I could trip a referee
…tell by my attitude that I’m MOST DEFINITELY FROM…
New York!!!!
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
There’s nothing you can’t do,
Now you’re in New York!!!
These streets will make you feel brand new,
the lights will inspire you,
Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York — JayZ and Alicia Keys
I am sitting on the plane Friday afternoon, about to crash, so I boot up the computer and wonder how to explain my visit to New York.
And I realize I should sit down and think about the week.
There are too many factors to put a week’s worth of living in without trying to disseminate first. But dissemination is boring and I just don’t have the energy. So I just type instead …
Last night was my last in New York – at least for the time being. And as I write this I know for sure I can put an end to my very first “relationship” from the site. I know because I spent almost two days remembering – up close and personal – why it ended in the first place.
The trip was a present from Mr. Married Number 1, “Mr. Big,” if you will, because the ludicrousness of that is fairly apropos. I am no Carrie Bradshaw. I just coulda been … or wished I’d been. Or was too scared to try to be … in some way, shape or form.
“Mr. Big” no longer lives there, but he spent enough time there – in the past and now – to know how to show me New York. And he loves to show off.
He was magnanimous enough to tell me to bring someone with me. And I did. But that’s really not the story … it is and it isn’t … depending upon who you ask, I suppose, and how it did change things … but I believe it worked out for the best.
Because had it not been for the former, I never would have fled to the latter … When I got a last minute reprieve and another day in the city.
Last night I was free. It was almost as if there were two completely New York experiences – based solely upon who I was with.
Another man rescued me, you see. And it was oddly coincidental because I’d not only had dinner with him the week before. And he’s from my state and he was staying two blocks away and he is the quintessential gentleman.
We both were a bit drunk when we got out of the cab at Times Square. And it was gorgeous and touristy and faux and real glam and weird and normal all at once.
But it was me …walking through the brilliant lights – with a help from my southern gentleman … and his cashmere coat and his leather gloves. I wanted to see motherfucking New York and there it was lit up with Madame Toussad’s and Radio City.
There were no more hookers and hustlers and drugs and porn. Instead it’s comedy clubs or overpriced gift shops or weirdly placed chain restaurants. But it’s the same Times Square. And I wouldn’t have seen it otherwise
This same man had rescued me from the corner of 51st and Lex the night before and led me to the P.J. Harvey’s where natives sang “New York New York.” The same bar he found himself at the urinal with Dick Clark many years ago.
I don’t know. It’s apples and oranges in comparison … but I know with whom I had the better time. But again, better is relative.
With – and he would appreciate this reference – “Mr. Big,” it’s barking orders to cab drivers and talking to policemen at the hotel bar about the election and using his cash as currency for power.
I feel sure we’ll not speak again. He was … a jackass. And there are no two ways about it.
I suppose it’s OK to throw a bit of change at someone and tell you to entertain your friend after you’d promised a real New York experience.
You know, it is. I just wish he’d not promised if he had planned on not delivering … but that’s his MO.
And I knew that, so … shame on me.
The southern gentlemen told me two things about myself when we were having lunch the next day.
“I knew you would back out at the last minute,” he said. “But I also knew if I looked you in the eye, you would stay.”
Damn, and I was that predictable. Because instead of pouting anymore, I texted and asked if he wanted to have coffee before we left. And … my next day was sealed.
At the last minute he was on his phone with the airline, while I got a call that our driver was there to take us to the airport.
By the time we’d finished putting M in the car, changing my flight and getting my things from the room, I was sweating and my heart was seriously pounding in my chest.
It was only after lunch and some wine that I settled.
He had business … a meeting … to attend to. He offered suggestions, and I listened to them all.
And then I went to the room, changed to tennis shoes, got my Ipod and rolled. I just started walking.
I walked not like M and I had the day before – rushed and with a purpose – but slower, just as the Gentleman suggested. Rest often, he said. Take it in … And I did. And it was by far the best time so far.
I have to throw the shoes away now. I wore them down. Because as soon as the music started, I calmed. And I enjoyed and I soaked it up … from Central Park to Park Avenue to Madison and Grand Central Station.
He had shown me the direction … “See where the sun is?” he told me. And I just went from there – with no real purpose.
I followed a Hassid … which makes me laugh … because you’d have to know me to know that I weirdly always wanted to be Jewish and I would have been SERIOUSLY disappointed had I not seen one.
But when I saw Ben Gurion – well, hell, I knew I’d struck … not gold. But I knew the Diamond District was around.
I walked only a little into Central Park … just to see a bit. And then I just walked and looked and walked more and didn’t give a fuck if people thought I was crazy, a tourist or a stalker.
I kept up with the New Yorkers and followed some young bankers leaving work in Mid Town just to see if I could keep their pace and follow them through cross walks and lights.
And then I went back to the much nicer hotel, with its original façade and huge courtyard and used a real key to get in the room – instead of the oft-used piece of plastic.
I took a long, hot shower and relaxed for a second … but not long enough to get tired. And I methodically began getting ready for dinner.
The Gentleman had already booked reservations with the concierge, and I didn’t want to hold anything up.
So I guess the biggest difference between my experiences of New York come down to the differences in those two.
With the Gentleman, it’s all about nuance and walking. There’s no shortage of money, but it’s used differently … on cigarettes and drinks and food. It’s given freely with no expectation of a return. “Mr. Big” must ALWAYS see a return on his investment.
We returned late and my feet were dying – because I HAD to wear heels … and I knew the risks. And was awakened it seems mere moments later in a rush because I was riding with him to the airport.
I was out of the hotel – complete with a shower – in 40 minutes … gotta be a record for me.
He missed his flight. And the plane turned around for him. And that makes me smile every time I think of it. He’s so easy going … so laissez faire … nothing flusters him.
And it was the difference in the two of them that led me to flee in the first place and allowed me to stay one more night.
Something I would’ve never had the opportunity to do otherwise. In fact, this year has been such a weird mix of highs and lows for me.
It’s cost me heavily. But because of that, I was able to take a risk I would’ve never done otherwise ..So fuck it. I was in New York … a bit of JayZ’s, but more of Billy Joel’s. And I hope I get to go back one day. In fact, I have to. It’s in my blood now.
But in the meantime, it’s about life again. And it’s most certainly WTF am I gonna do?
Because God damn, it’s so fucking trite, but I know, as I am riding on the plane back to my state, that it’s time to set my own course now. I’ve been in a holding pattern til I made this trip, and now it’s time to do something.
I just wish I knew what. I’m going to give myself the weekend … to think … not about New York … but about growing up. It’s motherfucking time.
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