friend’s building and then take a cab home to Brooklyn.
We left the bar and started walking west on 2nd Street. That’s when Ben stopped, turned, and leaned in to kiss me.
“Whoa, Ben! What are you doing?!”
“Am I like totally off base here, Charlie?”
Without pushing Ben away, I took a half-step back to think. The last time I saw Ben was about a month ago at our summer camp in the Poconos. Before that, it’s really hard to say.
While Ben waited, I replayed our recent relationship, starting with why I was at camp in the first place.
The weather was forecasted to be perfect, so I accepted Older Sister’s offer. Wearing hot pink J. Crew shorts, a classic-fit gray tank and flip flops, I sat for two hours in the back seat of my parents’ car, twirling my curls next to baby Niece while Older Sister took the front seat and Brother-in-Law drove through the Pennsylvania mountains, excited for baby’s first Camp Alumni Day.
This was my first Alumni Day too. The last time I was at camp was six years ago.—That was also the last time I saw him. Would he be there today? I told myself I didn’t care and mostly believed it.—I also didn’t know if they would show. The girls who seemed to decide all at once that they didn’t want to be my friend anymore.
But Older Sister offered me a ride. And the weather was perfect for my hot-pink shorts. So I figured, since I am this beautiful Brooklyn girl now, why not go back and show them all how I shine.
As it turned out, he was there. We spoke for a few minutes, but neither one of us really knew what to say except, Goodbye.
The girls were not there. But the boys were there. Six of them, including Ben.
Ben spent his Alumni afternoon flirting with me. But then again, I definitely flirted back.—He pulled my pigtails. I told him that he was stupid with cooties. He pushed my buttons, and I pretended that I didn’t like it.
Back on East 2nd Street, I smiled at Ben as I shrugged my shoulders and retook my step. “I guess not.” I said as I pulled him close.
