When I left New York the evening of December 24, 2019, I had just said goodbye to my young friend, former tutee Celeste, and was thinking about what would be my last Christmas with my cat,
Wally. I had no idea it would be the last trip to New York in a pre-pandemic life, one that I, you, everyone reading this, no longer has.
In 2020, I fantasized about trips into the City, but then I saw the horrific news, the mock morgues in huge refrigerators. It was terrifying. Then, God bless science, I was lucky enough to survive and .. get vaccinated. I thought after my second jab in April of this year that I should go to New York. I had planned it, and canceled, and planned a couple of times. Finally, after my booster (taken because of my age, being overweight, and on public transportation), I felt safe enough to realize what had become a 22-month-long dream.
My biggest fear? The MTA ride in. But even that was fine. I had already inched my way closer to
New York, first to Milford, then Stratford, East Norwalk and Stamford. I had taken the train to meet a distant cousin at the mall. When she said we could take our masks off in the specific spots we were in at the mall, it was both freeing and a little scary. But after a few laughs, I completely forgot any trepidation. Same thing when I went to New York.
I cannot recall smiling on my way into the City since my first trip at 24. It felt new again. I felt new again. I was no longer worried once I stepped out at Grand Central. My heart was racing. I noticed the little differences, from painted feet to walk on to the tent out in front of the public library offering Covid tests.
I raced into NYPL to see the
Polonsky Exhibition, a collection of magnificent gems - from the handwritten copy of the Declaration of Independence belonging to Jefferson to notes from Senators to Susan B. Anthony saying a firm "NO" on allowing women the right to vote. I took pictures, gazing up at the glorious art deco design of the building itself, thrilled to be around New Yorkers, foreign visitors, the unfamiliar accent or rushed pedestrian. For outside, I was breathing in a metropolis that I could only describe as delicate. Delicate and yet so resilient. My heart breaks for the souls lost. I was here for 9-11, to see the faces of the "Missing" all over town, from Grand Central to the East Village, where I hung out a few nights after the Twin Towers were attacked.
The City is about 40 percent back, less or plus depending on where you are. One vendor had absolutely no customers, and he was trying to eek out a living with his handbags and scarves at 55nd and Sixth. This broke my heart. His name is Sam, and I promised him I would be back and do some of my Christmas shopping there. Another vendor, Halal Guys, is faring better and say that more like half the City is back. Yet, Central Park was just lightly packed. Yes, it was a Thursday in November, but it was much sparser than I recalled. I lived at 73rd and Broadway for three years, worked in the City in 2004-2005, 2007-2008. Have spent countless hours taking Celeste around, from the merry-go-round in Central Park to the endless string of Sephoras I probably pushed on her (I love makeup!)
I walked back to Grand Central in too-tight sneakers, still buzzing from encounters, some strained but most of them beautiful, on a day that reminded me what life is really all about - joy. I felt joy again being in the City. Please come visit New York: you will, too.
Watch my interview with Ahabad Salem, manager of a Halal Guys cart in the City.
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