Somewhere in time an overweight man leaves Penn station and looks up into the sky to see Times Square. He is thinking how amazing it must have been to be a part of building this city. He immediately wanted to be on the 86th floor of the empire, if only it weren't such a terrible excuse for a tourist trap.
He wonders if this is America. How big and tall and defiant we all are. He had come from Hamilton station in Jersey, frankly he'd not been impressed with the suburban climate of New Jersey, He'd have not left Arlington if he really wanted that kind of excitement.
There were people, a stream of them weaving in and out of one another while street vendors pulled them aside for discount propositions. Over here broadway playbills, over there a naked man and woman play guitar next to an NYPD officer diligently directing traffic, screaming at people with his whistle acting like a censor.
The buildings loom over head and seem to bend over him but he knows it's just perspective and lets his camera do the thinking for him. He'll never forget the rumble of the subways below him or the hustle and bustle of people alive.
With no concept of where to go, he wanders into an electronics store.
"Excuse me," he says to the clerk, "would you know how I could-"
"Hey. Buddy! Questions over there." Now, the nerve of this clerk! Standing around with absolutely no customers in the store.
"But, I just-"
"Questions," and he gestures with his thumb, "over there!"
And it was too late to argue the point any further because a young tan man approached the overweight man and asked him what the trouble was. "Truth is, I've never had New York pizza, would you recommend a place to me."
The store clerk leaned against the glass counter and seemed to be accessing something deep in his mind. His eye lids fluttered briefly, then snapped open in that great moment of realization when the clerk jut his finger up into the sky and said, "Ray's!"
And so the overweight man left with nothing but a name and a dream. And when he found Ray's he bought more than enough food, and he would argue this was not because he was obese, after all how many times will he get a chance like this one? And so when the bill came and it was forty five dollars, he suddenly wished there was someone to eat with him. As it happened, a young woman walked into Ray's and ordered a vegetarian deluxe pizza, and while she was handing the cashier her money he saw the shock, in her eyes primarily, at the platter filled with pizza and calzones of all shapes and cholesterols. He stood there, all poofy and pink. She said, "Can I eat with you?"
And he smiled at her.
He ate half of the food on his platter and boxed the rest up, promising himself he'd find time for it later. He even took a chance to photograph the pizza during its various stages of consumption. During conversation he was heard to remark, "yum," on more than one occasion.
Having finished their pizza he politely asked her to direct him to central park. Nearing sundown, with the buildings dwarfed in shadow she looked him in his squinty eyes and politely asked him what he intended to do there. He told her about Strawberry Fields, and how he came here specifically for that place. And he started getting into how he'd always told his son that if he ever went to New York, he'd have a heart attack and die. No joke, he was merely meant to do it, but she didn't seem to understand what he was trying to say.
"Strawberry Fields is going to be the last thing I see before I die." He said this through a smile.
Only she heard, "Strawberry Fields is one of those things I have to see before I die." So, she pulled a subway map from her purse and politely proceeded to highlight the 72nd street stop. She guesstimated it would take him twenty to thirty minutes to get there. He grabbed her hands with his thick clammy fingers and delicately brushed his skin over hers.
"Thank you." He kept on saying this to her like he was just going to make a day of it, but after about the fifth one, his gratitude ran dry and off he went.
He walked up seventh to the 42nd street station. He thought after all that eating, and given his weight, it would be nice to get out and walk again. This seemed like the perfect place to do it too. He wanted to talk to everyone, but their reputations constantly proceeded them, and he had never really been the most outgoing person in the world anyhow. To top that, they all wore headphones, or talked into cell phones with one hand flailing into the air.
When he got to the 42nd street station, he took a picture of the sign.
And he took video footage on his camera of the train pulling up to a stop. He had this big grin on his face because he had never really used a subway before, and as far as he knew, those things only existed in the movies anyhow. It was at the tale end of rush hour and when he goes to the train doors he not only finds himself in a standing room only so hold your bags close situation, but a crazy woman with two carriages and a small girl peaking out from behind her waist starts screaming at him that she'll stab him in his fat fucking face if he lays one grody hand on her son's carriage. "Listen you prick," and she says this while making repeated stabbing motions in the air, "if you break that carriage you'll pay."
"Lady," he looked at her with stone cold eyes, "We're all going to the same place. Calm down and quit cursing in front of your children." And there's this hispanic woman on the bench he turns to face, and she's crying into her hands. A group of high schoolers start heckling the woman with the carriages and he goes from riled up to amused. This poor girl, and the hispanic woman keeps on wheeping.
"This! This is why you should not have children at sixteen. You poor girl, you poor dear girl," and the high schoolers keep heckling her, calling out to her, hey baby hey baby. Laughing, whooping, and he's just watching her scream at them, her nostrils flaring.
"You punk ass bitch ass kids, aint you got a momma to take care of you, didn't she ever tell you to mind your manners?" They kept on whooping. The woman was flushed, and he thought he felt a sense of some connection to her. He wanted to put his hand on her shoulder and tell her that everything would be ok. He wanted her to come with him to Strawberry Fields and lay in the grass and let her four children play in the light coming down through the trees. Then he couldn't tell whether that was his true desire, or merely an idea manifested from his excitement of seeing this city for the first and last time.
His bag fell and he snapped back to the train because he had to grab it before it touched her carriage. He had no desire to be stabbed, he hadn't seen Strawberry Fields yet. Under the city is its own place. He couldn't help but stare out the window at the graffiti on the walls, and it fascinated him. He thought about his home in Arlington, and really who cared? The truth is that he didn't really know what he was doing, but before he could wrap his mind around that concept for too long, 72nd popped up.
"72nd, this is 72nd street station. Watch the gap, doors are closing." Bing, bing.
The surface brought traffic and the never ending sound of people. The mishmash of foot steps and conversations and really just the generalities of having the ability to hear in a public environment, all of its pro's, and you better believe its cons. This was the city! And there, just down the street, so close he could see it, were the trees whose shade fell upon the 2.5 acres of Strawberry Fields. He wanted to run; so badly his knees became jittery at the possibility. He managed to maintain himself until he got closer to the park when he could see the ice cream vendors.
And had he been wearing glasses he'd have seen a sign across the street that read "Strawberry Fields", and there were people there surrounding the circle of stones he couldn't see just.
Here he was.
What was there but desire? What was one to hope for if not personal achievement? And taking that into account, could one be held back from it? He crossed the street. Where was he? A circle of stones, a peace sign. Vague memories of pizza and all he really wanted to do was sit down. Thank goodness he came across this place, this soothing place. The grass here is so green and there are so many people. He has his camera and he's taking pictures of everything. A couple kissing in the grass, a little girl chasing pigeons, people jogging or walking. He wanted to open himself up and put this place inside, where he would never leave it, where it would be his forever. And his hands started shaking.
And he cried.
He could not take this city with him. Not now, not ever. He could only be a part of it. He bought an ice cream for the little girl chasing birds and her mother and they sat in the grass and ate them together. And the mother didn't seem to think him odd at all, he just sat there with them and finished his ice cream. The little girl's name was Christine.
And he took a walk down the road and found a nice tree to set himself down under. He was so very tired, he hadn't walked in such a long time. And it took a while, he was only in a little bit of pain, but he died smiling. And that little girl and her mother walked right on past and thought, what a nice old man.
3 years ago
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