Tonight the Streets Are Ours

Peter rolls his eyes. “They’re rich enough to rent a limo for a night, even though there are hours in there when they’re not even using it. I think they’re rich enough that they can stand to lose a shot of Jameson.”


Arden accepts that there are some things about this city that she just does not understand, and moves on. “Hey, Peter, I wanted to say that I’m sorry about what happened back there,” she says. “That fight with Lindsey, and my freak-out at the car. You must think I’m crazy, just showing up here and screaming all over the place, when you’ve never even met me before.”

Peter shrugs this off. “I don’t mind a little crazy. And anyway, like I said, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

And Arden feels like this links them together. Their shared guilt.

“Do you think there’s any truth to what she was saying about me?” she asks. “That I need her to be the screwup so I can be the savior? All that stuff?” She doesn’t know how Peter would be able to answer this question when he doesn’t know her—but she feels as if he knows everything.

“No way,” Peter says. “She was just pissed off.”

Arden leans her head against the window. “When I woke up this morning, this isn’t where I thought my day would take me,” she tells him.

“Me, neither. But nothing ever seems to go the way I expect it will. I don’t know why I keep expecting anything.”

“Where are we even going?” Arden asks. Right now, she feels like she could go anywhere.

“I don’t know,” Peter says. “But hey, look out the window. I don’t want you to miss this.”

She looks. They are driving on a bridge across a river. It’s a suspension bridge, constructed of stone and thick wires. The bridge towers before them, arch up and toward the sky, calling to mind the photos of European Gothic cathedrals that Arden has seen in her history textbook. Beyond the towers, she sees the Manhattan skyline laid out for her, lit up in the night, its glittering high-rises and spires packed together so closely that they resemble one mighty monolith.

Arden remembers the abrasive neon signs of her childhood trip to New York with her mother. This view of the city has a similar glow. But it feels different, because she’s on the outside, taking it all in. This reminds her more of the lush Maryland mountains that she drove through this afternoon: something so expansive that it’s impossible to fathom.

“I never get tired of this view,” Peter says, but his words are sluggish. He lies down. After a moment, Arden does the same on the seat across from him. She points her toes and stretches her arms over her head, and still there’s room beyond her reach. She has the unfamiliar sensation of the world moving around her while she is lying motionless.

The limo exits the bridge and descends into the city below. Arden and Peter lie across from each other, and they listen to the sounds of traffic beyond their tinted windows. And for them, all the red lights turn to green.





Arden feels like she’s flying

After they’ve been driving through the streets of Manhattan for about twenty minutes, the limousine stops. Through the intercom, the driver says, “I must to go now. I say I will be in Williamsburg soon.”

Peter and Arden thank him and get out of the car. As promised, Peter pays, and now they are standing on some random block in Manhattan. The street sign says MERCER, which to Arden could mean just about anything. There are more cars driving by than there were in Brooklyn. More lights. Roughly as many garbage bags. The fact that it’s past three in the morning does not seem to have resonated with the people who are carousing in a bar across the street, or the open convenience store next door, with a cat sitting in its window, licking her paw.

“Where to?” Arden asks.

“Let’s walk,” Peter says.

They walk.

“So what are you going to do about Bianca?” Arden asks after a block or two.

Peter makes a face. “Tonight we’re only going to discuss happy things, remember?”