I've been haunted by New York today. At the restaurant where we had lunch there were big prints of the Brooklyn Bridge hanging on the wall. Later, when I was watching Oprah at my mom's and dad's, she was interviewing the cast of Sex and the City. Sigh, I was just starting my adventure there a whole week ago. I wish it would call me or send flowers.
Anywho, back to my story.
Since we did not get cake on my birthday, NYF decided we would have cake for breakfast on Saturday morning. So we walked and found a place, although I insisted on having something with some nutritional value before digging into my triple layer chocolate mousse cake.
We then made our way to the financial district because I wanted to see the bull I always see on TV and in movies. It was hard to find and a bit of a disappointment. But I saw it.
We took the ferry across to Staten Island, passing the Statue of Liberty along the way. I don't really get Staten Island. It's like the less interesting sibling of Manhattan that seems to have lost its sense of purpose. While waiting for the ferry back I noticed the island was having a town hall style meeting that day to discuss a new vision for the island and ways to make it better. The ferry station had two very nice fish tanks. Maybe they were a result of the last meeting.
After the ferry we wandered over to the Brooklyn bridge. NYF had already crossed it but I think it must be one of his favourite sites. He told me the story of how the bridge was built, and I really thought he was making it all up at first.
"...and then the builder rode a rope across to the other side," NYF carried on.
"And the bridge was dedicated to the people of Brooklyn," I added, thinking it sounded like a fitting detail for the tale.
"Really?"
"I don't know, I was just adding to the story," I said. "I'm sure when we get up there, there will be a sign saying the bridge is dedicated to someone."
But there wasn't.
We crossed over into Brooklyn, found a subway station and rode back to Times Square with the mission to find tickets to a Broadway show.
At this point, my foot was feeling pretty broken again. I managed to keep pace with NYF as we made our way though the crowds but my spirit was fading. I truly wasn't excited about the Broadway show thing. I know, I know, it's the thing to do in New York, but shows just aren't my thing. I'm not into jazz hands and over dramatic sing-songs. We tried to get tickets to a play but they were sold out, save for the really expensive seats. So I was pretty much dragging myself around and giving pretty listless answers. I was waiting for NYF to get frustrated with me, but he didn't.
We headed home without any tickets but NYF wasn't ready to give up. He continued to research online and presented me with three options, one of them being the Nutcracker Ballet. That sounded good to me, and, bonus, a reasonable price.
At NYF's suggestion, I had brought a black, ruffled skirt and pink dressy top (the one in my picture on my blog actually). My left leg was a terrible mess of bruises from falling down the escalator stairs at Best Buy, not to mention the Band Aids stylishly wrapping my toes. My hair was a bit limp from wearing my hat all day. I felt like leftovers.
I left the bathroom and went into NYF's room to put on my shoes.
"You look pretty, " he said.
"Thanks," I replied shyly. I figured he only offered the compliment because it was the appropriate thing to say in the situation. I mention this because I don't want you to start thinking that this is one of those kind of stories that will go in a particular direction. It's not, I assure you.
He gestured to his suit so I said, "You look very nice too," because he did. I wish I had a picture of us from that night, but the batteries in my camera died at the Brooklyn Bridge so there is a large chunk of my trip that did not get visually captured.
"Your hair looks good." NYF said as we headed out.
"You are being too kind."
We got to the street corner and he asked, "Which way do we go?"
"NYF!" I rolled my head back in protest. I was in heels and bare legs. I was not up for playing the "left/right" game. But he insisted, so I picked a direction, which ended up being the right one.
Surprisingly, no, shockingly, I wasn't cold and my feet didn't hurt. Well, they did a bit, but in new places, which was refreshing. Finally, in four inch heels I felt very much in the mood for strolling New York streets. This must be what it feels like to be a New York woman.
"Are you cold?" he asked, at least twice.
"No," I replied honestly. I was reminded of a favourite memory of mine, and almost started into telling him a boy story. NYF seems to enjoy my boy stories and asks for them often. The one that came to mind was about the time when I was 14 and on a camping trip with my family. I met this sweetheart of a guy and we went for a walk on the trails. He kept asking me if I was cold and I kept saying "no", because I wasn't, but I kind of think he kept hoping I'd say yes, so he could fix that.
I had never seen the Nutcracker ballet before. Actually, I had never seen a full ballet before, only the student performances at Ballet in the Park.
"Have you seen the Nutcracker before?" I asked NYF.
He nodded. "Yeah, we used to go every year."
"Have you seen the New York Ballet before?"
"Yes, I saw the Nutcracker here."
"Awww!" I said, feeling bad that I had chosen something he had already experienced.
"It's okay, I wanted to see this," he said.
At intermission we wandered around the top floor of Lincoln Center. NYF was quiet. I walked ahead of him on my own and admired the beautiful pearl curtains. it was like wandering around in a lady's jewelery box. I had one of those moments where it felt like I was in a very poignant scene from a movie, right before the heroine looks up and sees her handsome soon-to-be lover. I looked across the room and only saw other young women. Oh well.
When we stepped outside after the ballet, soft, fluffy snow was falling. People were oohing and ahhing over it. I laughed and said to NYF, "at home, people would be saying aw man, it's snowing! Now I have to shovel!"
We walked uptown to check out this little French restaurant NYF had found online. We weren't sure if it would still be open, and in fact weren't completely sure of its status until we were right at the door.
"Are you coming in to eat?" the hostess asked.
"We were hoping to," NYF said.
"We were just about to close the kitchen for the night, but come in, if you can order quickly it should be fine."
The restaurant was dark and cozy. The food was the best I'd ever tasted and the service was pleasing even though we had just extended their evening.
Finally I felt like NYF and I had some time to catch up. I asked him about his plans for New York, for life. His answers were, no surprise, worldly.
"Do you think you'll ever live anywhere other than Winnipeg?" He asked me.
"Maybe, I'm not sure."
"Is there anywhere else you want to live?"
"I'm not sure." A while ago I had a dream of moving west and getting a job with The Agency out there. Mostly when I think of moving it's to escape something though, which doesn't seem like a good reason to do something. As the conversation continued I realised that I'm much more of a "one day at a time, see what comes about" kind of girl, but he is a"make a plan to do everything you possibly can and go out to create your own destiny" kind of guy. Until that night I never truly appreciated how our backgrounds, philosophies and perspectives are so different. All I could think was, how did we ever end up sitting at the same table again?
After the late dinner we headed out into the night and made our way home. I could feel new wounds opening up where the straps of my shoes rubbed into my ankles. It seemed that I would be leaving Manhattan with many different scars. It hurt. A lot.
3 comments:
AHHH! That last line was right out of a movie. An intensely satisfying Jillstory.
Oh but wait! It's not done yet! I still have one more day to post :D
I'm sitting here with a tear in my eye. . .
D
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