2/9/02: Dollars and Tissues
I’m on the fabled 7 train out to Flushing, where I will teach my last Kaplan class for a while, and I’m having a little crying attack. I can’t seem to stop it. I’m depressed about the class I had to give up and the fact that my six-month vacation is over now that I got a job. I’m as always worried about my future and miserable about the recent past. I seem unable to just get over it – sometimes I can’t help but cry again over everything my city has lost. What this all amounts to is, as I said, I just can’t stop crying.
I try to cheer myself up: I feel confident tonight’s GRE class will go well. It will be nice to go shopping again now that I’m employed. By “shopping” I mean, buying a cup of coffee from a street vendor. To just not have to pinch every single penny until it bleeds – that will be nice. I also notice a group of three boys, about thirteen or fourteen years old, sitting down in front of me, playing cards. I watch their game, trying to figure out what it is. I have no clue. But that still doesn’t stop me from crying.
I feel a tap on my hand. A young woman with little twisty braids is wordlessly is handing me a tissue. I’m so surprised it sort of startles me out of my fit. What kindness! I take the tissue and start cleaning myself up a little bit. It won’t do to try to teach a GRE math class with red eyes and streaky cheeks.
To distract myself, I continue to watch the boys playing the card game. One of the boys is Chinese, one is Indian, and the third one, I can’t quite identify. I also can't indentify the card game - it looks a bit like Uno and bit like Bullshit – I can’t place it. In desperation I say, “What are you guys even playing?” They look up, and say…
“Chinese poker.”
“Indian poker.”
“Some kind of poker.”
…and return to their game.
I feel a little better, but when the woman with the twisty braids looks over at me and smiles I feel the tears returning a bit. So I immediately try to think of happy thoughts: Akrotiri, Kathy, Agatha Christie. I watch from the window all the amusing billboards, and then turn my attention back to the boys as they take a break from their game.
“I found this watch on the street,” says the middle boy to his friends. “Then John and I were in this store, and they had the same watch, and I told the guy I got mine for only five dollars, so the guy sold it to John for only five dollars.”
“Why did he do that?” asks the boy on the left.
“He wanted to like, compete.”
“Don’t you feel bad about it?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you were lying,” puts in the boy on the right, which produces a sort of shrug from the middle boy.
“So wait, you got the watch for five dollars?” asks the boy on the left.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say it was like, no dollars?”
“And then he would have given it to me for free?”
“For no dollars,” clarifies the boy on the right. “That’s different from free.”
“What do you mean?” asks the boy on the left.
“No dollars means no dollars. It’s not like he’s just giving it away for free. He’s not like, please have this. You go to him and say you want it, and ask how much it is, and he says it’s no dollars, and you say, okay, and he gives it to you. It’s selling it for no dollars, not giving it away for free.”
“Okay,” says the boy in the middle, “what if you don’t have zero dollars?”
“How can you not have zero dollars?” asks the boy on the left.
“If you have five dollars, you don’t have zero dollars,” says the boy in the middle. “You have five dollars.”
“But you do, you have zero dollars plus five dollars,” suggests the boy on the left, then seems to reconsider that thought. “Or else you could just say, you have five dollars in one pocket, and you have zero dollars in the other pocket.”
“You could always borrow zero dollars off a bum,” says the boy on the right, just as we pull into the Flushing station – end of the line.
I feel a rush of affection for these stupid boys on the train as we all file off. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around and see the woman with the twisty braids. “I don’t know what is the matter, but whatever it is, stay strong,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll try to.” I put my hand in my pocket. I have zero dollars, but one tissue.