March 5, 2026
I need to be somewhere, and I need to do something. I like to think I’m in the search of something grand. It doesn’t have to be something big, in fact I wouldn’t mind something small, but it just has to be something that will make me feel alive.
“Like what?” Derek asks me.
“Like — I don’t know — going to Coney Island after this.” The words sound like I hastily glued them together, but the truth is I toyed with the idea coming here. The climbing gym is pretty much empty at this hour, so I fix my gaze on the far wall where someone climbed alone. I’m trying to ignore Derek’s reaction, but to be honest, the words didn’t sound as wrong out loud as I thought it would.
I can feel his stare. His eyes are large but squinting now; his lips are slightly pursed. Then, somehow exactly as I expected, or feared, his face assembles the biggest smile he could possibly muster and he says, “Let’s do it.”
“You serious?” I say, but I know he is. He puts his weight in every step and climbs like he could never fall — of course he means what he says. But it’s already midnight, we’re already climbing, and we both have class in the morning. The midnight activities slot is full. And yet, I need to do something. I call my girlfriend, armed with this plan I’m not even sure of myself.
“This is your idea?” She seems skeptical. Why wouldn’t she? I’m not the type to do something like this, and especially not around her. But she knows I’ve been feeling off.
“I just need to do something that makes me feel alive,” I tell her, knowing how ridiculous it sounds. It’s just the only way I know how to describe it. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay with it.”
“Don’t worry!” Derek drops to the mat and takes a seat beside me. Leaning into the phone, he says, “I’ll be there with him. He’ll be safe!”
Though reluctant, and definitely not reassured by anything Derek said, she somehow lets me go. With that, everything falls into place. Suddenly the whole universe compels me to go, whether or not I have second thoughts. For the rest of the time, we don’t talk about it at all — not until half an hour later when we wrap up and get changed.
On the stairs out, I ask if he’s sure about this.
Without looking back, he scoffs and pushes the door open. “I’m sure. What are you gonna do if I wasn’t sure?”
“Go home, I guess.”
“And miss out on adventure?”
So instead of my usual station, we make our way to the F. It’s closer. I can’t believe how close it is. On the platform, I think about what I’ll do once I get there, but really, I have no idea. I’m sort of hoping the waves will have what I need.
“I do wonder what’s gotten you into a rut.”
It’s funny to me it took him this long to ask that.
“I need to live,” I tell him.
He almost laughs but keeps it in a grin. “What does that mean?”
“I just need something drastic, I think.”
“You know what would make it really drastic?” He smirks as he does when he has a bad idea. “If we went for a swim.”
“I’d be down.” Then my brain registers what I just agreed to. New York City is still reeling from the winter, and every time it gets warmer, we just get another streak of cold. Today, it’s actually decent, but it will only get colder as the night burns thin. “Hm, maybe I’m not down.”
“You just said you’re down.”
I shrug, sufficiently persuaded. “I’d be down.”
“Isn’t there a thing where the water is warmer than the air during the winter?”
“What are you saying, man.”
“No, I swear I learned this in marine bio. It’s true!”
I’m not the slightest bit convinced, but he insists and looks it up and apparently it’s true. He punches the air with both fists and says something that makes no sense like, Absolute cinema! I still don’t buy it though.
“Let’s just go touch the water and see,” I say.
The headlights of the train throw the platform into a hue of yellow, and as it passes people gather at the edge in anticipation to get on. There’s actually a surprising amount of people here; I wonder if they’re headed home.
We take our seats and the train fills up quickly. Because it’s one of the newer cars and the platform is so well lit, I almost feel like I’m in the midst of a midday commute. The display overhead lists the stops in order, and there it is at the 23rd stop: Coney Island-Stillwell Av. It’s so far away, the stops from 11-18 are not even shown. However, I stop thinking so much about the distance soon after we begin to move.
“What’s something we can talk about?” Derek thinks aloud, scrunching his face and trying really hard to come up with a topic that would satisfy my moody state. “I’m not very good at this. You think of something.”
Through the car doors, Brooklyn drags in parallax. There’s no bright lights, no traffic, no construction. Our train hums quietly as it glides over rooftops. Rooftops are rare in Manhattan. I’m thinking about old friends. Today, I called the guys back home and one I haven’t seen in years. I like hearing about their lives because it helps me get out of my own and imagine theirs. I like the perspectives they have. I have new friends, and new friends are nice, but sometimes I’d feel rude to dig for something deeper — to burden them in a way. With Derek and these old friends, I can be shameless about how I feel and ask them about the real things that matter.
The train stops. The doors open and close again.
I remember a question one of my friends asked me. “When was the last time you were moved?”
“The last time I was moved? In what way?”
“Like, the last thing that gave you goosebumps or made you cry. Something like that.”
“Hm.” Derek purses his lips as he thinks. “Oh, I know. La La Land.”
“Oh, that’s such a good one.”
“Yeah, I recently watched it. I cried so much.”
“You cried?” I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen him cry, if I ever have.
“Yeah,” he says, smiling to himself a bit. “I had to go out on a walk because it got so bad. Wasn’t really because of the movie itself though.”
I start imagining Derek roaming the streets of Chinatown in the middle of the night all sad by himself, and I smile too. “I love that movie.”
We arrive at half past one, talking about nothing particular, but then again everything there is. We are the only ones left on the train. The troubled night is covered by a blanket of murky grey so thick that it almost convinces me there’s nothing behind it. Forming a faint glow across the street from the station is a deli with lottery posters plastered over the windows and a sign saying it’s open. Derek leads us in, insisting on beer for the occasion. It’s a narrow walk between the cashier and a mountain of trinkets, souvenirs, and brightly colored T-shirts. There are others inside, but the pale, lifeless ceiling lights cast long shadows beneath their eyes. We brush past them in silence.
Derek grabs a bottle, and asks me if I want one. Though I don’t prefer to drink, there are times and places I don’t mind it. Perhaps tonight is one such time and place. Derek came this far for my sake, and what kind of friend would I be to let him drink alone?
I grab one myself, smaller in size. “I’ll pay for these, by the way.”
“Huh? You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
We find ourselves back on the sidewalk as a fine rain brushes our faces. Puddles litter the path and we’re forced to dance through them awkwardly to get under the shadows of Coney Island rollercoasters. Some structures are painted reddish orange while others are tattered white. One still has neon signs flashing invitingly. It’s a straight path through the park and to the beach. There isn’t another soul here.
At some point while I’m not paying attention, Derek pops his cap with a bottle opener he conjured out of nowhere. Then he looks at me expectantly until I notice.
I’m confused, but he just gives me a look like, Who do you think I am?
Mine is just a can, so I reluctantly crack it open and clink my drink with his.
“Cheers!”
“Cheers.” I take a big swig, but somehow he takes more.
We venture further until the sand no longer shifts. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I can see waves crash in flurries of froth. Behind us, the lights of the city are far and dimmed by the rain. Without saying anything, Derek sets his bag down and takes off his shoes and socks. I guess he’s excited to test out his marine bio theory. I follow suit, and the moment I place my feet on the sand I know I’ve won the bet. It’s absolutely freezing, but we’re already here.
We leave our things, sprinting for the water. We’re screaming like idiots and running in half-hops to avoid the sand as much as possible. The tide climbs in, and I plunge my legs one after another. The water isn’t any warmer, that’s for sure. In an instant, the cold consumes my lower half, and I can’t feel it at all. For a second I’m a creature half-man, half-ocean, but in the next I’m cold and wet. The shock is exhilarating but fleeting. Maybe the waves can’t heal me.
Derek has the bright idea to go a little deeper, and then immediately turns around. “Okay, never mind.” He’s shaking his head doing this funny walk in the water to get out as fast as he can. “I’m gonna get frostbite — argh!”
We’re laughing now, and the comedy of it all makes the plunge worth it. We put our socks back on despite the sand because it’s way too cold. In the distance, a tall, slim red tower stretches into the grey and blooms into a flat circle. It doesn’t really look like a ride, and it’s surely not a cell tower, so I wonder what it’s for. Where it connects to the beach, I spot a long pier with lamp lights straddling the plank. “Let’s go to the pier. We could sit at the end of it.”
And we do that. Beers in hand and sand in socks, we make our way to the very end. It’s surprisingly far. There, we lay down our stuff and lean against the railing, overlooking the darkness which spills over the horizon. Far away, there’s a blurry golden smudge that looks like daylight breaching the clouds. It’s only around two in the morning, it can’t be the sun, so maybe it’s just a gathering of distant city lights. Farther still, there are specks of stars, or more likely, boats just pretending.
Derek plays music on his phone, and for a long time we just talk. We talk about our lives and what being alive means to us. We talk about our brothers and sisters, our mutuals, hometown friends, his favorite foods, my favorite books, girls we’ve met and fallen out with, dreams of lives we’ll never get to live, and what we hope to achieve in attempts to be even half the men our fathers are or find half the love our mothers have given them.
I tell him I have never been good at anything in my entire life.
He thinks that’s ridiculous, that I must be good at something.
I tell him I don’t resent myself for it, and how it doesn’t even feel self-deprecating to me. I quite like myself, actually. That’s just how I’ve come to understand myself. I guess I’m good at being kind. I’m someone who’s kind to people he doesn’t know, who loves to love new things and share that love with those he loves. And that’s enough for me.
With two months left in our senior year, there’s just so much uncertainty. Where will we be in a year? Home? Here? I want a break from having the same doubts, hearing the same words, and still feeling the same guilt. I’ve lost myself in that routine and forgotten what it feels like to be present in the moment. That’s why I needed to be somewhere else tonight.
Derek’s been really good to me lately. Maybe coming to Coney Island on a random night is not out of character for him, but more than this he’s been good to me. He says if I can’t find a job, he’ll let me surf his couch for 5 years because it’d be fun. He planned a surprise gathering when my birthday plans fell through because I got sick. He gave me a piece from my favorite brand because I told him I couldn’t afford anything from there. It’s not like he could either. I tell him all this, and he’s quiet.
I wonder if he’s been lonely. His one true friend is back in Boston and the other one is me. It hasn’t been very long since things fell through with his ex. The boy who goes all in on everything falls in love. It’s no wonder he said La La Land.
It occurs to me that he might’ve needed this escape just as much as I did.
We talk some more under the cover of a sleeping city before deciding to go home. I grab my things, finish my beer, and glance back at Derek. He’s staring off at the water, scrunching his face until it settles into a smirk. I know that face.
“You know, I could do something funny,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulls out something small and white and tosses it once in the air before catching it again. Only as he loads his arm back, takes a step, and hurls it far out into the distance do I realize it’s his earbuds case.
“No, no, no, no—” I start to say, but in a flash of white it’s gone. My face is incredulous. “Are you stupid?”
Derek seems happy with himself, gathering his things. “Something to remember the night by.”
“There are a million other ways we could have remembered the night by.”
“Well, but this way it’s like I’m leaving something behind.”
“What are you leaving behind?”
“Hm.” Seems like he hasn’t thought that far. “It could be anything. Like a placeholder metaphor.”
“A placeholder metaphor. What does that even mean?”
“Or, maybe a backup simile.” I say nothing, so he continues. “If I ever need to leave something behind in the future, I can apply it to those earbuds.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
We’re walking back along the pier, but suddenly I feel an urge to match his drama. All night I’ve been dramatic, and here he is somehow out-drama-ing me. I scramble to think of something I can contribute. Eventually, still thinking it’s stupid but not willing to let him act alone, I settle on the Jibbitz on my Crocs.
“One sec.” I pluck two Jibbitz off and hurl them as far as I can into the night. “There.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, but he’s smiling. “It feels like you just did that because I did that.”
That’s true. It meant nothing.
I get home with missing Jibbitz. I feel better. At first just from the buzz, high off adventure, and then from an imperceivably steady flow — or what was always there — which makes me full by morning. Maybe it’s nothing.
But I guess it means something to us.