new york, new york

she had been there before on school trips and with her mother in middle school, but the first real time sabrina had ever been to the city was with her best friend charlotte on their 18th birthday. they went to visit another friend from high school who was subletting a place in murray hill. the words sublet and murray hill meant nothing to sabrina, not yet, but they were tiny, fascinating pebbles that made up the wonder of new york, and she couldn't wait to touch them.
it was the summer before they went to college, and sabrina's family had just moved from georgia to california because of her stepfather's job. she took the red eye, getting to new york at 6am, and knocked on her friend's door. no one answered. she knocked and knocked and finally dana came to the door in an oversized shirt with mascara crusted around her eyes.
hi, she said. im hungover. i have to sleep.
there were two more people in the apartment, passed out on dana's couch. charlotte wouldnt be there for another four hours, so sabrina decided to take the subway somewhere.
wait, she said as dana wobbled back to her bedroom. how do i get on the subway?
dana closed her eyes. i cant explain it. just walk outside and ask someone.
sabrina went to the bathroom. it was littered with kleenex and empty snapple bottles, open lipsticks and pressed powder, halves of pairs of earrings and tangled necklaces. she opened her makeup bag but didnt want to use any of it. instead she rummaged around dana's stuff and used what she could find. she hadn't slept at all on the plane, just rotated positions and tried to avoid contact with the overweight man next to her. she felt like she did after sleepovers as a child, when she would stay up late watching scary movies and eating junk food, sleep for only an hour or two and then wake up to donuts and sunny d. she felt dirty, sugar frenzied, and a little sad. she couldnt wait to be outside.
sabrina emerged from dana's apartment before 7am on a saturday morning. hardly anyone was out except for street cleaners and the occasional jogger. she walked into a deli on the corner of 42nd street and 1st avenue and asked the man behind the counter where the subway station was.
where do you want to go, he asked.
she shrugged her shoulders. it doesnt matter.
then just walk west on 42nd street. youll see the green line, the 4/5/6.
she looked at him for a second. ok, she said.
she walked west and after a few blocks she saw the subway station. Downtown Only, it said. so she waked down beneath the street, bought a week long subway pass from the machine, and sat on a bench, waiting for the train. there werent many people waiting with her but the ones that were looked mostly like they had just come from working somewhere or were on their way to. tired faces, some of them in uniforms, sabrina guessed they were janitors or cleaning ladies or waitresses or security guards. there were a couple of people in workout clothes, and a mother with a baby in a fancy, two tiered stroller. finally the 4 train came and they all got in.
sabrina tried to read but couldnt. she wanted to watch the people with their tiny dogs, she wanted to know what book the man across from her was reading, wanted to figure out the song playing in the headphones of the teenage girl next to her. where were they all going at this hour, she wondered. why werent they sleeping? she didnt have a plan, didnt know when she would get off, but she felt so safe and curious down underneath the streets, in this metal machine that carried her and all of these interesting strangers with it. after half an hour riding she decided to get off at the next stop, which was borough hall. she emerged from the subway into a world that looked different and yet similar to the neighborhood she had just left. it was grungier and more crowded, people were walking around pulling baskets on wheels behind them, doing their shopping for the day. there was a giant courthouse looking building and a park with benches and a fountain. as she was about to cross the street she asked a fatherly looking man wearing a tshirt and baseball cap where she was.
he looked at her, concerned.
you dont know where you are?
no, its not that im confused ive just never been here before.
youre at the corner of joraleman and clinton.
she looked at him blankly. is this still new york?
its brooklyn, honey. so yes, its still new york.
ok, thanks, she said as he walked briskly away. she sat in the park for awhile and watched people buzz by. the day was beginning, the mommies were out with their strollers and people were going to breakfast. she was astounded at how many other people were by themselves. people reading the paper or a magazine, drinking coffee, eating a bagel. just sitting in the sun with their eyes closed. she loved being by herself but her friends thought she was crazy... they would never go to the movies alone, or have lunch without a friend. sabrina figured it was because she was an only child, was used to playing alone and being quiet. but sometimes it did make her feel lonely, because she knew what other people were thinking -- how sad. she mustnt have any friends or else she would be with them. but now, looking around at all the people sitting or walking or eating by themselves on this saturday morning in july, she didnt feel bad for them and she knew they didnt feel bad for her. no one noticed her, in fact, which was a glorious relief after so many years of standing out. she was very tall and had wild, red, curly hair and thousands of freckles. she was made fun of constantly as a child, and was only then beginning to like her features and play them up. she got compliments from strangers in the mall, children wanted to play with her hair, people asked to have their picture with her. but today, she didnt think anyone had looked at her in a strange way, or in any way at all, and as she sat on the bench in brooklyn she wanted to cry with gratitude.
she went to a diner and had eggs on toast and bacon and coffee, and she read her book and looked out the window. she gave the waitress a 50% tip.
sabrina took the same train back into the city, this time getting off at spring street because it sounded nice. she stopped an older woman with short, sleek gray hair and asked what part of town this was. again, she was met with a concerned look. i'm from out of town, this is my first morning here, sabrina said by way of explanation.
oh, the woman said. youre in soho dear. good luck.
she window shopped and people watched some more. as the day inched on more people were out and her eyes strained to see each one of them, as she desperately wanted to. she was walking on houston, which dana had warned her was pronounced differently than the city in texas and that to pronounce it like the city in texas would be the worst, most embarrassing thing you could do. she wasnt sure if she was going east or west or north or south, but she thought that if she stayed on that street she would at least sort of know where she was.
a homeless person sleeping on the stairs of a building. a man wearing a green cowboy hat and black jeans. two people making out as they walked. a three legged dog. six young guys on skateboards. a woman carrying bags full of flowers. a man in a suit with blood on his face. vomit on the concrete. a tiny asian girl with four inch black patent leather heels on. two obese, bearded men holding hands. graffiti that read: property is theft. a couple with four pugs on leashes. a screaming infant. a beautiful woman in nothing but a bra and a miniskirt and flip flops. three preppie guys in shorts and loafers smoking cigarettes. a teenage girl wearing purple sunglasses and huge headphones with hello kitty dolls hanging from her backpack. a woman in a beautiful african headdress dancing barefoot on the street. a man in a raincoat handing out pieces of paper with a handwritten note: "lonely and looking for a friend. please write to me at 1775 avenue of the americas." a woman on her phone, crying.

****************

years later, after her 18th birthday and four others had passed by, sabrina would move to new york city. she would get an apartment in the lower east side and laugh with dana about murray hill. she would work in a bookstore and sleep with her boss. she would eat a cinnamon raisin bagel with extra butter for breakfast some days when she felt she deserved a treat. she would get lost in the west village on purpose. she would get to the movie theater an hour ahead of time because she knew how long the lines would be. she would trip going up the stairs of the subway while wearing heels, twice. she would go out on her fire escape even though it terrified her and she would watch the people existing six floors beneath her. she would get her palm read. she would play basketball with the kids in her neighborhood court. she would fall in love with a guy who worked in a bakery down the street. they would fuck on the floor at dawn. she would eat pizza at 4am at least once a week. she would get stood up at a bar on ludlow street. she would smoke cigarettes even though she hated them. she would jump through sprinklers in a playground. she would help a mother carry a stroller up the subway stairs. she would tell a construction worker to fuck off because he told her to "smile." she would start seeing a psychoanalyst in the upper east side whose name was hilda and charged $350 a session, because she would be finally ready to talk about her father. she would stop going to see hilda after two weeks because she was mean. she would apply and get accepted to grad school for social work. she would get dressed up and have drinks at the plaza with her best friends. she would fall in love with an indian man who would years later become her husband. she would go get cheese dip from the bodega across the street in her pajamas and slippers. she would get stuck on the f train for two hours and would be on the verge of a panic attack until the woman next to her would put her arm around her and say that it will eventually be ok, they will eventually get out. she would go on an easter egg hunt in prospect park. she would scream at taxi drivers who didnt know how to get somewhere. she would find artwork on the streets and bring it back to her apartment to hang on the walls. she would pose nude for her friends new art magazine. she would have her wallet stolen. she would lose her wallet. she would buy a pair of huge headphones and walk around by herself for hours. she would buy .45 cent books at the strand. she would smoke pot with a homeless person in washington square park. she would pay to see a horrible comedy show. she would make eye contact with a guy on the one train who was eating watermelon and would date him for a few weeks until he began to scare her. she would by a leopard print coat from someone on the street. she would steal food that had been catered for a film that was shooting right outside of her apartment. she would go to the west village halloween parade by herself and think it was sweet when an old man would say "oh i get it-- youre going as a pretty girl!" she would take the train to coney island on a saturday in december and sit on the beach by herself, not drinking or eating or reading. she would have a conversation with a guy in a deli in the east village at 11:00 pm on a friday night about whether human beings were intrinsically good or not. she would listen to people tell her what happened to them on september 11th. she would try to ignore a feeling of jealousy that crept inside of her when they did. she would always keep at least one window open.

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she cried once on the D train because she realized, with equal parts thrill and sorrow, that this city had lived inside of her years before she ever arrived, but if she left and never came back it would go on throbbing all the same.