I wanted to believe I had changed. I was a better person with more empathy for others, but if Billy hadn’t pulled away, I wasn’t so sure I would have passed his test. It was time for another moment of reckoning. I walked over to my front stoop, climbed the three steps, grabbed the handle of the rust-colored, never-locked security door, and froze. I couldn’t quite bring myself to take the inside staircase to the top floor apartment to face the discordant soundtrack that was my family, but what choice did I have? I turned back to the street—maybe I could leave—but my ride was gone. Besides, my mother didn’t send a return ticket and the change at the bottom of my backpack wasn’t enough to buy a subway token. My backpack! I left it and my suitcase in the back of the van. I plopped down onto the stoop. The sun was setting, and in the second-story windows of the nearby buildings, with their red-brick exteriors, mirror images to mine, with their two legal apartments and one illegal basement apartment, I could see silhouettes of the infamous Beach Chair Ladies, BCs for short. From Memorial Day until the first…