Earlier this evening...
11:35pm: I'm standing on the corner of 23rd Street and 6th Avenue and the bladder alarm kicks into code orange. I'm having this semi-wonderful conversation with someone new in my life that I'm excited and hopeful about getting to know better in the days and weeks to come. She's a few years older than me and at times throughout the evening, I'm conscious of my boyish nature and want to direct myself away from coming across as an immature child who needs to be taken care of. I don't want our evening, at least this conversation, to end. But all I can keep thinking about is how desperately I need to pee.
I try not to drift away from the convo and do my best to somehow psychically redirect my urine stream around my body. There have to be a lot of tunnels for the rivers to navigate throughout, right? Every time the pee alarm starts blasting inside my head, I realize that my only way of attempting to gain control over it is to sway back and forth, shifting my balance from one foot to the other while the unbalanced foot lifts off the ground a few inches. I'm teetering like an unsubtle see-saw. I might as well have my lips wrapped around a pacifier. I imagine that I look like a nervous little boy. But I don't want to force an exit. Why can't I just say that I need to find a rest room? Because I don't wanna leave this moment! I love that we're standing on this Chelsea corner in the winter chill discussing the paths that our lives have been meandering down. The pee alarm starts shifting over to code red and I'm frighteningly aware that a sudden stream could start racing down my leg at any moment.
Somehow, an organic farewell finds us and we hug goodbye. Best Buy is closed. No diners in sight. I guess I'll head down to the subway. No bathroom in this station. I rush to the front of the track. Construction workers on the other side of the track slowly but surely making their way toward me. Fuuuuck! When you pee off the front of a platform, it has to take a good four-foot dive and is rather audible. Workers seem stopped far down the other side of the track. Maybe I could pull this off. Tiny holes in a grate near the end of the platform. Too tiny? Could I aim within them in a matter of seconds? Like those pistols at county fairs that you shoot into the clown's mouth in order to overinflate the balloon. What if I was on one knee? Would that accompanied by any audible noise draw too much attention to me? A gentleman, a few years my elder, is making his way toward me. He's gonna wait for the front car as well? Zoinks! The gig is up. Pee alarm is on a steady red alert. The F Train pulls into the station. I momentarily consider a between car pee. This car's too crowded. No way. But how bad am I? Sitting down in the car eases down the situation for the time being.
When my just departed companion inquired where I was taking the Uptown F to, I told her that I was going to take it up to Central Park West and take a late night stroll thru the Park. The full truth is that I headed toward the F Train so that I had an excuse to walk and talk with her after class. But now I liked my poetic idea of going to the Park, even in the wee and potentially dangerous hours. Plus, I didn't want to lie to her, even if she'd have never found out. So after consultation with a Subway Map, I switch over to D at Herald Square and get off at Columbus Circle. I figure that I can most definitely find a spot to pee in the Park.
I sprint up the station stairs, two at a time. Two cops are waiting for me at the top. Well, maybe not for me specifically, but they might as well be. Don't look suspicous, don't look nervous. I don't think they paid much attention to me. I make a sharp turn around the corner and enter the Park. At what point will I be out of their sight range? Can I make it that far? Now that I'm upright and moving, the alarm is blaring thru me again. Turn over my shoulder and hope that they're no eying me suspicously waiting for that criminal lookout eye contact that guarantees I'm up to no good. I don't want to pee on the path. People have to walk on this path. But if I stop and pee thru the fence onto the grass, I might as well scream over to the motionless officers that I'm about to pee in public. This is the darkest I'm going to find my surroundings for quite a while. And I don't know how much time I have left with the way my bladder has been behaving recently. Plus, this path is covered with ice. Who would walk here by choice and feel safe? I'll keep as close to the fence as I can and move slowly.
Everything starts smooth. I'm not getting it all over myself, it's quiet, and it's barely even chipping away at the ice. I have to slow down to keep things under control. Oh Lord, how obvious is this to two trained New York City police officers? My penis might very well be visible if they glance over. Better try to cover up the line between Mr. Happy and their eyes with my bags. Does that somehow draw more attention to it? How much pee is stored up in me? Why am I such a camel? Except obviously not. This should just be a simple 20 oz. coffee that I downed almost five horus ago now? Hurry up, pee! Ahhh. There. Done. NYPD none the wiser.
With my river of nightmares all dripped out, I now had plans to relive my most meorable run-in with the NYPD in Central Park that had taken place about a block away from where I was standing, almost five years prior. Somehow revisitng that dreamy summer night from teenagehood was about to help me put the pieces together as to why I was desperately struggling to find peace in my alarm-blasting conversation in the heart of Chelsea earlier tonight...
(To be continued...)
11:35pm: I'm standing on the corner of 23rd Street and 6th Avenue and the bladder alarm kicks into code orange. I'm having this semi-wonderful conversation with someone new in my life that I'm excited and hopeful about getting to know better in the days and weeks to come. She's a few years older than me and at times throughout the evening, I'm conscious of my boyish nature and want to direct myself away from coming across as an immature child who needs to be taken care of. I don't want our evening, at least this conversation, to end. But all I can keep thinking about is how desperately I need to pee.
I try not to drift away from the convo and do my best to somehow psychically redirect my urine stream around my body. There have to be a lot of tunnels for the rivers to navigate throughout, right? Every time the pee alarm starts blasting inside my head, I realize that my only way of attempting to gain control over it is to sway back and forth, shifting my balance from one foot to the other while the unbalanced foot lifts off the ground a few inches. I'm teetering like an unsubtle see-saw. I might as well have my lips wrapped around a pacifier. I imagine that I look like a nervous little boy. But I don't want to force an exit. Why can't I just say that I need to find a rest room? Because I don't wanna leave this moment! I love that we're standing on this Chelsea corner in the winter chill discussing the paths that our lives have been meandering down. The pee alarm starts shifting over to code red and I'm frighteningly aware that a sudden stream could start racing down my leg at any moment.
Somehow, an organic farewell finds us and we hug goodbye. Best Buy is closed. No diners in sight. I guess I'll head down to the subway. No bathroom in this station. I rush to the front of the track. Construction workers on the other side of the track slowly but surely making their way toward me. Fuuuuck! When you pee off the front of a platform, it has to take a good four-foot dive and is rather audible. Workers seem stopped far down the other side of the track. Maybe I could pull this off. Tiny holes in a grate near the end of the platform. Too tiny? Could I aim within them in a matter of seconds? Like those pistols at county fairs that you shoot into the clown's mouth in order to overinflate the balloon. What if I was on one knee? Would that accompanied by any audible noise draw too much attention to me? A gentleman, a few years my elder, is making his way toward me. He's gonna wait for the front car as well? Zoinks! The gig is up. Pee alarm is on a steady red alert. The F Train pulls into the station. I momentarily consider a between car pee. This car's too crowded. No way. But how bad am I? Sitting down in the car eases down the situation for the time being.
When my just departed companion inquired where I was taking the Uptown F to, I told her that I was going to take it up to Central Park West and take a late night stroll thru the Park. The full truth is that I headed toward the F Train so that I had an excuse to walk and talk with her after class. But now I liked my poetic idea of going to the Park, even in the wee and potentially dangerous hours. Plus, I didn't want to lie to her, even if she'd have never found out. So after consultation with a Subway Map, I switch over to D at Herald Square and get off at Columbus Circle. I figure that I can most definitely find a spot to pee in the Park.
I sprint up the station stairs, two at a time. Two cops are waiting for me at the top. Well, maybe not for me specifically, but they might as well be. Don't look suspicous, don't look nervous. I don't think they paid much attention to me. I make a sharp turn around the corner and enter the Park. At what point will I be out of their sight range? Can I make it that far? Now that I'm upright and moving, the alarm is blaring thru me again. Turn over my shoulder and hope that they're no eying me suspicously waiting for that criminal lookout eye contact that guarantees I'm up to no good. I don't want to pee on the path. People have to walk on this path. But if I stop and pee thru the fence onto the grass, I might as well scream over to the motionless officers that I'm about to pee in public. This is the darkest I'm going to find my surroundings for quite a while. And I don't know how much time I have left with the way my bladder has been behaving recently. Plus, this path is covered with ice. Who would walk here by choice and feel safe? I'll keep as close to the fence as I can and move slowly.
Everything starts smooth. I'm not getting it all over myself, it's quiet, and it's barely even chipping away at the ice. I have to slow down to keep things under control. Oh Lord, how obvious is this to two trained New York City police officers? My penis might very well be visible if they glance over. Better try to cover up the line between Mr. Happy and their eyes with my bags. Does that somehow draw more attention to it? How much pee is stored up in me? Why am I such a camel? Except obviously not. This should just be a simple 20 oz. coffee that I downed almost five horus ago now? Hurry up, pee! Ahhh. There. Done. NYPD none the wiser.
With my river of nightmares all dripped out, I now had plans to relive my most meorable run-in with the NYPD in Central Park that had taken place about a block away from where I was standing, almost five years prior. Somehow revisitng that dreamy summer night from teenagehood was about to help me put the pieces together as to why I was desperately struggling to find peace in my alarm-blasting conversation in the heart of Chelsea earlier tonight...
(To be continued...)