two years after the attack, I packed 2 suitcases and moved there. my flight happened to be on september 11th. my mom cried. I moved to NYC without a job, without a place to live and I only knew 2 people. the first night I was there I sat in the rain on the metropolitan museums steps waiting for a phone call from somebody I was hoping would let me sleep on their couch. I loved that moment. everything was a question.
I was there a month before I moved there, working for my dad when the "blackout" happened. we were kicked out of the marriott marque in times square and slept on the street. my sister and I sat with thousands of strangers in the middle of a dark times square staring at the stars above. I think most people thought that would scare me away from wanting to move there. nope. the opposite happened. I feel in love. I don't think you can sleep on cigarette and gum covered asphalt in times square and not feel like you and the city are in it together.
a bunch of my friends agree that when you live in the city (and love it) it's like you're dating each other. I can go into this line of thinking more if you like....but when I moved, and didn't come back, it felt like a break up...and now I find myself love sick. It's a boyfriend I just can't get over.
we'll always have our sleepovers on my rooftop. always.
(here are some photos of the night of the blackout. courtesy of my first digital camera, the nikon coolpix. proof that my mom, sister and I actually slept on the street).
2 comments:
love the story
awesome.
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