“Here, don’t drive like a fucking maniac. I texted you the address where we’ll stop for lunch. There’s a truck stop so we can park. Patrice and Juanpa already left in J’s truck. They’ll meet us there.” I pointed a finger at his head. “Again, do not drive while reading something on your phone or text the guys while the car is moving.”
“Pshh, you’re being mad extra today.” Milo blew me off. “Stress is not a good look on you, pa.” He scrunched his face, pressing the point as he got in the car. “See you in a couple of hours.” I stepped back and watched him set up Google Maps on his phone and drive off with a little wave.
I went back to stand by the truck and looked around one last time. It was a beautiful Sunday morning in New York City. The sun was shining and it was going to be a perfect spring day.
People in this corner of Manhattan, right up against the Hudson River, were already buzzing past me, heading to jobs and lives. Going after their little piece of the American dream. I choked up because this felt final, like it would never bemyNew York City again. This place was not just where I lived, it was part of my DNA, and I was convinced I would never feel at home anywhere else.
After twenty-seven years of calling this place mine, I was leaving.
I took one last look at my surroundings and inhaled the smell of fresh coffee and hot oil from the empanada cart down the street. I stood right off Broadway, on 155thstreet, Boricua College on my right, Trinity Church Cemetery on my left, andthe Hudson straight ahead. This had been my neighborhood for almost eight years, and I was going to miss it. I was going to miss all of it.
I sighed as I made my way back to the truck and climbed in. I got the map up on my phone, pushed down my sunglasses, and started the truck.
I was ready.
I was going after my dream, to pursue my passion. As I headed out of the city, I looked out and said a silent “See you soon.”
If it didn’t work out in Ithaca, I’d be back soon enough.
I was a son of New York City, and she would always have me back with open arms.
The day ended up being perfect for a long drive. Just a bit before two p.m., I took the exit for Ithaca and began to feel the nervous anticipation of what was to come. I was adventurous when it came to travel or trying new things, but not with my livelihood.
Immigrants didn’t fuck around with a steady stream of income. If you were making a decent living, you worked your ass off to keep it on lock.
Pursuing your passion? Risking everything on a dream?
That was for people with trust funds, not a Dominican kid from the Bronx.
While I coasted down the rural two-lane road that led to my destination, I thought about what this move meant. It’d been terrifying to leave a good and secure job to try my luck in something so unpredictable, and where the chances for utter failure were sky-high. Sure, I was confident in my skills, in my food, but I knew there would be a long way down if I failed.
This was not just a side-hustle anymore. I was going all-in with my business. It felt big, like it could change everything.
Before I got to my mom’s, I decided to stop at the gas station where I was going to park the truck for lunch services and check out the location. I was low on gas too, so I could kill two birds with one stone.
Navigating one of the many hills of Ithaca entering downtown, it was like I was seeing it for the first time. I drove by houses painted in bright colors and narrow streets full of trees laden with flowers. It was so green and quaint here. I wasn’t sure how I’d fit in, being so used to the fast pace of the city.
I turned the steering wheel of the truck and wedged into an empty spot next to a pump. I jumped out and glanced around, taking in the location. I couldn’t help the grin that broke out on my face. Of course, my mom would somehow manage to find me the best possible spot in town. It was right by the public library and all around were commercial buildings. There would be a lot of foot traffic during the week.
I got distracted while I filled the truck and didn’t notice the car that drove up on the other side of me. It was a small, green Subaru hatchback with a Human Rights Campaign sticker on the back window. The guy who jumped out was gorgeous. He had the blondest hair I’d ever seen and was wearing jeans and a black NPR t-shirt.
For some reason his shirt struck me as hilarious, and as he was pushing up his Ray-Bans to look at the screen on the pump, a laugh burst out of me. He turned around with a startled expression, probably looking for the jackass laughing at him for no reason. The intensity of his blue eyes, and the way his mouth pursed and then turned up into a smirk like he wasn’t sure if he should be pissed or join me, made the laugh die in my throat.He was so pretty, and currently looking at me like there was something seriously wrong with me.
I put my hand up in an attempt to apologize for my bizarre behavior. “Sorry, man. Ignore me. I’m just a bit punchy from a long drive.”
He didn’t respond, just kept staring me, looking confused. I quickly finished up and almost left without saying anything. But at the last second decided not to be an asshole and called out, “Have a nice day” before jumping in the truck.
I sent a quick text to my mom to let her know I’d be at her place soon and pulled out of the station. As I drove, I mused that if the blond was a sample of the men running around town, I’d need to look into some socializing opportunities. Then I remembered I was here to run a business, not to get laid.
I needed to get my head in the game and remember if this plan didn’t work out, my only prospect at the moment was going back to TPS reports and coming up with ways to make fro-yo sound “a little more urban.”
After a few minutes navigating my truck through the tight residential streets of Ithaca, I turned onto my mom’s block and saw her waiting outside.
She was wearing a flowing white linen shirt, her long salt-and-pepper curls falling down her back. As a boy I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that was still the case. These days she was embracing the natural look; had given up wearing makeup and relaxing her hair.
I parked the truck in the empty space in front of her house, which I knew she must have been guarding furiously all day.
“M’ijo! You made it,” she yelled out as I walked over to her. “Look at you, so handsome. Your hair is getting long, papí,” she griped as she gave me a bear hug and kissed both my cheeks.
