Surpassing Certainty by Janet Mock

Author:Janet Mock
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

PART

TWO

NINE

THE FIRST DEPICTION OF NEW YORK CITY that left an indelible mark on me was the opening of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Holly Golightly emerges from a yellow taxi alone at dawn onto a Fifth Avenue that is emptied. The sleepy, hushed city block belongs to her. She prepares breakfast for her modern-girl self by unpacking her coffee and croissant from a white paper bag outside the iconic Tiffany & Company store. Holly finds solace in the window display after a long night out. She also takes in her own reflection—the outsider looking in.

Like the Tiffany’s window, Holly was luxuriously set-dressed: the flamboyant string of pearls and impeccably highlighted bouffant, the gown, oversized sunglasses, and long gloves. She looked like New York—classic, chic, and all clean lines. She used her aesthetic to attract—and distract—gentlemen callers, men with expense accounts who didn’t blink twice when she requested fifty dollars for the powder room and another fifty for cab fare. She was a hustler who promised a good time and kept the “mean reds” at bay by never allowing the men she entertained to dig deeper than the display she presented.

I was empowered by the image of the solitary single girl in the big city who had fled her small town, her family, and her husband and had shed her past and her previous selves to create herself anew. More than fifty years after Holly had taken that fateful stroll on Fifth Avenue, I landed in New York City—also alone—on a sweltering summer day in early August 2005.

I stood at the bottom of the staircase in my East Village apartment building with two heavy suitcases. My blue maxi dress’s flimsy fabric stuck to my body and betrayed me by failing to conceal the sweat under my breasts. Its hem swept the black and white tile floor as I hyped myself up for the task at hand: carrying one hundred pounds of luggage up five flights. I grabbed the hem and held the slinky jersey between my front teeth. I bent down, lifted my first bag, and placed it on top of my head. I held it steady with both hands as I climbed the stairs. Once I reached the top, I left the bag outside the cracked front door, only to return to the lobby to retrieve the second one.

When I finally crossed the threshold of my apartment, I struggled to catch my breath. I rolled my luggage through a long, dark hallway with exposed brick walls and cherry hardwood floors that were uneven and slanted, creaking beneath me. The apartment was filled with unfamiliar voices strung together by random threads of conversation. Where should we put it? This belongs in the kitchen. I can’t find the box of books. Do you want this in your room? Just leave it there for now. I was intimidated and taken aback by the assembled party in the small but bright living-­room space. Three brown people were sitting hip-to-hip on a red tufted couch, rummaging through boxes.

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