17. Rude Awakening

Culture Shock

Killers aren’t always assassins. Sometimes, they don’t even have blood on their hands.— Ruta Sepetys, Salt to the Sea

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The trip from Boothbay to Manhattan was so sudden and unexpected that it left me in shock. Most of my memories from the voyage are a blur. By the time we landed in New York City, it was dark. It took a few hours to arrive at the loft from the airport. There were many stops and lights. We took a shuttle, then a bus, and finally a subway train. The subway ride was nearly an hour. I yearned to sleep. By the time we finally got to our stop, I was utterly exhausted.

Exiting the subway, we walked several blocks from the station to my father’s building. It was a long walk for me, but I walked slowly with my small suitcase in hand. Arriving in front of the building, I looked up to see a dimly lit, dingy window above the door with “336 • 338 • 340” painted on the glass. The building was on Canal Street cornering Church Street. The metal double doors that led into the building were dirty and bent at the edges. I watched with burning, sleepy eyes as my father fumbled for his keys. Once the door was unlocked and tugged open, I dutifully walked in, at a tilt, behind him. As I stepped inside, I felt disoriented and struggled with my suitcase, but my father offered me no assistance. The entryway was claustrophobically small and even filthier than the sidewalk outside.