I didn't have to go far for work. In fact, the office was two long NYC blocks away so I could walk to and from work easily - even come home for lunch. The work was pretty basic - typing, making copies and stuffing envelopes. Not too stimulating, but it gave me my own money, and skills that would come in handy when I was selected for an internship out near Coney Island at Congressman Stephen Solarz's office where I did similar work not too long after that summer. Hmm . . . I haven't thought about that internship in years! I remember taking the Q train to his offices - not sure how many times each week, but I remember being fascinated by the Q and D train lines, and I think sometimes I took the train a couple more stops after working just to hang out at Coney Island for a bit. I could see a different side of Brooklyn from those train windows. Maybe that's why Coney Island plays prominently in the novel. Funny that I spent time riding those trains alone . . . but that's another story for another day.
I think I had to go downtown to Brooklyn Tech HS to pick up my check, and I went to the shoe repair shop on my way home after cashing my check. Whenever I got new shoes, my mom made me get taps put on them to make them last longer. When I took my wallet out at the shoe repair shop to get the claim ticket, I realized that I had forgotten it at home. There were no cell phones then, so I walked down the block to the pay phone to call my sister for the ticket number. I'm not sure at what point I realized that I had left my wallet on the counter of the shoe repair shop, but I'll never forget that hot, sick feeling that spread throughout my whole body as I ran back to the shop. You know when it feels like a wave of electricity is passing through you, and you can taste metal on your tongue? Maybe it was when a man I remembered seeing in the shoe repair shop walked past me while I was on the phone with my sister. The way he looked at me with that creepy grin . . . maybe that's when I knew something was wrong.
When I got back to the shop, I asked if anyone had seen my wallet. There were a couple of ladies there who said that they saw the same guy - the creepy grin guy - pick it up off the counter, but they didn't say anything because they thought we were together. He took the whole thing. Not just the money . . . that would've been bad enough . . . but the wallet with all of the pictures that meant everything to me and nothing to him. Why couldn't he at least leave the pictures? I guess that small act of kindness would've been too big for his small heart. He smiled at me, and that smile was sick and cruel.I ran to my house, and as soon as I got into the apartment, I ran to my bed, threw myself down and waaaaaaailed. My sister was sure I was hurt. I was hurt. That was the most money I ever had, and it was gone. It was my fault. I was young and careless, but what a loss. My parents felt bad for me and gave me most of my lost salary back. I was so grateful for that. I couldn't help but fantasize at times, though, that instead of taking my wallet, the man chased me down to hand the wallet back to me . . . pictures and all.
Unfortunately, we go through all kinds of loss in this life . . . money, health, friends, family, jobs, homes, pets, favorite earrings. Because of this experience, I can write about losing something of value as a 14-year-old. I remember, though, a few years back, Serena had saved up her birthday and Christmas money, and we went to Toys R Us to shop. She dropped her wallet, too. She was afraid and frantic, and she felt guilty . . . I knew exactly how she felt, and it broke my heart to see her sad tears. I suggested that we go to customer service to see if anyone turned it in, and they had! Not one thing was missing from her wallet, and she was so happy and relieved. Sometimes people are unkind and selfish . . . but sometimes they are thoughtful, honest and compassionate. Being able to write about it all is a privilege that I'm enjoying more and more each day.
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