NYC, the day after 9/11: the city I could Never Forget

A few nights ago, as I meandered through the muggy streets of Manhattan, I felt like an awkward-yet-optimistic blend of Hannah Horvath and Kimmy Schmidt. I ventured back to my midtown hotel room, channeled my inner (and wholly neurotic) panty-wearing Carrie Bradshaw and began writing down these reflections in my purple Moleskin journal. 

The hawker stalls of Madison Square Park that night were a warm burst of familiarity, reminding me of the Li Jiang night markets in China and crepe-filled Parisian nights all at once. Entrepreneurs counted their cash loot and what looked like [unanimously] locals finished their hip bottled sodas. The summer night sky didn’t quite “death rattle” - as a local New Yorker had described the sound of September - but rather whimpered and dribbled on me here and there as I wandered home. Wait, was that rain? Or simply overhead sewage? 

When I think of or peruse New York City, I think of so many people and things - both real and born of fiction. No matter where we each were, though, on that average September morning [of California summer and seventh grade], that is a day of which New York always makes me think, no matter what. 

So many characters found freedom in this town, from Rose Dawson to James upon his giant peach. Real people, friends I admire, have too: the eclectic and awe-inspiring Berna, my cousins born and wed Sarah&Bram, and the traveling pair I love more than any on Earth, Emily and Nick. To consider the fog of terror and uncertainty that covered this magical city that day - and during my lifetime - feels surreal, and almost unimaginable. But we’ve seen the footage. I’ve heard the recordings. 

Despite my Long Island roots, my Grandmother in New England and my cousins up state… there was one old acquaintance whose experience made the mythical American tragedy on 9/11 real for me. Circa 2008 and the early college days of innocence, nights of dorm-drinking and whisper-filled beach retreats, Nicole brought her “heirloom”” just like everyone else did. We were tasked with bringing something symbolic for an exercise in sharing - to get to know each other’s truths and milestones. Hers was a handmade quilt, donated to the families and kids of first-responder victims of the attacks on September 11th. We had known this colleague, this friend - her hobbies and passions and humor - but in that vulnerable moment it was like we hadn’t known her path at all. 

New York will always be more than just a place; rather, a landmark of unfathomable tragedy and also of hope and togetherness that I in my lifetime still haven’t seen up close. In a much more trivial manner, the fictional communities of FRIENDS, and of women who too symbolize togetherness, helped form the woman that I now want to become… these will also be an iconic part of New York for me forever more. As I sat in the windowsill of my sardine can hotel room last night and looked through the rain spatter out over Broadway, I felt a surge of independent Rachel Green mixed with a hopeful and pondering Carrie (again) run through me. I had skipped home through the puddles all over the West Village, and ridden the subway astutely after a quaint and street-lit dinner, like I belonged in this city. Like a Carrie. 

Carrie a la SATC (glamour.com)

How is that the grimy exit rails of said subway, the basement apartment windows and step-down bar-fronts like Ted Mosby’s, and the trash-lined and honk-filled streets of New York could evoke this inexplicable, fuzzy and undeniable sense of promise! of hope! and of community! in me? Despite the hustle, the crowds and unavoidable plethora of tourist steps and foreign languages, a somewhat scattered and eclectic array of motion somehow forms a singular buzz and an energy that I can’t help but admire. I lived it in those past 72 hours, fell asleep to that same hum even within the confines of my hotel room, and yesterday — September 11th, 2015 — it finally settled into my being like that catchy melody that is finally (as I knew it would be!) stuck in my head.

Today, on the day after September 11th, the melody faded out like the end to a melancholy [favorite] song. Next time I’m in the Big Apple, I know it will pick back up — like those classic faves I could *never forget.* Until then...

The ESB on my way home, Tuesday Sept. 8th

Dedicated to the people - past and present - of New York City.