Sometimes We Forget
She got to Penn about the time I was exiting the subway, so she climbed from the deep bowls of the transit maze to the 7th Street entrance. About the time I'm approaching the crosswalk, and going redneck to yell out her name, she posts a photo of Madison Square Gardens to Facebook with a message saying she felt out of her element. She hadn't been to NYC in 20+ years, and I giggled. All-the-while, I reminded her the city is like yours twenties: always changing, the shell is the same but elements evolve.
I took her to one of my favorite places in the Theatre District, Zen Palate, for yummy Asian vegetarian food (read: she's one of the few friends I can take to my earthy joints). Like a good New Yorker, I walked with her on the beautiful spring night. The subway could have been taken, but the jaunt was less than ten blocks. Along the way she made mention of feeling a little overwhelmed, and I giggled. I giggled even harder when she seemed alarmed by police cars parked on the street and sirens in the distance.
Perhaps I should mention that on her train ride over she sent a text concerned that she missed her stop, as she passed NJ Penn station. I giggled, telling her that she couldn't miss it because the conductor would kick her off. She commented that "ain't nothin' like this in southern Virginia." No Darlin', there ain't. ;) When she got to Penn I told her not to give money to anyone.
After dinner, we traversed through part of Times Square and walked several miles. Goofy "I [heart] NY" shirts and shorts were purchased from a street vendor (I'm wearing my NYC shorts for the women's 10K in Central Park in June), and I reminded Robin to hold onto her Coach as she marveled at the crowds in Times. It was Wednesday, a slow night.
Somewhere along the way she told me that she can certainly see why I would fall so in love with this city, and now that she has seen me here she asserts she understands me more. I told her I'm dating it, as it's the best relationship I've ever had. My NY accent overtook the fading southern twang for brief moments, as it does these days, and she is certain that I have "NY turrets."
Today, early Saturday morning, I'm at Penn for myself. I'm taking Amtrak to Princeton for the day. Amtrak is nothing new, as sliding into the blue upholstered seat is like greeting an old friend. A cousin, Micah and his wife Carol, live there. His Mom, an Aunt I've talked to loads over the years but haven't seen since my family left Washington 27 years ago, is in town. Micah and I wrote letters, long before the days of digital correspondence, and in some ways we kept track of our former sandbox playmate and buddy only a few months apart on the birth calendar. I'm finally carving the time to see Micah, Carol, meet their three boys...I last saw Micah and Carol about five years ago in NYC... a bitterly cold January.
As I subway'd it to Penn, and walked through the station in my jeans, fashionable and pretty scarf, with my hand bag and overnight tote I laughed to myself. Seeing Robin's awe and wonder at what I call normal, and remembering the jitters I used to get maneuvering the city and meeting people at Penn have long since faded, only gave me a sense of comfort. Now I walk assuredly through the maze, which folks like Robin are baffled that markers like Starbucks and Hudson News mean little as there are many. Sometimes the beauty of this place called home overtakes what the non New Yorker sees as insanity. We forget the what was once the unknown is part of our reality, daily life, and love.
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