Someday, Someday, Maybe Read Online Free Page A

stares at me.
    Defeated, I let my hands drop to my sides.
    “Yes, ‘curly fountain’ is definitely what I was after. Thanks, Dan.”
    A s I start out on the six-block walk to the Seventh Avenue subway station, I decide this: I must work harder to achieve my goal of not seeking approval from those whose approval I’m not even sure is important to me. This includes, but is not limited to, people I grew up with who I see when I go home for Thanksgiving; people with real jobs of any kind, especially those requiring suits or high heels; people in my acting class; people who work at Barney’s New York; people on the subway; taxi drivers who question my choice of route; people who work at the deli on Eighth Avenue where I sometimes ask for extra mayo; other people’s mothers; dance teachers, aerobic instructors, or those who habitually wear or have seen me in spandex, and gargantuan freak boys who write about Photar creatures.
    I must not seek approval from absolutely everyone, or anyone really. Actresses should be poised and confident, like Meryl Streep and Diane Keaton. I should be more original and unique, like they are. I’ll take to wearing men’s ties!
    The woman behind the glass who sells the subway tokens eyes me warily. I’ve been known to pay my $1.25 in small change, sometimes in the very smallest. It’s not a proud moment when I’m holding up the line while she counts my pennies, but some days it’s come to that. Today, though, I have actual paper money. We share a nod, like things might be looking up for both of us.
    I put my token in the slot, and as I wait for my train, I decide to use my time on the platform to think only positive thoughts, in the hopes that I might create a more positive outcome at my audition today. I read somewhere that positive thinking is very powerful and you should train your mind to think about happy things more often, instead of letting it wander to why your jeans feel tight or whether you have enough in the bank to take out twenty dollars, or if there will ever come a day where your life isn’t measured in twenty-dollar cash withdrawal increments.
    Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts .
    It’s not always easy to think positive thoughts.
    Um.
    Just start somewhere.
    Accomplishments.
    Positive things in my life right now.
    Um.
    I’m alive.
    The obvious. Always a good place to start.
    I had a good time with Clark over the holidays.
    Not an accomplishment, exactly, but still, a fun thing to think about.
    Clark and I met at freshman orientation and were inseparable from that day on. Everyone who knew us assumed we’d get married. We never talked about it exactly, but I’m pretty sure we both thought the same thing.
    Then Clark only got into law school in Chicago—not in New York at Columbia, like we’d planned. He asked me to come with him, he wanted us to move in together: “They have great theater in Chicago, too,” he’d said, but I couldn’t give up on New York, not before I’d given it a try. So we made one of those “agreements” to sort of take a break and see where we were after he finished school in three years. That’s where my deadline came from—I figured if he could get a law degree in that amount of time, it was long enough for me to make some measurable progress, too. I’ve had a few dates since then and he probably has, too, but nothing serious. And when we see each other it’s still like no time has passed. He tells me every time he knows we’re going to end up together.
    “Are you sure you won’t come back with me now ?” he asked last time, as I waited with him at his gate at the airport.
    “I just—not yet.”
    “Okay,” he said. And then, with a wink: “Call me when you change your mind.”
    Sometimes, when the tips are bad and my feet ache, I wonder why I’m putting off the inevitable. I wonder why I don’t just pick up the phone and move to Chicago rather than continuing to attempt something that has a less than five percent success