Welcome to Free Press Free Write, a weekly column written by the staff of The New School Free Press. Each week a new staff member might share a story, memory, maybe a DIY, or a week-in-review. Free Write is a space where our reporters, artists and editors can express themselves through writing. In times like these, writing can be an escape.
First up, is Art Editor Rebecca Mesonjnik, a fourth-year Communication Design student at Parsons.
I woke up with a feeling of dread. The night before I was struck by a memory: crunching on a crouton at the UC cafeteria. I tasted the sharp toasted flavor on my tongue.
This thought alone nearly brought me to tears.
I know it sounds pathetic – I mean, come on Rebecca, a crouton?! But, I think about that moment, eating a salad alone in the cafeteria, sometime in early March last year. First-years can’t know this, but I recall how crowded the cafeteria would be, all the bodies in one space. The feeling of eyes on you as you walked from the cash register to the dining area. Nervously scanning the room to see if there was anyone you recognized. I never imagined it would be the last time I got to perform that mundane task.
I regret that I took it for granted.
“Oh, remember when we did that.” I speak softly over the phone, separated from my friends by hundreds of miles. It seems like now the only thing I do is remember. I mark the passage of time with anniversaries. “Remember that great party?” “Yeah, I puked everywhere.” “Remember how hungover you were the next morning?” I savor those moments.
This morning I woke up, and remembered another last time. Feb. 29 is the anniversary of my last first kiss. How fitting that an event so perfect, so impossible in the current state of the world, would happen on a day that literally does not exist this year.
It happened like this: We met at an art show. We had a class together but I didn’t know them before that moment. I was going to a party that night – a schlep to Bushwick that I did not want to make alone. I invited them to come along, and to my surprise they agreed. We left the show together and stopped at a liquor store. I bought some drinks with my fake ID (something I would never do again, as I turned 21 in quarantine) we got on the L train. Two strangers, one blue cowboy hat, and a six-pack of wine that we drank on the train. We cheersed to our good fortune.
After walking up a few flights of stairs we arrived at the party. Remember walking up to a party and hearing the music thumping from inside?
We witnessed a night in full swing. Eventually the lights dimmed, the music got louder. This complete stranger had made the journey all the way to this Bushwick party with me, and along the way we became friends. Now they picked up a pink cowboy hat from somewhere in the apartment to compliment my blue one. One moment we are sitting on the couch and talking about the total serendipity of the evening, unaware of other people dancing and talking and taking selfies all around us. The next we are kissing. The complimentary cowboy hats knocking into each other.
Perfect moment.
We left the party soon after, and stopped at Odessa Diner in the East Village, a restaurant that is now also closed due to COVID. We ordered sour cherry blinis – a Russian pancake – and sat on the same side of the booth. We made out while Roxanne by Arizona Zervas played on the radio.
When we kissed goodbye at the bus stop that night, I didn’t know that I had experienced my last first kiss. I regret that I took it for granted. Until the next time, I’m going to keep noting these anniversaries, and hope that too many won’t pass before the pandemic ends.