Beginnings: The First Day

Well, this is it. 263 stories with 207,744 words – averages out to a 790 word story every Monday through Friday for a year. If you count the blurbs and the 10 guest stories (which I edited a little bit, did some work there) that’s 286,582 words published on this blog since mid-January of last year – 1,090 words every Monday through Friday for a year. If you count NanNoWriMo that puts me at 336,914 words this year. Plus editing two books, 17 Here’s the Thing… columns, two comic shorts, several pitches, full-time job, keeping the lady happy and heavy drinking.

I’m proud of that.

So, story time…

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My family offered to bring me to DC but I had this inexplicable need to go my own, get set-up, and then have them come down. Play the roll of an independent man. They offered me extra money but I didn’t take it – it’s not like they didn’t need it anymore than I did. I was going to get by on my own now, I didn’t need to burden them anymore – the only way for me to do this was to throw myself into it, unprepared, with only five hundred dollars and a suitcase of clothes to my name.

I graduated on a Wednesday, got back to New York on a Thursday. That Saturday I was off to DC, no time off. I was to start work on the following Wednesday. My mom was sad, she wanted me to stay home for a little longer, kept asking me to call up my boss and see if I can start work a week or two later. He’ll understand, she tells me, he was a college graduate once too.

My friends all shared similar philosophies as my mother. They’re getting odd jobs and traveling, letting off some steam before going out into the real world – before putting the things they learned in college to work. I was just never that way, with the exception of the summer between sophomore and junior year I held a job since I was thirteen and now I’m going to have a job where I’ll be making a decent amount of money – I was too excited to take time off.

Here I was – 22 years old – first in my family to graduate college – making about the same amount of money as my dad (making more than most of the people who graduated with me). When life presents you with that, you tend to jump right into it.

My father takes me to JFK, on the ride up there he’s telling me he’s proud of me, I’m feeling good about the move, new city is scary and all but sometimes things just feel right – they just click. We get to the airport – he parks in the short term lot so he can walk me in. I go up to the ticket counter only to discover my flight is about an hour and a half delayed. No cell phones for any of us at this point, neither me nor Robin, so I get to the payphone and call Logan Airport and have them leave a message with Robin to tell her I’ll be late.

My father hangs with me for a bit, we just talk for a while – going over everything, the job, the apartment.

Robin and I actually found an apartment online; we put our deposit down without even seeing the place. It was in Arlington – I asked around a bit and found out Arlington was a relatively hip place to live. The price was right, if I remember correctly I believe it was $850 for a one bedroom, much cheaper than the places we were looking at in The District. Best part was that it was a short term lease – 6 months, I believe.

All of these things should have been warning signs but what did I know? I never even had an apartment before – there was the house I grew up in and then the dorms throughout college. My resident director at the time told me that I might have been making a mistake, I should have at least checked the place out first having never been to Arlington and never seeing the place in question.

But it was perfect, you know – ten minute bus ride to the metro station which was going to be clutch since I wasn’t going to have a car.

Or a license.

I believe the move-in date for the new apartment was June 9th – I say believe because, well, we never actually moved in. As far as what happened that made two broke-ass kids give up the three-hundred dollar security deposit, well – that’s not today’s story, now is it? But the two weeks where we didn’t have a place to live we were staying at a hotel – The Tyson’s Westpark Hotel in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia. A nice little place that we snagged for about a hundred bucks a night – with the three-grand relocation money I was getting from my new job we were going to be fine, right?

Let me introduce you to the college mentality, in case you never had it. Costs like food, entertainment, clothes, transportation – they don’t really exist. Whatever your biggest expense is – that’s the only thing that matters – that’s the only thing that counts towards your budget. The two weeks staying at a hotel for a hundred bucks a night – that’s our only expense. 1400 dollars of our 3000 dollar advance. No tax. No nothing. We were going to be just fine. Anyway – that’s not today’s story either.

Finally my flight begins to board, I give my dad a big ass hug, he wishes me luck one last time, and I’m on my plane and off to Dulles Airport – I can’t get there fast enough. The flight was a little bumpy, bad weather in the area – I was putting down a couple of beers because that’s what adults do, right? They drink beer; even if it’s an afternoon and you’re traveling by yourself, you’re supposed to drink beer.

Playing the role, still with no idea what was coming.

I land in Dulles and make my way to the arrival board, check on Robin’s flight – it’s delayed and isn’t scheduled to land for another two hours.

Two. Hours.

I make my way outside the terminal to get some fresh air, sit down a bit. Smoke a cigarette and watch the planes come in – go over some notes for my new job – take out this trapper keeper we bought with all the information on DC in it.

Papers on our apartment with floor plans and directions, metro maps, lists of restaurants and bars we found online that looked interesting, monument information, directions to the National Zoo – my friend Max’s phone number since he was the only person I knew in DC. I spent some time looking through it all, killed close to an hour smoking cigarettes and shuffling through hundreds of pages of information.

I get back into the terminal and see Robin’s flight was delayed an additional hour.

I call home; tell everyone I had a nice flight. My mom’s asking me if I’m excited and I sarcastically reply that I’ve spent an hour in the airport and have two more to go – the excitement is waning.

I get off the phone and just sort of wander. Go through the gift shops, the bookstores – I found the smoking lounge that used to be at Dulles airport and spent some time in there reading.

There’s nothing more disgusting than the smoking lounge at an airport. No ventilation – you come of there caked in cigarette smoke and coughing up a lung after spending just five minutes in the hotbox. I spent closer to forty minutes, chain smoking and doing crossword puzzles.

You get restless, obviously – you build up this excitement over starting a new life only to be delayed in an airport all day on both sides of the trip. I haven’t seen Robin since BU which wasn’t ridiculously long but when you’re taking a plunge like this with someone – new city, new job, and a new life – you tend to miss her a lot more when she’s away. Mainly because doubt starts to creep in, you begin to wonder if you made the right decision in inviting her – you wished she was with you so you can remember how she feels, how she makes you feel, while at the same time trying to make sure you 100% made the right call.

She’s the one and she’s not going to let you down. You’re starting a new life with the right person. That’s the kind of shit you remember when you pull her in and kiss the top of her head and smell her hair – you feel her smile as her nose buries into your chest. That’s why I wanted her plane to land – for that.

Finally her plane lands – I’m waiting by the gate. She must have been the last person out – she looks worn down but she smiles the instant she sees me. It’s a tired smile but there’s a lot behind it – I walk up to her and bring her in, kiss her hard and smile back. She apologizes for being late – as if it’s her fault – as if I could even be mad – and we make our way curbside to get a cab.

We end up getting in one of those blue airport shuttle vans you share with several parties. Hop in and tell the guy we’re going to Tyson’s Westpark – he’s pissed off as if we’re going an hour out of the way. That’s the friendly greeting we get upon stepping out into our Nation’s Capitol.

We pull up at the hotel and I go to check in. Go through the motions and the receptionist asks me for a credit card.

Here’s a story – this was my first time checking into a hotel. My father, he never used a credit card – he’d always pay cash for the hotel room. I wasn’t clear on the details but I guarantee you I’ve seen him bust out cash every time we were at a hotel together and use it to pay for our room. When the lady asked me for a credit card I kind of laughed and told her I’d be paying cash.

But I need a credit card either way, apparently. So I bust out my little Bank Boston Visa card, three-hundred dollar spending limit and about two-hundred and fifty bucks already on it. She swipes it – nothing.

She tells me there’s not enough on it to use the card. I ask her what she’s authorizing and she tells me it’s for a week staying at the hotel.

A week? But I’m paying cash.

I needed to front the first night.

But I don’t have the cash yet, the check needs to clear.

And here comes Robin, asks what’s wrong. I say to her, “They’re saying I need a credit card.” For a moment you see nothing but regret in Robin’s face. She loves me, sure, but I think she just realized that I have a lot to learn.

A LOT to learn.

She busts out her credit card – she’s always been the one with the good credit and the five-thousand dollar cards – and give it to the lady behind the counter. Card gets swiped and we’re good to go, we make our way to the room.

Nice little place – comfortable enough to spend two weeks in. In the information book it says the hotel has Happy Hour every day from 5-6 with free appetizers, we get down there with several minutes to spare and eat what’s left of the mozzarella sticks and fries – our first dinner in DC, conserving money from the start. We hang at the bar for a little bit, dollar beers, we toast almost every drink get a little tipsy, make our way back up to the hotel room.

Robin wants to stay in but I want to explore, thinking there’s actually something to explore in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia. Having no idea where anything is we walk down Leesburg Pike, pass several car dealerships, McDonalds, a Container Store, a Toy’s ‘R Us – some place called McCormick & Schmick’s that we make fun, it’ll later turn out to be one of our favorite restaurants.

Tyson’s Corner is not New York, though, I learned that one pretty quick.

We finally find this place – some Mexican place with a patio bar and a bunch of people our age drinking and having a good time. We get to the bar and have some drinks, they’re closer to five dollars a pop here but the atmosphere is much better. Get to talking with some guy, tell him we just moved into town and ask him if there’s anything going on in Tyson’s. He tells us Tyson’s is whack, the district is pretty cool, but Arlington’s happening. We couldn’t be happier; we’re going to be checking out our place in Arlington for the first time the next day.

We walk back to the hotel – there was this almost perfect moon in the sky – no clouds to even hint at the shitty weather we were having earlier in the day. Make our way upstairs and take a shower together, sneak in some tired intimacy and get to bed.

A good first day in capitol area. Despite the frustrations and the lack of money and the seclusion of Tyson’s we had each other, a bed to sleep in for the moment, a good job waiting for me and no cares in the world.

Life was about to get interesting.

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But you won’t hear about any of that until I decide to start this up again (and yes, you can classify the next group of stories as a “Romantic Comedy” so, you know, things change). I need a break. A lot of stories told; a lot of words written. For over a year something was posted on this blog every Monday through Friday – 263 new stories. A lot of you guys became regulars and I thank you all for reading and linking, seriously. I think I grew a lot as a writer but more importantly – I learned a lot about myself and my past relationships. This has got to be the most therapeutic exercise I’ve ever undertaken.

I had fun doing this, it became routine, you know? Every night I’d sit down, look through some pictures or some old writings to get the brain going and just write. It was hardly ever forced, especially not towards the end. You’d think this kind of thing would become a burden as time went on but it actually got easier – go figure.

I’ll still be here every Tuesday and Thursday, doing something low-key and low-stress writing. Seriously, if you come by, expect some rambling, some stories (both fiction and non-fiction), some talk of comics and some updates on the soon-to-be not-so-secret project.

Additionally there’s The Hive. New columns the 2nd and 4th Thursday of the month (growing schedule available here) – moderated discussions popping up pretty regularly in the forums beyond that.

World’s End Production Blog, I’ll be popping in there, giving updates on the book. Please come by and share your thoughts, make us feel loved. Likely taking on another editing gig, helping out an unpublished but talented writer – I’ll be updating you all on that. DC Conspiracy – I’ll be hanging there, posting from time-to-time, especially as the secret project ramps up, I’d imagine.

Everything will be announced from here, though, so keep checking back. I mean, when I announce the call for submissions I’m sure you’d want to be one of the first to get your pitches in, right?

A man cannot dominate comics by himself, after all.

Labels: mitc

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