My first breath of New York was confidant and invigorating.
As we emerged from the tunnel, my focus quickly shifted to my GPS. I was
determined to conquer the inner city traffic and make it safely to the strategically
chosen parking garage. I entered the
garage cautiously and we were promptly greeted by a pristinely uniformed security
guard. He had kind eyes and graciously informed us that we had to complete a
security inspection before parking in the garage. His presence spoke of an age gone by; an era
of decorum and etiquette long forgotten by our generation. Almost immediately a
valet greeted us with a reassuring nod and took our keys.
Feeling surprisingly free and adventurous, Jake and I
scurried our way through the underground maze, seeking the light of New York’s
brisk streets. We had officially joined the rat race. Our turns tunnelled us
to an indoor shopping center that was seemingly made entirely of marble. Two
primpy pups lead by a lady of elegance and age caught my eye as I inhaled the
bold fragrances of designer perfumes and fresh leather. Between the security
guard, the valet, the live classical music in the distance and the borage of
pricey billboard adds, I admittedly felt right at home.
Comfort was not the emotion I was expecting to encounter. I
had spent hours the night before accounting for every possibility: two bottles
of hand sanitizer, sanitizing wipes, bottled water, snacks, sunscreen, flat
shoes, a change of clothes and plenty of space on my SD card to safely document our
day from inside my bubble. I had thoroughly crafted my ALON® transparent
armor to conquer the city untouched. To think…my defenses were so easily
disarmed with the seduction of posh luxury.
The streets of the city were brisk yet bathed in sunbeams.
We were headed to Time Square, and as almost every other pedestrian crowding
the construction-strewn sidewalks, we were in a hurry. I watched a girl in front
of us as she precisely took her determined steps. The length of her skirt made
me feel cold for her, but the height of
her black pleather boots made me feel something entirely different. My thoughts
were rudely interrupted by a brash voice, “Too old” he trailed after her. “Well
where does he get off making a judge-“……"Been through too much”. My observations
once again cut short by the shrewd calls. I defiantly looked up, my face colored
with protest, only to be pierced with his deafening stare.
Jake hadn’t missed a step, and as he hurried me through an
intersection I stared at my feet… one peddling in front of the other in perfect
rhythm with his. Been through too
much? I suppose I had experienced a lot for
my age, but no more than the next pedestrian. But is that the presence that I
carried? A whirlwind of analytical questions flooded my mind only to instantly
dissolve as I looked up at my husband’s excited, and beaming, smile. We had
arrived.
Time square was crowded and as we waited in line to buy
Broadway tickets we flippantly played our newfound favorite “People-watching
Superlatives”. Trying to be as honest and un-judgmental as possible, we asked
each other who would be the first shop lift or who just bought a corvette
without telling their spouse. Much like the rest of our day, the line moved
seamlessly and quickly. Lunch at Junior’s in Grand Central was relaxing and the
conversations with our table co-inhabitors were rather enjoyable. Central park
was refreshing and Cinderella on Broadway was magical, to say the least. The
subway, however, is where I found the heartbeat of New York. The subway is
where I fell in love.
As I stood on the grungely-ornate platform I buried my nose
into the back of my husband’s jacket. I watched the trains as they pulsated
through the veins of the subway tunnels. After close speculation of our NY
Subway Lite app on my iPhone, we boarded along with the other commuters; doing
our best to not look like tourists, we found our seats. It was the face of the young Asian toddler swaddled
in her carrier, the wrinkles along the eyes of a sharply dressed young lady,
the glint of concern on the face of the hipster across from us who was
attempting to drown out reality with his Beats by Dre headphones... and that was the moment.
New York is not
sky-scrapers, taxi-cabs and Central Park. It’s not wafts of diversely cultural
street vendors and vivid electronic billboards.
New York is the callous
on the construction workers’ hands, the uninhibited laughter of a mother and
daughter as they skip out of the theatre adorned with Cinderella’s tiara. New
York is the fulfilling sigh of an over-stuffed man after devouring an over-stuffed
sandwich, the fleshy beginnings of a blister on a high-heeled ankle. It is the
optimistic, yet helpful, smile on the lips of an eager salesman and the lost,
empty stare of the young man behind the glass at a Broadway ticket booth.
New York is every
dream, desire, pain, loss, heartache, hope and happiness;
and I love New York.
