It was time to haul her sorry ass out
of the house. She was tired of feeling that feeling. That one she felt when
something good didn’t happen and it turned into something bad. But the bad
wasn’t permanent but felt exactly like an Everlasting Gob Stopper meant to clog
up her life and keep her suspended on a street corner somewhere in really
crappy weather without proper outerwear like a scarf and boots. Chilled to the
bone and the wool stuff was upstairs a few blocks away but she is stuck on the
sidewalk.
It was dark out and the street was
lined with snow. White snow that looked blue and orange because of the neon
light reflecting off it. Each time a dark car sped past the color turned grey
and black and dark again. It was hard to remember the lighter and brighter
colors. It was dark and dreary. Cold.
And there was Mary. Mary was there. Her black felt cap had a weird
tassel hanging off her head swung awkwardly as she shouted “hello!” Where did
she get that hat? So silly! Cool glasses and smiling that familiar friend
smile. That old friend smile. The one that will always, always be there and
never leave. Tried , trusted and true blue.
It was twenty-five years ago they
lived in that neighborhood. Getting off the L train and snaking their way south
on Bedford Ave with streetlamps casting long shadows on and in between blocks. The
empty streets were quiet and scary. Racing against time and a blinking traffic
light to see who would win by getting home alive first. Her heart pounded inside
her chest and her heavy breathing huh u huh huh as she raced west down her
street and unlatched the door with a sense of accomplishment. Got home alive.
I won.
Unlatched the iron gate slipped through to her safe zone and then root around for keys in her bag took a few
minutes. Another success: found and untangled them from her headphones and
random receipts. What a crap mess. Unlock the front door of the building and
the hallway smells like onions. Someone is cooking with onions again and she
hears her cat crying behind the door.
She and Mary drank coffee made in a
nice French Press. Mary didn’t take milk.
She liked her coffee black and drank it out of a porcelain soup bowl
while she picked the wilted leaves off her tomato plants growing in large
plastic buckets on the roof top right outside her window. The windows were open
most of the time even in winter when the radiator was full blast, and she
set a few lawn chairs and wooden school chairs from off the street out
there. They sat together and giggled
about the tomatoes which were not thriving and looked sickly green. Joking about what they’d do with the first
crop. How many tomatoes would it yield? Enough for a pot of sauce or a single
serving of salad. Why it was so funny, no one really knew. But it was.
Outside her window was a spectacular view of the Williamsburg Bridge. It just hung there looking elegant with tiny cars, trucks and a bracelet of train lights always moving.
Outside her window was a spectacular view of the Williamsburg Bridge. It just hung there looking elegant with tiny cars, trucks and a bracelet of train lights always moving.
We talked and talked and talked.
That was 25-years ago. When they took
the train into Manhattan to shop at the Union Square Green Market on
Saturday. Mary picked out random
vegetables like a white eggplant the size of one jumbo egg. She would take it home and find some use for
it. She cooked it and ate it.
It was a small, hard white beautiful egg
plant that was useless except for its appearance: and bitter, but she
transformed it.
Their friendship transformed over the
following decades. Postcards were sent, crisscrossing the country with short scribbled
messages denoting a time thought of each other. Code for everlasting love and
hope to be together. We talked and talked and talked.
Again.
