Big City Dreams, Big City Danger

I gathered up my usual Wednesday essentials: my tap shoes, a water bottle, a rusting tin can and a big old piece of cardboard. I slipped the items into a grocery bag, my feet into my tattered Converse, and put the rest of my things under the tarp with everybody else’s before I started walking.
I walked the 6 blocks from a small grove of trees in Central Park (more like 7 or 8, actually, if you count the distance from the camp to the edge of the park) to just outside of Studio 54 on West 54th Street slowly, absorbing the sunlight. I tended to be more sluggish on the warmest of days, wishing I could absorb the warmth to save for New York’s cold nights, which turned my simple 20-minute walk into a 30- or 40-minute one.
I set up my stage about an hour before the first showing of Sondheim and Sondheim began, around 1 PM. I took off my sweatpants and jacket to reveal my dance apparel: a sleeveless gray leotard with little red shorts and hole- and run-filled pink tights. I smoothed out the cardboard on the pavement and set the can on the corner. I changed from my ratty tennis shoes to my beat up tap shoes. I put all my walking clothes in the grocery bag behind me.
I stepped onto the cardboard, my shoes clicking beneath me. I took a breath and closed my eyes. I focused on the sounds around me: sirens, people yelling in all languages, business people bustling around shouting into cell phones, babies crying, horns honking. Ah, New York — my music.
I began, first slowly, doing some simple little riffs I had rehearsed to get myself warmed up.
Tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Clink.
I opened my eyes to see a man in a business suit walking away, cell phone pressed to his ear, slipping his hand back into his pocket. I peered into my can, hoping for the best. All I saw was a nickel. I figured I’d have to step it up some. More people were starting to arrive now, getting ready to enter the theater.
I started again, picking up my pace, dishing out some of my harder steps, throwing double pullbacks, various time steps and wings into my mix.
Tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap, tap tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap, tap tap.
I heard small applauding, and a few more clinks, but I didn’t want to open my eyes to see my treasures, for fear of losing my beat, although I worried about someone taking off with my can while I wasn’t looking. It had already happened twice this week, and it felt terrible not being able to bring much of anything back o camp with me.
My pace sped up, my steps going from 6 count riffs, to 12 count riffs, to 24 count riffs, not being throw off in the least by the clinks and “oohs” and “aahs”.
I could feel myself losing my breath, so I ended on a combination of wings and a pullback that I invented in the heat of the moment. There was a little applause as a few more people dropped money into the can. I took a little bow, but by this time most everyone had moved on towards the theater.
I went over and picked up my can, then went and sat down on the sidewalk, propping my back against the wall, to examine my treasures.
I dumped a little pile out in my hand, and received some quarters and dimes, but mostly nickels and pennies that passerby had had cluttering their pockets. A few dollar bills fell out, plus the five-dollar bill I had seeded my can with. I did some quick math to add it all up ($21.72, not bad for the first part of my day).
I looked up and saw a little girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old, dressed to go to the theater, watching me.
“Um…hello,” I managed, unsure of what I was supposed to say to her. She didn’t say anything but continued to observe me, here eyes drifting to my shoes.
“Karina, thank goodness! There you are!” a woman said, appearing out of the thicket of crowd that was passing by me. She grabbed the girl’s hand. “I told you to stay by my side!” The girl whispered something to her mother, here eyes still locked on my shoes. The woman glanced at me then back at her daughter. “Karina, you don’t need a pair of tap shoes,” the woman said, obviously annoyed with her daughter. They started to walk towards the theater. “What are you going to do with them? I’m not paying for you to take dance lessons. They’re useless.”
Suddenly, I could hear my own mother’s voice echoing in my head: “I’m not buying you another pair of those things, they’re not going to get you anywhere.” and “Take those stupid shoes off, they’re so noisy!” and “Fine, leave. But you’ll be back. Tap shoes never got anybody meaningful anywhere.” That was the last thing she’d said to me. I laughed at her and took a swig of water before standing back up.
It was nearly 1:45, and last minute audience members were rushing towards the theater. I figured now would be the ideal time to use up what energy I had left, and then I could rest until the show let out, which conveniently corresponded with rush hour.
I clicked my way over, but nobody turned a head. I started off with a graboff variation mixed with a few pullbacks. Nothing. I tried wings, advanced Maxi Fords, and even a few standard double triple time steps, and all I got out of it was a bottle cap and a handful of loose change, bringing my total to $21.86.
I heard the opening score to Sondheim on Sondheim, and figured nobody appreciative would be around until later in the day when the show was over and people around the city were being let out of work. I turned around to change back into my regular clothes so I could go and grab some food, but as I turned around to grab my can, a hand that wasn’t mine got to it before I did.
I snapped my head up to see a hooded figure taking off down the street with my can, the change jingling in the bottom.
“Hey!” I shrieked. I jogged down the street after the scoundrel, my shoes making an obnoxious amount of noise below me. “Hey, STOP! Thief!”
The character ran up ahead, trying to make it to the intersection before the light changed. As he searched for his next turn, I had just enough time to catch up with him, even as he plunged into the middle of a crowed waiting to cross the street.
“Excuse me,” I said, gently pushing my way past an older woman in jogging clothes. “Pardon me.” I spotted my target a few feet ahead of me. “Hey!”
I pushed past a few more peeved city goers, and grabbed the thief (literally) by the collar.
“HEY!” I shouted, yanking his shirt with one hand, my other searching for my can. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
I heard a familiar snicker. I spun the person around, only to see the scraggy face of Jeremy Ingle, my best friend, cracking up.
Jeremy was a hobo, like me, living in the same camp as I was. He’d been living there for 2 years, playing guitar in Central Park. He usually got good tips, but the police were more worried about him than they were about me. He had already been arrested a few times, and I was usually the one to bail him out. Of the 8 other living in the camp besides me, Jeremy was defiantly the one I was closest to—which made me the most popular victim to his jokes.
I grabbed the can out of his hand, letting go of his collar. “Jesus, Jeremy!” I said angrily. “What the hell? That would’ve been the third time this week someone stole my money!”
He was to busy cracking up to hear me. “Hey!” I said, punching him in the arm. “Not funny!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said between chuckles in his deep, but somehow soothing, voice. “I just couldn’t resist.” I punched him in the arm again, a little harder this time. He flinched but kept laughing.
“I left all my stuff back there. If anybody took it, you’re using your savings to replace it.”
“Oh, chill. It was a joke.”
“I’m not laughing. You scared the shit out of me!”
He continued laughing. “I’ll walk back with you, okay?”
I scowled, but then smiled. I couldn’t be mad at him for long. “Come on,” I said, rolling my eyes. I turned around and dragged him by his arm back through the crowd (which was difficult, since the light had changed and they were now heading in the opposite direction) towards Studio 54.
“So, why aren’t you at work?” I asked over the sound of my shoes, which I was trying to muffle as much as possible.
“Police chased me away again. I’ve gotta be careful or I’m going to jail soon.”
“Oh. Nobody seems to mind my dancing.”
“Lucky,” he muttered jokingly. We arrived at my dancing spot. “See? It’s all there. I told you there was nothing to worry about.”
I rolled my eyes and began to gather my things.
“Packing up already?” he asked me as I changed into my tennis shoes.
“Just for now,” I replied, standing up, glad to not hear my feet making noise anymore. “The show just started, and it won’t be over until 5. From now till then, not many people come by. It’s not worth my time here.” I started walking in the direction of the nearest fast food restaurant. “I was gonna grab a bite to eat. Wanna come?”
“Sounds good,” he replied, pulling cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. He stuck one in his mouth and lit it. As he exhaled, I burst into an over exaggerated coughing fit. He rolled his eyes and took another drag off the cigarette, blowing the smoke purposefully into my face. I coughed for real this time.
“That’s gross. I don’t see how you can stand it,” I said, waving my hand in front of my face to deflect the smoke. Jeremy shrugged.
We turned around the corner towards Wendy’s, but Jeremy suddenly ducked back around, tugging me with him.
“Oh, what now?” I said, regaining my balance.
“Cops,” he hissed. I peered around the corner to see two men dressed in uniform chatting outside of the building next door.
“So?” I asked. “Just act casual and you’ll be fine.”
“They’re looking for me! They’re the same ones who chased me out of the park!”
“Oh, relax. I’m sure they’re not after you. They probably don’t even remember you.”
“It’s not that easy, Caroline. They’re smart.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll go in and get food for both of us. But you have to watch my bag,” I said, thrusting my load into his arms. “What do you want?”
“I don’t care,” he said, peering nervously around the corner. I sighed.
When I returned 10 minutes later with 2 cheeseburgers, the cops were gone, but Jeremy was still hiding, and surrounded by a few freshly discarded cigarette buts.
I gave him the greasy bag and reuniting with my own possessions. I sniffed my bag and retracted at the scent. “Ew, now all my stuff smells like tobacco. Thanks a lot.”
“Sorry, I was nervous!” He carelessly flicked the remainder of his last smoke onto the ground beside him with the others as he opened the fast food bag, got one of the cheeseburgers and handed it to me.
“So, what are your plans until you have to go back to work?” he asked with his mouth full.
“I didn’t have any, really.”
“Cool, me neither. Wanna hang out?”
I laughed. “I’ve gotta be back in like 2 hours, but sure.”
We finished our food and headed back to the camp to drop off my bag (there was no way I was going to carry that around all day.)
“I think we should bother tourists!” I said as we entered the camp. That was one of our favorite pastimes. He didn’t respond, so I assumed he was agreeing to it. “Where shall we go first?” I asked as I finished shoving my things under our community tarp. “We can go steal stuff from Strawberry Fields, or pretend to be valets outside of the American Museum of Natural History, or go swimming in the reservoir or something.”
“Sounds fun,” he said sarcastically. ”You know, until we get arrested.”
I groaned. “Oh, come on! All you ever do is worry!”
“Caroline, I’ve been living here for 2 years. You’ve been here for 6 months. I know what I’m doing¬.”—cue the eye roll—”You have no clue how dangerous it is. The police have been after Elliot for 4 years, and as long as we’re living with him, they’re after us too.”
Elliot Saunders was another hobo living in our gang. He was 22, the oldest, our unofficial leader. Nobody ever officially referred to him as “the leader” or anything of the sort, but we all followed him as if he were. He made major decisions, he told us when we were going to move and where too. He was an aspiring artist. He went around and showed his works to art museums and critics almost everyday, but nothing ever came of it. He was 22, and pretty smart too, but he still refused to get a real job.
“Okay, fine, Mr. Party Pooper,” I huffed. “What do you want to do? Since you know everything.”
“Well, if you really want to bother tourists…” I nodded. “…I guess we could try dropping yogurt off the top of the west 56th Street Garage. It’s at least a little safer. It’s got loads of hiding places, so we’re less likely to get caught.”
“And where do you think we’re going to get yogurt?”
“We can just buy some at Pax. No big deal.”
“Right, right. And we will buy it with what money?”
“My savings.”
“But what about your precious cigarettes?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” He nodded
I gave a small squeal of delight. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist! The danger is half the fun anyways!” He sighed and turned to leave. I followed him with an eager smile on my face.
90 minutes and one large tub of yogurt later, I had hit 12 cars, and Jeremy had hit 16, one of which hit the driver, who stopped and got out to look for the source. That’s when we decided it was time to run. As we hurried down the levels of the garage, I though of something: the time.
“Shoot,” I said, barely missing a glob of vanilla yogurt on my way out of the garage.
“Yeah, you gotta watch out for the misses during your getaway,” Jeremy said, panting. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Not what I meant. What time is it?” He shrugged. I turned to a lady passing by on the street, asking for the time. She gave me a once over, obviously disgusted with my appearance, before telling me it was nearly 5. I turned back to Jeremy and swore quietly.
“What? Yogurt in your shoes?”
“It’s nearly 5! I’m missing my prime dancing time. The play is about to let out and rush hour is picking up. Even if I managed to fight my way over there, I’m sure that stupid panhandler took my spot by now anyways.”
“Oh, the war veteran with the lazy eye?” I nodded. “Oh, yeah, he’s a fighter. There’s no way you’re getting your spot.”
I glared at him. “Gee, thanks. So tonight I’m going to return to camp with barely 19 dollars.”
We had stopped running now and had regained our breath, so of course Jeremy’s next step was to whip out his carton of cigarettes and light up. I gave an obnoxious cough. He ignored me.
“Chill. I only got like 5 bucks before the police chased me away, which I just spent,” he said, exhaling, this time away from my face.
“That was pretty dumb of you.”
“I think today was just not a good day.”
“You can say that again.”
“I think today was just not a good day.”
I laughed. Even when I couldn’t breathe and I felt like crap for missing my prime dancing spot of the day, I still could always laugh at Jeremy.
He tossed the last burnt bit onto the sidewalk. “I don’t see how you can stand to just…just…” I searched for the right word. “…just burn your money like that! You just throw it away! It doesn’t do you any good anyhow.” He ignored my statement and changed the topic.
“Since neither of us is doing anything now, we can go grab a trashcan to use for a fire pit tonight. You know, get a head start, and give everyone else a hand.”
“Compensate for not bringing much else to the table,” I joked.
“I think there’s a pair of chain clippers back at camp. You going to help or not?”
I sighed. “Why not? Not like I have anything better to do.”
We arrived back at camp, where Jeremy found a large pair of chain clippers we could use, in case the trashcans were chained to anything. Nobody else had showed up from work yet, so we figured we’d be helping out to do this.
“Aren’t you going to look a little conspicuous carrying those huge things around?”
“I hope not.”
“What ever happened to ‘The police are after me!’?” I said, mimicking him.
“Oh, ha-ha, you’re funny,” he replied. “I’ll just go by myself, if you’re so worried, and you can chill here. I’ll be back in like 10 minutes.”
“Fine,” I replied. He walked away, and I stood alone. Being alone in the camp freaked me out a little bit, and it was boring without a TV or computer of music or any sort of real recreational activity.
“Wait!” I called after Jeremy. He stopped. “I don’t really like being alone. I’ll come with you and be your lookout or something.”
He smirked, but then his face adopted a serious look. “Make sure nobody sees me, okay? I could get in trouble for this.”
“No problem. You can trust me.”
We walked a little way through the park, trying to find a spot with a trashcan, few people, and fewer cops. When we finally found one, Jeremy pulled out the chain cutters which he had been trying to hide under his pullover hoodie.
“Alright, now watch my back, and when I’m done, I’ll say so,” he said, glancing around. “Then we run into those trees behind us as fast as possible. I know the way back to camp, and if we go through the trees we’ll hopefully be pretty well hidden.”
“Got it.”
He turned around and started to saw through the chain that held the trashcan to the bench it was attached to, and I turned around to watch for people. I though of the little girl watching me on the sidewalk earlier, and my mind began to wander to life before New York.
I missed my studio. I had taken dance lessons in ballet and tap for 4 years and jazz for 2, until my mom pulled me out of dance when I was 7 so I could take part in silly teams like Jr. Mathletes and the Brain Bowl. “Dance,” she had told me as we drove home from my last class, “is something every little girl does at some point. But you’re not a little girl anymore, and you need to start focusing on important things.” So, I outgrew my ballet and jazz shoes, and eventually my tap shoes too, but I had managed to get my hands on another pair from a friend at school, who had outgrown hers. She provided me with a steady stream of “new” shoes, until she quit lessons, and I had to start buying them myself.
“I’m done. Let’s go!”
I must have stopped paying attention to my surroundings, because I completely forgot where I was and what was happening until that point. Jeremy grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the trees.
When we got back to camp, Jeremy asked me if anyone had seen him. I said no with my fingers crossed, because I really wasn’t sure if somebody had come by or not. I figured not, because if we had been seen by anyone worth worrying about, anyone who could cause us trouble, they probably would have followed us back to camp, and we were alone.
At least, that’s what I thought until I heard footsteps coming through the brush. Jeremy cursed quietly and tossed the chain cutters under the tarp and did his best to conceal the trashcan by standing in front of it (he wasn’t very successful; he was pretty small compared to the bright blue steel cylinder behind him.)
When Misty Stager stepped into the clearing she paused, instinctively turning herself back to where she had come from to run if she needed to. She put her hand over her heart.
“Oh, it’s just you two lovebirds.” Her voice was a bit hoarse. I assumed she’d had another audition for a role in some obscure musical today.
“We are not lovebirds,” I said defensively.
“Right,” she said, obviously not believing us. Nobody did, no matter how much we swore that we were just close friends. “What are you two doing back here already anyways? I figured you’d be out for at least another hour,” she said motioning at me, “and you’d either be out until the last possible second or stuck at the police station.” She motioned to Jeremy the second time.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Actually, the police let me off with a warning, so ha.”
Misty gave a slow, sarcastic clap. She noticed the trashcan Jeremy was no longer trying to hide. “Ah, I see you’ve done my job for me. Thanks for that, at least.”
“Yep, just trying to help out,” Jeremy replied with an overly enthusiastic voice. He motioned to me. “She was my lookout.”
“Neither of you made any money today, huh?”
“Nope, not really.”
“I assume she doesn’t have much either?” she said, motioning at me again.
“I’ve got 19 dollars,” I piped up sheepishly.
“Whoop-de-do.”
“Oh, chill, she’s 17,” Jeremy said, defending me. “She’s only been here for 6 months. Give her a break.”
“Figures you’d defend your girlfriend.”
“She isn’t—“ he started.
“—are you going to help us start a fire?” I interjected, stopping what could have been a major fight before it started. “We can probably have it going before everyone else gets back.”
Another rustle came from the bushes and the three of us tensed up, ready to run. Joey Vice and Ross Williams appeared, saxophone and guitar cases (respectively) in hand.
“Are we late?” Ross asked. “There usually aren’t many people here when we get back.”
“I think we’re all having a bit of an off day,” Jeremy replied.
“Ah,” Joey said. He was a man of few words.
“I see you three are ready to start a fire?” Ross said, noticing the trashcan.
“We have the trashcan,” I said. “But that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”
Joey and Ross got to getting a fire started, and the rest of our group showed up slowly, first Hope Tallies, an interpretive dancer, then Lucas Hyde, a jazz singer, then finally Elliot with the newest to our group, Johanna Page, another artist., Elliot’s little prodigy. By the time everyone was back, Ross and Joey had a nice fire going.
“We’re the last to arrive, I see,” Elliot said as he stepped through the bushes, followed by Johanna. “And everybody’s already set up, with the fire and everything.“ Joey, Ross, Hope and Lucas huddled by the fire. Jeremy, Misty and I were trying to scrape together a meal for 9 from what we had lying around (although cereal and squishy fruit is hard to make a meal from in the first place, even for one person.) It probably would have fed 5 or 6, a more ideal sized group, but Elliot couldn’t turn anybody away. He believed in giving everyone a chance, no matter what it meant for him (or anybody else in the group. But I wasn’t one to talk, because I guess if he had turned people away I wouldn’t have been there either.)
“Elliot, we need more food,” Misty complained, holding up a mostly empty box of cereal. “We don’t have enough to feed nine. Those two need to step it up and start bringing in some money to contribute or they’re going to have to go!” She looked at me, and then at Johanna who was still cowering next to Elliot. Johanna and I exchanged worried glances.
“Alright, Misty, you need to calm down. Johanna’s only been here for 4 months and Caroline’s been here for 6. They still need a little bit of time to get used to it.”
“How much time do they need?” Misty exclaimed, standing up.
“Misty, I said calm down!”
“No!” she shouted, throwing the box to the ground. Everyone in the camp got quiet.
“I’m sick of this!” she continued. “I have been here for three fucking years. Elliot and I have been here the longest out of all of you, in case you’ve forgotten, and we’ve been working our asses off for you guys since then, and you don’t even have anything to bring! Well, forget you all. I got a role on Broadway, and I’m gonna take it and leave this shit behind.”
Everyone was silent, looking around at each other, waiting for someone to react. Finally, Elliot spoke.
“Congratulations,” he said, coolly, with little expression. There was another awkwardly long pause.
“Is that all you have to say?” Misty said. She had obviously expected a more exaggerated reaction.
“When do you leave?” Elliot asked, still the only one who had said anything.
“Rehearsals start on Saturday,” she stammered.
“When are you going to get paid? Or, should I say, where are you going to go? Will they give you an apartment to live in, or will you rent your own?”
Misty was silent. “I don’t know.”
“Do they know you’re homeless?”
She was silent again.
“Uh-huh,” Elliot said, nodding his head a bit smugly.
Misty slumped back down on the ground and began rummaging through the paper grocery bag of food.
That’s when I heard it: a small rustle, the snapping of a twig, footsteps squishing along the ground.
“Shhh, shhh!” I shouted, holding my hand up, the signal for everyone to listen. Jeremy took his head out of the bag of food, Misty froze in the middle of opening a box to see to see what remained inside, Hope, Lucas, Ross, and Joey turned their heads away from the fire, and Johanna and I started inching towards the other side of the camp. Elliot, however, walked towards the noise.
We all sat there in a stunned silence as Elliot moved farther and farther away from us.
“Hello?” he called into the darkness. “Who’s out there?” He held his hand in the direction of the fire to reduce the contrast so he could see into the shade of the trees better. He squinted, then his expression grew.
Two police officers jumped through the trees, guns already out. They pointed them around at everyone, who had frozen, until one locked on Jeremy and the other on Elliot, both of whom shot their hands into the air.
The police officers were distracted, and so was I, because I nearly screamed when I felt Misty grab my hand and pull both Johanna and me into the trees behind us.
I couldn’t see where I was going. I felt Misty’s pull on my wrist and I struggled to keep up with her. I’m pretty sure I heard Johanna run into something, and I almost did the same a few times.
Finally, I was pulled into light. Joey, Ross, Hope and Lucas were waiting on the baseball field. I squinted, and Johanna was rubbing her head. Misty let go of us, then put both of her hands on my shoulders.
“What the fuck?” she half shouted. “I though you said nobody saw you?!”
It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about: the trashcan.
“I didn’t see anyone…” I said quietly.
“Were you even paying any attention?! You got them arrested. You go them both arrested. Elliot and Jeremy got arrested!” she said shaking me. She let go and turned around, her hands rubbing her face, muttering under her breath.
I stood there, shocked. It had been my fault. The cops had come for Jeremy and the trashcan they had seen him take under my watch and they’d gotten Elliot too.
Misty turned around and slapped me in the face. I fell to the ground from the shock.
“I can’t believe you. I can’t fucking believe you! Jesus…” she muttered as she walked away casually as if she had simply been having a heated conversation with me over tea.
Johanna sat at my side as I rubbed my face. My nose was bleeding, but I was too shocked to care. I thought she had gone a little far, but did she really? Now I knew what Jeremy had been talking about when he told me to be careful, and Jeremy knew better than he had before.