every square foot of it had been planned by a little army of park planners. But she wanted to say the words “our lake”. She wanted to live in it.
Their stomachs full, Salman and Nadya finally headed to Rudy’s.
“I’m not much for punk,” he had to shout, at they showed the bouncer their IDs, Nadya hoping to hell that Salman didn’t catch a glimpse of hers.
“Don’t worry,” she shouted back. “This place isn’t much, either.”
It had changed some since she’d been a regular, as the checking of IDs attested. It had made her sad that a piece of her past was gone. At the same time, though, she was relieved, since it meant that no one still hanging out here would recognize her.
The place had been overrun with hipsters. Just like the rest of Brooklyn, Nadya remarked drily to Salman. Were he the man Nadya first imagined, when she saw him standing by the impeccably set table, he might have asked what she meant. But instead he nodded, and looked around, and subtly raised an eyebrow at a man with the most absurdly pronounced handlebar mustache Nadya had ever seen.
She laughed a little too loudly, the sound spilling into the sudden silence as the song ended. It drew stares from the people around them, all of them dressed in flannel and fluorescents. Nadya looked to Salman in her embarrassment, and he playfully pretended to slyly distance himself from her, only the grin on his face giving him away.
Nadya laughed again, louder this time, as the music began again. It was a remix of a remix of a mashup, with a throbbing beat that seemed to be carried in every molecule of the club, and as Nadya reached out to hit him with her small, ineffective fists, they found themselves dancing instead.
He was a good dancer, but Nadya hardly noticed the skill. She was more focused on the feeling. She noticed the joy. She noticed the freedom. The beat went on and on, and so did they.
They paused only to sit on the sidelines and catch their breath, drinking some needlessly fruity concoction that she’d dared Salman to try with her. They didn’t speak much; they wouldn’t have been able to hear each other, anyway. It was a relief for Nadya. She didn’t have to censor her words, or check them against how she thought Other Nadya was supposed to act, or think.
Instead, she could just be with him. They pointed out people who were dancing wildly, or joyfully; who looked absurd or beautiful. And the shared observation was enough – when he drew her attention to someone, she knew just what he meant by it.
As the night wore on, the place refused to empty. If anything, it grew more crowded, and eventually, both felt they needed some fresh air. Nadya pulled him out roughly by the arm, buzzing from the adrenaline and the alcohol. The air wasn’t really cleaner out here, as it was smoky from the cigarette breaks being taken by people laughing and talking too loudly for the quiet night. But it was cooler, and to Nadya it would always feel magic.
There were three smokers out here, now, and Nadya and Salman didn’t speak so long as they were there. They just leaned against the dirty old brick wall, not caring about their clothes. Salman got her attention, and wordlessly motioned to the moon, to direct her attention to it as though they were still inside and couldn’t speak. Nadya smiled. The moon was full and bright, with just a tinge of orange and no clouds wandering across it. It was a storybook moon – the kind you see in children’s illustrations.
When the smokers went back inside, Nadya had an idea. “Here,” she said, taking his arm, and guiding him across the alley. It had been a long time, but she still remembered.
“What are you doing?” he asked, but she ignored him.
“Just to your left, just one step.” He did so. “Perfect,” she said, smiling and looking up at him.
“What is?”
“Right here, right exactly where we’re standing, is where I
Their stomachs full, Salman and Nadya finally headed to Rudy’s.
“I’m not much for punk,” he had to shout, at they showed the bouncer their IDs, Nadya hoping to hell that Salman didn’t catch a glimpse of hers.
“Don’t worry,” she shouted back. “This place isn’t much, either.”
It had changed some since she’d been a regular, as the checking of IDs attested. It had made her sad that a piece of her past was gone. At the same time, though, she was relieved, since it meant that no one still hanging out here would recognize her.
The place had been overrun with hipsters. Just like the rest of Brooklyn, Nadya remarked drily to Salman. Were he the man Nadya first imagined, when she saw him standing by the impeccably set table, he might have asked what she meant. But instead he nodded, and looked around, and subtly raised an eyebrow at a man with the most absurdly pronounced handlebar mustache Nadya had ever seen.
She laughed a little too loudly, the sound spilling into the sudden silence as the song ended. It drew stares from the people around them, all of them dressed in flannel and fluorescents. Nadya looked to Salman in her embarrassment, and he playfully pretended to slyly distance himself from her, only the grin on his face giving him away.
Nadya laughed again, louder this time, as the music began again. It was a remix of a remix of a mashup, with a throbbing beat that seemed to be carried in every molecule of the club, and as Nadya reached out to hit him with her small, ineffective fists, they found themselves dancing instead.
He was a good dancer, but Nadya hardly noticed the skill. She was more focused on the feeling. She noticed the joy. She noticed the freedom. The beat went on and on, and so did they.
They paused only to sit on the sidelines and catch their breath, drinking some needlessly fruity concoction that she’d dared Salman to try with her. They didn’t speak much; they wouldn’t have been able to hear each other, anyway. It was a relief for Nadya. She didn’t have to censor her words, or check them against how she thought Other Nadya was supposed to act, or think.
Instead, she could just be with him. They pointed out people who were dancing wildly, or joyfully; who looked absurd or beautiful. And the shared observation was enough – when he drew her attention to someone, she knew just what he meant by it.
As the night wore on, the place refused to empty. If anything, it grew more crowded, and eventually, both felt they needed some fresh air. Nadya pulled him out roughly by the arm, buzzing from the adrenaline and the alcohol. The air wasn’t really cleaner out here, as it was smoky from the cigarette breaks being taken by people laughing and talking too loudly for the quiet night. But it was cooler, and to Nadya it would always feel magic.
There were three smokers out here, now, and Nadya and Salman didn’t speak so long as they were there. They just leaned against the dirty old brick wall, not caring about their clothes. Salman got her attention, and wordlessly motioned to the moon, to direct her attention to it as though they were still inside and couldn’t speak. Nadya smiled. The moon was full and bright, with just a tinge of orange and no clouds wandering across it. It was a storybook moon – the kind you see in children’s illustrations.
When the smokers went back inside, Nadya had an idea. “Here,” she said, taking his arm, and guiding him across the alley. It had been a long time, but she still remembered.
“What are you doing?” he asked, but she ignored him.
“Just to your left, just one step.” He did so. “Perfect,” she said, smiling and looking up at him.
“What is?”
“Right here, right exactly where we’re standing, is where I
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