So, that’s all there is to my story. After the carousel, I went home, got sick, and came here. You know what happens after that. You probably know better than I do, considering the only ones reading these posts are the people who told me to write them. I can’t help but think about all the people I met during my time before here. I know that I said I hated them, but I miss them all, too. Even the phonies. I guess that makes me a phony, too.

After I woke up the next morning, I just wandered up and down Fifth Avenue for a while. There were children all up and down that block, and watching them just made me sad and nervous. I can’t explain why. I think this is when I really started to break down. I headed to Phoebe’s school, asking Allie to let me make it to the other side of every crosswalk along the way. When I got there, I wrote Old Phoebe a note asking her to meet me at the Museum of Art to return her money. When I was walking out of the school, though, I saw something that really depressed me. Someone had written, “fuck you” on the walls of the school. A goddamn elementary school. Those kids are going to go home and ask their parents what “fuck you” means, and then that part of their innocence will be gone. Doesn’t that sound goddamn depressing to you, too? Then, when I went to the museum to wait for Phoebe, I saw that another person had written, “fuck you” on the wall by the mummies. It was just disgusting. Then, Old Phoebe showed up with her suitcase and everything. She begged to come with me, but I couldn’t do that to her, so I said no. She got mad, and threw my hat back at me. Boy, that hurt a lot. I don’t think Old Phoebe knew all that that hat meant to me. I took her to the zoo, after she refused to let me take her back to school. Eventually we got to the carousel. Phoebe loved the carousel when she was a little kid. I think I wanted her to go on the carousel to see her like that again, so I know she hasn’t grown up too fast. As I watched her, I felt so happy that I almost cried.

So, they told me to be more creative again, so here’s another list.

Holden’s How To’s: How to Have Fun in New York City

1. Tell no one where you’re going. It ruins all the fun.
2. Be sure to get a bunch of money, and then stay in the worst hotel you can think of. Trust me; there will be fun people there.
3. Hire a prostitute. (Be sure to talk about your depression, rather than “rendering her services.”)
4. Go to Central Park’s duck pond. On your way, ask everyone you meet where the ducks go in the winter.
5. Go to Ernie’s Bar and Jazz Club. It may be full of phonies, but it sure is a riot.
6. Be sure to avoid movies and theatres at all costs. They’re full of nothing but phonies.
7. Remember tip 1? Your sister and English teacher don’t count. 
8. The carousel in Central Park is a grand (I hate that word) place. It’s fun to ride, and it’s fun to watch.
9. The Museum of Natural History is a fantastic place. Nothing ever changes there, so you know what you’re going to get. The Art Museum less so. The Zoo even less. But, they’re all great.

I went to Mr. Antolini’s house after leaving Phoebe. Before I left though, I gave my red hunting hat to Phoebe. I think that I wanted to give her something to remember me by. See, I was planning on going out West after leaving New York. Deep down though, I kind of feel like it was a symbol of me growing up, and accepting that she had to grow up, too, eventually. Anyway, Mr. Antolini was my English teacher at an old school, Elkton Hills. When I got there, we just talked about Pencey and its rules and regulations. See, there was this debate class called Oral Expression, and the whole point was that you couldn’t get distracted and get off topic while talking. As you most likely have seen now, I’m not that good at that. I think it is much more interesting to talk and see where all your digressions take you. Then, Mr. Antolini told me that he’s worried about me. He said that he thought I was primed for a major fall. I guess he was right, considering where I am now. He thought that my fall is going to have to do with me not being able to deal with the people and things around me. He was right again there. I fell asleep soon after that, but I woke up when I felt his hand stroking my head. It was weird; I felt very uncomfortable. So, I left his apartment as soon as possible and slept on a bench in Grand Central Station.

Oh, Jenny’s all wet, poor body,
Jenny’s seldom dry;
She’s draggin’ all her petticoats
Comin’ through the rye. 

Comin’ through the rye, poor body,
Comin’ through the rye.
She’s draggin’ all her petticoats
Comin’ through the rye. 

Should a body meet a body
Comin’ through the rye,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need anybody cry?

Comin’ through the rye, poor body,
Comin’ through the rye. 
She’s draggin’ all her petticoats
Comin’ through the rye. 

Should a body meet a body
Comin’ through the glen,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need all the world know, then?

Comin’ through the rye, poor body,
Comin’ through the rye. 
She’s draggin’ all her petticoats
Comin’ through the rye. 

-Robert Burns

I could have sworn that the line was “If a body CATCH a body, comin’ thro’ the rye.”  Anyway, like I told Old Phoebe when I went and visited her, “I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around — nobody big, I mean — except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff — I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be. I know it’s crazy.” (173)

The song itself isn’t so innocent. I wish it was. See, the way I kept picturing it, I thought I was saving these kids from losing that innocence. It’s kind of ironic, in a sad way.

I went to the duck pond in Central Park. I had been thinking a lot about the ducks there recently. I wanted to know where the ducks went when winter came. I asked a bunch of people, but no one seemed to know. Furthermore, no one seemed to care, other than me. I know that I act cynical all the time, kind of like a grumpy old man (I even have grey hairs to back that up.) But, the ducks make me feel youthful. They’re a big mystery in my life, like everything is when you’re young. As much as I want to know where they go, I don’t want to lose that. The ducks also remind me that sometimes when things leave, they come back. It has been hard to remember that since Allie died, but the ducks help. They remind me that things happen in a cycle and that everything will come back to you. I feel like the ducks and the pond represent me, too. The pond is in between frozen and not. It’s in between two major differences, and undergoing a big change, just like I am between childhood and adulthood. The ducks represent me, also. Just I don’t know where they go when the pond freezes over, I don’t know where I’ll go when I reach adulthood. And it’s scary.

I picked up old Sally at two o’clock so that we could get to the matinee I had bought tickets for.  The show was called “I Know My Love,” and it starred the Lunts. I was always sure that they were huge phonies. Most actors are. They act all humble, when they really know that they’re good. It is just like Ernie. But, I bought the tickets anyway, and we went to see it. She was late, but she looked stunning, so it was all right. But, when we got to the show, Sally started flirting with this boy she knew from another school. Boy, he was pretentious and phony. She was, too. That really got under my skin. But, she still managed to get me to agree to take her to Radio City to go ice-skating. She really only wanted to go skating because she wanted to show off her cute ass, but I really didn’t mind that. I started talking to her after we were finished about escaping the phony society we live in. She said that it was ridiculous, which really annoyed me. We started fighting and then she started crying. I tried to apologize, but it didn’t work. You never want to make a girl cry. People don’t like that. She wouldn’t accept my apology, so I just had to leave.