I’m standing in the vortex between worlds

In the mornings I come out of my apartment on 85th and make a sharp left onto Amsterdam. I walk down,

down,

down,

past the Insomnia Cookies café, the concept of which always makes me smile.

I cross at crossing after crossing; alternating between looking left and looking right because the roads are only one way.

I walk down,

and down,

and the humidity clings to me like a second skin, wrapping me up in a sticky, uncomfortably warm embrace. I cross over and over again.

Past Trader Joe’s, past Starbucks, past the bookstore — I make a mental note to go back there later.

Down Amsterdam, over and over the crossroads.

At 65th there’s a weird statue commemorating something, I’m not sure what, and soon enough I’m at 60th. I turn right and walk down the slope to building 227 where the security guard greets me and tells me to sign in.

I go up the stairs and the air-conditioning is a welcome relief from the sauna outside.

I get lost in a tribe of girls who are different from me. They wear designer Brooklyn, slinky skirts and denim skirts and sneakers, all have the same pom-pom; they talk about marriage and engagements and Monsey and all the prior arrangements they have instead of discussing schoolwork.

Today we planned a math midterm around a girl’s cousin’s wedding in Florida.

I stand quietly on the edge, looking for a place to hide until my class starts. But alas, a friendly girl pushes past my walls and asks my name and my major and hesitates when I respond in an accent that I’ve become acutely more aware of.

And then the follow-up questions of where are you from? and why are you here?

And I laugh in disbelief with her because I’m not sure where I’m from or why I’m here.

I just am.

And that’s when I realize that I just am.

I’m floating in this space in New York.