31. Come here, Mousey

People come and go. In and out of your life. Some stay for a brief moment and some hang out for a long time. They all influence your life in one way or another. Sometimes changing it in small ways and sometimes derailing its course completely. 

Mark hasn’t changed my life. But he has changed my miserable week in New York. I am so grateful for his presence. I get out all of my frustrations and experiences of the past few days; I vent to him and he listens. He tells me that the nice hotel we were supposed to be housed in is under construction. That is why we are staying in the huge dorm rooms with bunk beds. We also both agree that the food so far has been horrendous. 

“I think I have already lost 5 pounds,” Mark says and I giggle. “Yea, me too. My pants are getting loose!” 

“Are you hungry? Look! It’s a vending machine. It has sandwiches or something,” his face distorts to show me how he feels about these unappetizingly looking foods. 

“Let’s try one,” I say. “My stomach is growling.”

A sandwich plops down from the machine. I pick it up, open it, and look at Mark. “What is this?”

We deconstruct it and examine it. “I think it has meatballs, try it!” I shove the meatball sandwich into his hand. 

“No, you try it,” he attempts to hand it back to me but changes his mind.

He takes a bite, then starts laughing. “It’s not too bad, it’s actually good! Here, have some!”

Then he turns around and mumbles to himself, “I don’t know how I will survive this food.”

Everything tastes weird. Even the familiar foods. Yogurt, bread, and pickles are weird too. 

“Lesson for the day. Don’t trust any food that looks good. And don’t trust any food that looks bad either. Just don’t trust American food!” 

We laugh and toss the sandwich in the trash. 

My relationship with Mark is playful from the start. I am Slovak and he is Czech. In my entire life, I haven’t met a Czech person that I didn’t like. It is only natural that every time a Slovak and a Czech meet, they will tease each other. 

“Haha, that’s such a silly word you just said, I can’t believe Czechs talk like this,” I am trying to mimic his language. He does the same and we end up laughing and giggling, enjoying each other’s company. 

Mark and I explore the streets of New York, absorbing the city. We go to Central Park, sit on cozy benches, watch the squirrels, and never stop talking. We become fast friends and we share an unexplainably unique bond. We are both alone in a big world, with no family or friends. For now, we have each other. 

“Jarka, can I give you a nickname? I want to call you “Mousey.” 

“Huh, why? I am no mouse, you weirdo.” I chuckle.

“No, wait, you don’t understand. It doesn’t mean anything bad. I promise. It’s because you are so cute, like a little teeny mouse. There is something vulnerable and cute about you. It’s special to me. You are special to me. You will be My Mousey, ok?”

I can tell he is sincere. “Ok, you silly Czech boy,” I give him my permission to call me “Mousey” and I roll my eyes. 

We spend all of our time together and we skip a class where people are signing up for their Social Security Numbers. “Should we go? To get the number?” He asks me.  We are walking by the classroom with a huge line of au-pairs standing up, waiting their turn for their paperwork. 

“Nah,” I say. “I don’t think we need any kind of number. What would someone need a number for? Let’s go, Mark!”

I pull him away by his sleeve, happy that we avoided this unpleasantness. 

At this point, I still haven’t been able to call my mother to tell her that I have arrived in the US and that I am ok. I know she must be terrified, probably sitting by the phone at home. It is thanks to Mark that I am able to find a tiny Mexican store that carries calling cards. I randomly choose one and spend $10 out of my $100 bill. I am excited to find a phone booth to call home from America for the very first time. I dial the number and enter my calling card code. Then I hear an automated female voice: 

“You. Have. 2… Minutes. For. Your. Call.”

What? 2 minutes? Oh my goodness, this is brutal. My mother picks up after the very first ring.

“Mom!”

“Hi baby,” I hear a palpable relief in her voice.

“Mom, I don’t have much time, just 2 minutes. I am ok, I got here, I am fine! Everything is fine! I made it!” I hurl the words out as fast as I can.

“Oh my gosh, my sweet girl, how are things in New York?”

I am not able to elaborate.

“Mom, I am sure we will get disconnected but I will call you again as soon as I can. I love you and I miss you. Say hi to everyone. Oh, and I will get to meet my host family on…..” Click. “Friday….” I finish quietly. Our call is disconnected. I feel deflated and defeated. I am nearly in tears, staring at the receiver that I am still holding in my hand. 

Mark is watching me quietly. 

“Come here, Mousey,” He pulls me closer and gives me a hug. 

I don’t know what I would do without him.