Stuck in the Middle 

     I checked myself out in the mirror, attempting to put on a brave face before heading out to say goodbye to my mom. Stepping out of the bathroom, I grabbed my favorite flat cap and threw it on with my hoodie going on top. I also put on my old sneakers, scuffed from countless adventures, were perfect for navigating the puddles that were practically a New York City tradition. Leaving my room, I met my mom by the door, doing my best to hide my sadness with a smile. I gave her a tight hug and planted a quick kiss on her cheek before setting off on my journey. This wasn't our usual place; we were staying at her boss's apartment for now, we were moving tomorrow.

I took the elevator down, and as I stepped into the chilly lobby, the familiar tune of Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York'' started playing softly through the building's speakers. Start spreadin' the news, I'm leavin' today, I quietly hummed. At the reception desk, Mr. Davis, a friendly elderly gentleman who had been lending us a hand these past few days, greeted me with a warm smile.

     “Hey there, Dustin. How's it going?" Mr. Davis asked, carrying a touch of vulnerability. He was such a sweet old man, and his kindness never ceases to amaze me.

     "Hey, Mr. Davis. Doing fine, how about you?" I replied with a friendly smile, joining him at his desk.

     "Oh, same ol' same ol' kid. Had to help a couple of guests with their luggage because of the rain. One of them actually tipped me," Mr. Davis shared with a touch of enthusiasm. 

I chuckled, "Well, keep up the good work," playfully giving the top of his desk a light pat. "I'll see you in a bit; I'm off to see a friend."

     “In the rain? Are you sure you don't need an umbrella? It's cold out there," Mr. Davis expressed. 

     “I'll be fine," I assured him, giving a thumbs-up with a grin as I made my way out through the revolving door. His laughter echoed behind me. 

     The penthouse was way up in Upper Manhattan, and the Upper East Side was quite a walk from here. It might sound a bit crazy to walk that far, but along the way, I'd pass by my old apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. I wanted to see it one last time, to say goodbye. As I strolled through the rain-soaked streets, the raindrops gently seeped into my hoodie, which felt refreshing. 

     My walks were the perfect time for some music. I scrolled through my oldies playlist, occasionally wiping away raindrops from my phone screen and finally clicking on "If I Didn't Care" by The Ink Spots. With my hands tucked in my pockets, I walked on, lost in the soothing melodies and the memories of this city I called home. 

​

     Back in second grade, we had some neighbors move into our building in Harlem and I couldn’t care less. But my parents talked about them so much that it was hard not to eavesdrop. Wanting to be welcoming, my parents invited them over for dinner. That meant I had to get ready and look presentable. My mom picked out some nice jeans and a brand-new Polo shirt for me; she insisted I look adorable. The new neighbors arrived with some food, and a little girl accompanied them. I went over to greet them, but I could tell the little girl was very shy. She was about my age, wearing the cutest little pink dress with a bowtie on top of her head.

     We all sat down for dinner, but I didn't pay much attention to the meal because the adults were busy chatting away. There were lots of laughs, smiles, and the food, especially the falafel, was absolutely delicious, from what I can recall. I eventually excused myself from the table and retreated to my room to play with some toys. I was having a blast, making explosion sounds with my mouth, when I noticed the little girl standing in the doorway. I showed her a toy and asked if she wanted to play. She came over and sat across from me, a bit puzzled by my antics. I ignored her and continued playing, making explosion noises and all. But to my surprise, she picked up a toy and started joining in. I decided to follow her lead because I didn't want to be mean. 

     After a little while, I asked, "What's your name?"I could see that she was working up the courage to respond, her gaze still fixed on the toys she was clutching tightly. “You can keep it if you want. I've got plenty of toys," I said. For the first time, I saw her smile, and she looked up slowly, her eyes meeting mine.

     Her voice, soft and sweet, "Leyla."

​

     After around thirty minutes of walking, I reached my old apartment complex. The graffiti I had once painted on the wall was still there, a bit faded from time. Some of my neighbors were hanging around, but I wasn't in the mood for small talk; this was just going to be a quick visit. I removed my hood and ascended the steps, my eyes fixing on the weathered brown door. It was worn and battered, with bits and pieces missing, but it still stood strong. I was going to miss New York. I spat on the door, a small act of defiance. I wanted to erase the memory of it, to break the door so he wouldn't have any hold on us anymore. Dad was the reason we were leaving, and I couldn't help but mutter, "Fuck you…" my voice cracking with emotion. I pulled my hood back up and continued on my way through the heavy downpour.

​

     After the dinner party, Leyla started attending my school, and fate had it that we ended up in the same class. She was always by my side, and other kids began to tease us, suggesting we were dating, which we found gross back then. Still, I wasn't about to turn my back on her. I became, well, her sort of unofficial translator. In reality, I just pointed out what our teacher said she needed to do. She was sharp and quickly became a visual learner, improving her English along the way. We started talking more, and by third grade, we were already the best of friends. We'd visit each other's apartments, have family dinners, and explore the city together. It was perfect in a way, a bond that felt unbreakable. I told her everything, from school-related matters to personal things, and she did the same. It felt natural to open up to her, like I could confide in her without hesitation.

​

     As I approached the Starbucks, the sun was starting to rise, making me wish I had checked the weather forecast. It was still sprinkling a bit, but I didn't really mind. I went inside and sent a text to Leyla, letting her know that I had arrived. 

     

     Cool! My dad is taking his time, so I might be a little late

 

     No worries lol I replied. I sat down and wanted to look back at some of our old photos. It suddenly struck me that I had lost most of our photos over the years, with only one remaining – our 5th-grade graduation picture. We were both dressed in blue gowns, and just looking at the picture conveyed our personalities. I stood stiff as a tree, while Leyla had her arm casually draped over my shoulder, sticking her tongue out and flashing a peace sign. I couldn't help but chuckle at the memory.

​

     Leyla was going to a charter school in the Upper East Side, a great school, while her parents' new jobs required them to move there. I couldn't help but feel jealous, going to a not-so-great school while she was getting a fantastic education. It seemed like the universe had conspired against us, but we promised each other we'd stay in touch. We'd visit each other, have late-night phone calls, and do everything to keep our friendship strong. It worked well for a while, but later that summer, I lost my phone. Someone on the subway swiped it, and I couldn’t update Leyla since at the time I didn’t have any social media. 

     My grades began to take a nosedive as well. Was it all because of Leyla? At the time I didn’t think so. I told myself it was due to the transition to a new school and a completely different lifestyle. I'd switch between these reasons depending on how down I felt, trying to make sense of the sudden failure. Looking back at it now, it was because of her. It was all because of her. 

      Over the next three years I had changed.  I became quieter, more reserved, immersing myself in music. But I wasn't a loner; I hated that word. I considered myself more of a lone wolf, someone who looked out for themselves. I had a few friends, or “acquaintances” as I like to call them. But I would rarely talk to them, I just didn’t feel like it. There wasn’t anyone like Leyla.

​

     Minutes turned into seconds, and there she was, opening the door. She glanced around, and our eyes locked in an instant. She walked over, and we embraced in a warm, tight hug, both of us equally excited to see each other.

     “Oh my gosh, Dusty, I missed you so much," she muffled into my hoodie, and I could feel the warmth of her words against me.

     “I chuckled, gently teasing, "It's only been a couple of weeks."

     “So," she said, playfully punching my arm, "I still missed you!" We both sat down, ordered some food and just talked. 

     “You finally made it to my side of New York. How do you like it?" Leyla asked with a smile.

     “I  mean, Hell's Kitchen will always be better, so..." I sarcastically remarked and she laughed. It was infectious and impossible not to mirror. At that moment, life slowed down for me, and I couldn't help but admire her facial features—the way her cheeks made her look like a chipmunk, her teeth white as snow. She was adorable and all of it was a reminder: I loved her.

     "So honestly, what's been going on with your..." She stopped herself, realizing she might have hit a sensitive topic. I nodded, giving her the green light to discuss my situation.

     “How do you feel?" Her eyes filled with genuine concern. 

     I looked down and lightly tapped the table, releasing a sigh. "I mean I don’t want to move. All of this just feels so unfair.” I admitted. "I just wish we could move somewhere closer, like Connecticut or something. It would make things easier, you know?"

     She had this habit of growing quiet whenever I spoke seriously, her eyes locked onto mine as she gave attentive nods, showing me that she was fully present in the moment. I continued to ramble on a bit longer. 

     She reached out and gently held my hand, sending shivers through my entire body. I clung to her hand as if it were a lifeline. "It’s gonna be okay," she assured me with a reassuring smile, and I responded with a appreciative one.

“Order for Leyla and Dustin?" the barista called out. We wrapped up our meal, walked out, the world seemed brighter than ever.

​

     It was the first day of eighth grade, and I was determined to keep the divorce to myself. I had no intention of telling anyone and planned to fly under the radar for the rest of the year. I settled into a random desk, trying to blend in, when I saw her – it was like seeing a ghost. She stood in the doorway, looking around with confusion on her face, and my heart dropped. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was different now, puberty had transformed her, and her hair was a shade as dark as night, with a hint of dye.

     Our eyes met, and she gasped in recognition before making her way over to me. I couldn't contain my excitement and immediately got up to give her a big hug. She was really back. 

      “Oh my gosh, Leyla," I muffled into her raincoat, my emotions nearly bringing tears to my eyes. She didn't say anything, but she held me close. Eventually, she gently pushed me away and touched my face with her soft hand, making me feel like I was in heaven.

     “I wish you had greeted me like this the first time we met." she teased with a smirk, and I couldn't help but laugh. She was the first person in a long time who had managed to make me laugh, and it felt wonderful.

     We spent the day catching up, even passing notes when class started. I walked Leyla to her next class, then to the one after, and so on. I didn't want to let go of her, and it felt like the good old times. We went to some coffee shop and discussed why she had returned. It turned out she never quite felt like she belonged at the school, and things were made worse by her relationship problems. She didn't delve into details and preferred not to look back, but it was enough to understand her reasons for leaving.

     Her parents had initially fought her decision to change schools, but eventually, they allowed her to attend my school. She now took the subway, and that was that. It felt incredibly nice to hear her voice again, her casual rants and our conversations were the drugs I needed.

     But when it was my turn to open up, I struggled. I had been a lone wolf for a long time, and it wasn't easy for me to share. Even though I missed her, I couldn’t tell her what was going on, and she got upset. She expressed her frustration, explaining how I had abandoned her when she needed support the most. She asked, "You left me the moment I left. Why would you do that?" I tried to defend myself, mentioning that I had lost my phone, and she couldn't possibly understand what I had been through. She acknowledged my point, saying, "You're right, I don't." With those words, she got up and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

     We didn't talk for the rest of the year. I would see her occasionally with a group of girls, but I was preoccupied with my own problems, at least until I reached a breaking point and could no longer hide what was bothering me.     

     I came to school one day, visibly shaken. Despite the lack of cold, my body was shivering uncontrollably. I couldn't escape the haunting replay of yesterday. I had to physically restrain my mom from attacking my dad. My strength was enough to lift her off her feet, and I clung to her until my dad managed to escape. She fought to break free, screaming at me to let go. "LET GO OF ME, DUSTIN," she cried. Eventually, I did release her, and in response, she pushed me away violently, scolding me for being a "piece of shit." She retreated to her room in tears, leaving me standing there, trembling.

I couldn't bear to look at a corner of a room, it just reminded me of what just happened. Then, when listening to my music, my dad’s favorite piano song came on – "Rocketman" – and it triggered a surge of negative thoughts. Unable to remain in the classroom, I left without explanation, venturing out into the rain. There, I sat in the pouring showers, trying to hold back my tears, repeating to myself, "Men don't cry. Men don't cry."

     I remained outside for a while, to the point where the water began to numb my senses. I planned to stay there forever but I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder. I looked up and there she was, a concerned look on her face. I cried and I couldn’t stop. She sat down quickly and held me. 

     “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." I kept repeating, but she continued to reassure me, saying, "It's okay, it's okay." I held onto her hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

​

     We emerged from the arcade, laughing because I had just won her a teddy bear. The city lights were bright, and New York truly felt like the city that never sleeps. I took in the breeze, savoring the things I knew I was going to miss about this place

     “Yoooo," Leyla laughed, waving her hand in my face. "You good?" I snapped out of my daydream and gazed at her, the light reflecting off her face, making it seem even more radiant. My heart began to race, and I knew I had to tell her now.

     “Today was fun," I began, my gaze still directed at the ground. "I really appreciate all of this, especially you." My voice trembled slightly, but I knew it was time to let my feelings be known.

     “Don't get mushy with me, Dusty," she playfully chided, punching my arm. I looked at her for a moment, feeling a bit awkward, but I mustered up the courage to say it.

     “Leyla, I'm in love with you," I confessed. Her face fell, now wearing a neutral expression. For a while, she didn't speak, but I felt compelled to continue.

     “I just am. We've been through so much, and whenever I'm with you, I feel alive. You make me happy; you make me want to move forward. I—"

     “What do you want me to say, Dustin?" Leyla questioned, her words heavy. I paused, not sure how to respond to that.       

     "You're moving, so what difference does it make that I love you or not?" Her words struck me, and my brain seemed to stop. She clutchedc the teddy bear, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" She pressed, and I remained silent, the awkwardness becoming palpable.

     At that moment, my mom appeared, honking to get my attention. Leyla said with a sniffle, "You better go. Text me when you get to California. I still intend to keep you in my life." We hugged tightly, and when we pulled away, I found myself gazing deeply into her blue eyes again. I wanted to kiss her, but instead, I walked away. I got into the car, and as my mom drove of. I could still see her standing there, waving the teddy bear's arm.

     I didn't speak to my mom during the ride. Instead, I listened to ELO's "Livin' Thing" as the instruments picked up. I finally broke the silence by asking, "Where's the place we're moving to?"

     “It's called Oceanside, honey. It's by the Bixby Bridge," my mom replied. Her voice carried a tone of excitement, probably because we were finally leaving for our new home the next day.

     I stared out of the front window as the trumpet blew. "Oceanside," Fuck...

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