The Town With No Sidewalks

Part I

When Melissa was awarded a scholarship to the art academy, she wasn’t sure whether she should be overwhelmingly happy or terrified. She had grown up on Long Island and hadn’t traveled much. So, moving far away from home, and her mother, made her uneasy. She wanted to be independent and learn things though, especially art history and different styles of painting.  Occasionally, she would take the Long Island railroad into New York City just so she could go to a museum. If anyone ever asked, Melissa would tell people that she would love to work in a museum just so she could spend her days looking at paintings.

Melissa was 21 and had just finished two years of community college with an associate’s degree in design with some extra credits in education.  Her mother, Allison, had insisted she take those ed classes. Melissa had no intention of being a teacher. But Allison told her that in other states (unlike New York), you only needed a bachelor’s degree to teach. Her mother always liked to remind her that being a teacher would guarantee a steady income with summers off. Melissa couldn’t argue with that rationale.

These were the thoughts that were racing through her head when she decided to just go for it and accept the scholarship. So, she moved to a town she didn’t even know about, and a state she had never visited.

When Melissa arrived on campus, after taking a nearly 16-hour train ride, she felt the vibrations from the long journey over the rails still rattling her. She was excited to be there, but less so with the orientation program she had to sit through. Unexpectedly, her scholarship also included some work study hours in the academy’s own small museum. She couldn’t believe her luck when she was told she would have to work a minimum of 15 hours a week there. However, her happiness was short-lived when she realized she would be manning the admissions desk.

She inquired whether she couldn’t be a security guard instead. This, she thought, would at least give her access to all the artwork. But she was told those were professional jobs that were outsourced to retired police officers, or others who had law enforcement backgrounds. Consequently, she resigned herself to the job she was assigned.

Melissa started by taking three classes - art history, painting, and a course that supposedly taught you the skills needed to be a docent. She knew docents didn’t make a lot of money. But she figured it would at least please her mother that she had taken a “useful” class that might one day lead to employment.  

After her class schedule was all set, she was shown to her room in a townhouse apartment she’d share with two other women. She didn’t know them, and they didn’t know her. But Melissa prided herself on not being judgmental or shy.  

There was one thing she was not used to though. In their particular townhouse, there were two apartments on both sides that were inhabited by men. Since Melissa had lived at home while attending her local community college, she was happy to think she might finally meet someone of the opposite sex.  

He caught her eye before she even had a chance to put sheets on her twin-size bed. Her room was narrow at one end, but wider facing the street, with a bay window that she hoped wouldn’t make the room unbearably cold in the winter.

He was walking outside the window, and he looked right at her. Melissa hoped she managed to smile rather than roll her eyes, which she was told she often had a tendency to do. It looked like he had tattoos on the entire right side of his body, and he was wearing a light blue t-shirt and shorts. She marveled at the colors on his arms and the intricate, paisley design that even ran down the back of one leg.

He was attractive. So much so that Melissa felt her heart race a bit. But she told herself that she didn’t want to get involved with anyone at this point. Especially not on the first day of a new semester with everything she still had to learn and become adjusted to.

She kept looking out the window, but he was already gone. Then, she heard a knock at her door and when she went to open it, he was standing there.

“Hey,” he said to her.

He immediately stuck out his hand which she grabbed and held a bit too long. Or was she imagining it?

They introduced themselves by first name only. His name was Jim. She sensed he was curious about her.

“You new?” he asked.

Melissa managed to nod.

“First day,” she said.

“Cool. Welcome.”

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“New York.”

He asked the question she dreaded.

“The city or Long Island?’

She wondered why he didn’t mention upstate, but then thought maybe he only knew those two regions of New York.

“Originally from Long Island, but I’d go into the city whenever I could.”

He nodded.

“Cool,” he said for the second time.

“I got a scholarship to come here,” Melissa blurted out.

“Most of us did,” he said. “I mean you’ve got to be crazy to pay 60 grand to go to art school, right?”

He smiled at her.

Melissa never thought of it that way. But perhaps she should have. She never would have gone to art school at all had she not been given a full scholarship. Right now, she’d probably be looking for a job that only required an associate’s degree. 

“I like your ink,” Melissa said suddenly, pointing to his arm and his leg.

She immediately felt like an idiot, but when she looked at him, he just nodded.

“I have a car,” he said.

Melissa thought that was an odd thing to say.

But then Jim said, “There’s no public transportation here, so if you need something - errands, food, whatever - just knock on the door.”

He pointed to the apartment next to hers and this time she nodded.

“Thanks,” she managed to say.

She watched as he gave her a little wave and then opened his apartment door and went inside.

She had the apartment to herself that night which was a bit nerve wracking. She wondered when her housemates would show up. And while she realized that the academy let you check into your living quarters and sign up for classes, there were no on-campus dining options until the next day. She had a bottle of water and a granola bar. Obviously, she’d need to get something to eat from somewhere.

She started to unpack and hung up all her clothes in the closet in her room. She made her bed and wondered how it would feel to sleep on a twin bed since she had always slept on a full-sized mattress. She realized she should have brought some pillows from home but nixed that idea since she had struggled on the train with the two suitcases she had brought. She pulled out a sketch pad and a pen from her backpack and started drawing. She realized after about 10 minutes that she was sketching a colorful pattern.

After a while, she stopped drawing. She decided to go out and see if there was some place nearby where she could get something to eat.

The campus was laid out over a couple of acres – mostly small houses that had been converted into art studios. There was a larger building that looked like an auditorium, and a two-story office building that she guessed were administrative offices and classrooms.

She walked around for a bit until she followed the sound of traffic coming through a bunch of trees. There was a narrow path through the trees, so she just kept walking until suddenly she was at a stop light. She looked right and then left, and realized there were neither pedestrian crosswalks nor a sidewalk she could walk on. The street was devoted entirely to vehicular traffic. And, she didn’t see a single person walking.

She was suddenly nervous. Was it illegal to walk? But then she thought that was a stupid idea. Why would walking be illegal?

She looked across the street and saw a bank. But then she realized that although it looked like a branch of a popular bank back in New York, it was purely an office for private wealth management. Next to it she saw a CVS and a taco place. She wondered if the people who worked managing your money even ate tacos. She was confident, however, that they definitely frequented CVS for whatever headache or stomach upset medicine they might need when dealing with rich people.  

The traffic had increased, and she wasn’t sure how she’d even be able to cross the street. Suddenly, an old Nissan Sentra pulled up in front of her.

“You lost?” Jim asked, looking at her.

He had rolled down the window and before Melissa could answer, Jim told her to get in.

She didn’t hesitate, although she probably should have.

“Didn’t think you’d need a ride that soon,” Jim said.

To be continued next week.