Fifty-One Years Ago
The first time Liam met Cory, she was coming out of his bedroom.
“Hi there,” she said. She was wearing a green wrap dress, her curly hair running halfway down her back.
The shock of her standing there—this beautiful girl in his bedroom doorway—like she belonged there, made
him st ep back.
“Can I help you?” he asked. “I don’t know, can you?” She smiled at him, her eyes shining. It wasn’t just
that she was beautiful, though she was beautiful. But it was more than that when she looked at him with those
eyes. She was so familiar to him. So present. Liam had never seen her before, and suddenly he felt like he’d
never not seen her.
“I’m Cory,” she said. “Liam.” She held out her hand, and he took it just as his cousin Joe walked out of his
bedroom too.
“Hey, bud,” Joe said. “This is Cory.” “I heard.” “She just transferred to Midwood...” Liam nodded,
ke eping his eyes tight on Cory. He didn’t even look over at Joe —Joe who had recently transferred to
Midwood and moved in with Liam’s family. He’d moved, more specifically, into the top bunk in Liam’s room
after running into some trouble at his own high school in Vinegar Hill. His father wasn’t in the picture to help
out. And his mother (Liam’s mother’s sister) decided Joe needed a change. Needed a good influence, needed
someone with his head on straight. Needed someone like Liam.
Cory was still holding his hand.
“Where’d you transfer from?” Liam asked her. “Immaculate Heart, unfortunately.” “Like... unfortunately
you went to Immaculate Heart? Or unfortunately you’re stuck at Midwood now?”
Cory tilted her head. “What’s wrong with Midwood?” “How long do you have?” “Not long actually. I was
on my way out.” Liam cleared his throat. “Is Cory short for something?” he said. “That’s a guy’s name, isn’t
it?”
“Wow, you’re the first person to ever point that out,” she said. Sarcastic, but not angry. “It’s short for
Cordelia. Which I like less.”
“Cordelia. Like King Lear?” She nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “My mother’s a lit professor at Brooklyn
College.”
This surprised him. “What does your father do?” “Most days? Drink.” But she smiled. She smiled that
smile again, Liam working hard to hold her gaze. Like she could disappear if he didn’t. Cory was taking her
hand back, pulling her hair off her face. What a feeling this was, standing this close to her. Brand-new, for
him. He wanted to be exactly where he was.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said. “What do you mean?” “At the library. After school.” It didn’t seem
possible that she’d been in his vicinity and he’d missed her. But the way he’d been studying, he guessed it was
possible. What did the guidance counselor say about Liam? That, in her thirty years at the school, she had
never seen a student as driven as Liam was. She meant it as a compliment, but she also meant it as the
opposite.
As if hearing Liam’s thoughts, Cory leaned toward him. “You were extremely focused.” “I wasn’t that
focused.” “Never apologize for focusing,” she said. “Joe says you’re going to Yale next year?”
That’s when they looked up and realized Joe had left. He’d gone downstairs or back inside the room. He’d
gone somewhere away from them.
“How about you?” “I’m a sophomore so... I have a little time.” “But you’re going with Joe?” “Maybe. I
don’t know.” He nodded. Joe was good-looking. Too good-looking, really. He was already six foot two with
shaggy hair and a strong jaw and chiseled muscles and all the rest of it. That’s part of the reason why he got in
trouble. That’s part of the reason he didn’t think he needed to try hard. Liam wasn’t bad looking, either.
Maybe not as tall or as broad, but he had Joe’s jaw and he had really nice eyes, kind eyes. And he had a couple
of years on him, so there was that. But he wasn’t Joe.
“You should know,” Liam said, “Joe’s got a lot of girlfriends.” “You have at least one yourself.” He
looked at her confused. “How do you know that?” “She was at the library with you,” Cory said. “She was
trying to get you to stop focusing.”
Liam felt his skin heat up, his cheeks turning red. He and Christina had been dating for the better part of
two years. She was planning on working at her father’s dress shop after graduation. She was putting pressure
on him to think about getting engaged. But that was the last thing he wanted. He had one foot out the door of
this house, of this street lined with its identical homes, of this provincial slice of Brooklyn a world away from
New York City. Everything about being here made him feel trapped. The broken television his parents
couldn’t afford to fix, the moveable tub his father soaked his frozen shoulder in, his classmates seemingly all
too happy to raise kids on these same streets where they grew up. Rinse and r epeat.
He wanted none of that. The reason the guidance counselor said Liam was so driven was that he walked
into her office the first week of his freshman year and laid it out for her. He would do anything that was
needed to get himself to somewhere better. To get himself to a completely different life.
“You guys staying together after graduat—”
“No.” He answered before she even finished asking. “Definitely not.” She laughed. “Didn’t mean to hit a
nerve there.” “You didn’t,” he said. “I’m just not taking anything with me from here.” She smiled, but she
started to walk past him, toward the stairs. “That sounds like a dare...”
He turned around. “Where are you going?” “I’ve got to go back to school. There’s a meeting tonight for the
literary magazine. Not a lot of outlets at Midwood for writers, so...”
Jabberwocky—that was the name of the school’s literary magazine, wasn’t it? Liam wasn’t sure. He wasn’t
sure he’d ever even picked it up.
“What do you like to write?” “Oh, you know. Short stories. Plays. Poetry. All sorts of things.” “What are
you writing now?” “That’s a longer conversation.” He wanted to say, Let’s have it. He wanted to hear all about
her writing and anything else she was willing to tell him. It was unnerving.
“Nice meeting you, though,” she said. “Liam.” His name had a finality coming out of her mouth that he
didn’t like. He stared at her, unsure what to say. She was almost at the staircase.
“Just... would you... can you wait a second?” he said, his words jumping over themselves, fast and
furious. And, if he was being honest, a little desperate.
He didn’t sound anything like himself—at least the self he’d always thought he was, calm and collected at
all times. Suddenly, the real him could be summed up by one thing: he didn’t want her to leave.
She shrugged. “I don’t want to be late.” “Fuck late,” he said. She laughed, took him in again. “Okay,” she
said. “Maybe.” And, like magic, Cordelia started to walk back toward him.