Twenty Four

nasonalana
Apr 3, 2013
2 min read

The cargo bins sit stacked like soldiers at the bay. Green, black, yellow, green, yellow, holding batteries and washing machine latches to be shipped off to middle of somewhere, America. The man behind me hurriedly taps his knuckle to the glass in the direction of buildings and bridges giving names and stories. "That road was built in the 80's to make up for the traffic from Jersey." or, "Ya know, that building there was once the tallest in all Manhattan." As the bus gets closer the stories unfurl to uncles and old roommates, prom, and an infamous car chase. I can't tell if he is full of shit, or simply feels proud enough of his city to lay down its foundation piece by piece, to build for us, or most importantly, to weave himself into the story. City block. Best friends Bah Mitzvah. Theater. First Date. New York. I am here. New York. I am. As the bus arrives everyone shuffles laptops into bags and stands crouched with one foot creeping into the exit isle, toes out just enough to prove that, yes, we intend on moving. The street is dependable, busy feet heading in busy directions, walking towards Penn Station I think about maps that could rate each person’s journey with a tiny colored line. Errands for unimpressed bosses and trips for baby’s first haircut, all tangled in strings of bright and pastel. You could lookout for the red lines and know when to make room on the side walk for "Very Important, Very Important" and on certain days when the city was particularly happy or sad they would shine together turning city blocks into cross stitched Van Goghs. While waiting for a friend to arrive I make a game of guessing passerby's colors. Green, black, yellow, green, yellow. Very important, very important. After being picked up Jason and I head towards JFK and as we drive I tell him a story about how when I was thirteen I decided to ride my bike after dark to what I wrapped my mind around as the scariest part of Colorado Springs and walk through an alleyway because I was so entirely confident God would protect me. While all of this made complete sense at thirteen I can't help to think back and laugh at the memory of tiny me shaking as I walked my five speed behind Wal-Mart i.e. the " scariest part of town". Jason looked at me with a smirk and commented on how although I’m a bit bigger now and my beliefs and surroundings have changed I’m still looking for the next dark alley. With my bag at my feet there wasn't much I could do to argue. It's been ten days in India and my writing has come in bits and pieces between asleep and awake, each mile becoming a free fall safety rope for choosing to lose myself in the mix. When you don't know where to start there is always the beginning. Airport. Saudi Arabia. Asleep. Awake. Alleyway. I am here. Alleyway. I am.