3. Déambulations: Fall

When the date finally ended, he walked me to the subway. I walked down the stairs, waited a beat and I just climbed back up. I want to walk some more, alone this time. To process, and feel the warm breeze, and feel like myself again.

Our goodbye was strange. I went in for a hug, he went in for a kiss, so his lips landed somewhere on my cheek, close to my ear. I retrieved uncomfortably and gave him an awkward wave. He walked away and I think I heard a “bitch” under his breath. Maybe I imagined that though. I hope I imagined it. God it felt like hours of listening to this stranger, carefully crafting questions to keep the conversation going. I did make a few attempts to insert myself but then his eyes went dull. Especially when I mentioned discovering Nina Berberova and finally finding her autobiography. And when I tried to talk about home, it was like he had been patiently waiting to crack all his jokes about berets, baguettes and nasty waiters. So I reverted back to listening and crafting questions. But no matter, now it’s me, the wine still coursing through my veins and scintillating New York City.

Summer has finally surrendered and we can breathe again. I walk to the next subway station, but it’s too good to stop so I keep going, I keep going, I keep going. North. East and North. West and North. As long as I make my way North, it doesn’t matter which path I take. The most important is to keep the momentum going, never to stop.Weaving my way in and around people, never waiting for a walk sign. Asphalt, concrete, bricks, yellow, orange and red leaves pulsating in the fall light. Golden hour turning into blue hour, the sky becoming intense with purple-black clouds.

There is nothing quite like racing through the concrete, nerves afire. A thrill takes over slowly, steadily, and then completely. Everything around me becomes particularly sharp, surreal, poetic - strange people and strange buildings and strange me all in the same space for the briefest moments as I glide past.

Arms swinging, heels clicking, countless types of people rushing past countless types of universes. Candles being lit and napkins folded in an empty restaurant, the calm before the storm. People sitting on a narrow balcony with a sweater and a glass of wine. Carved pumpkins sitting on stoops, tacky spider legs slowly swaying. Two teenagers holding hands and running down the street, laughing furiously and gasping for breath. A flock of pigeons takes flight just as a tall woman and her tall dog run across the street. Wings flapping. Leaves flying. Fire escapes cascading down the side of buildings. A man in front of me spreads his arms wide to feel the strong breeze.

Catches a deep breath.

So much beauty so fast, a rush of adrenaline, euphoria, maybe? I feel an immeasurable, unreasonable love for the city swelling in my heart. And pride. I have made it here, all this time, even broke. And I can keep going. I will get that job I am interviewing for and I will become someone - no matter that I have no idea what it even means to become someone, no idea who I really want to become. A theatre artist, a teacher, a salaried hedge fund receptionist?

My senses are so acute right now I think I might burst open. It's almost painful, actually it is painful, I feel an ache in my solar plexus, a wash of melancholy that I cannot capture these moments exactly, entirely and forever. Some of all of this might leave an imprint in my memory; some of it will bury itself into my intuition and come out years later with a smell or a sound or an unexpected thought. A taste of it will flash through me for an instant, its flavor will be real and complex, within reach and then it will disappear just as it came. Some of it will simply be gone forever.

I am sad all of the sudden that no one is here with me to share this feeling of being so alive. Do I need someone to acknowledge this moment for it to be real? Anyway, it can’t last forever. Tomorrow will be another day. I might not get that new job, and I still have loans, and bills, and a void to fill.