I met her for the first time on a sweltering June day. I was alone except for my backpack and three suitcases stuffed to the seams with everything I thought mattered. She waited for me with a crossed-arms, foot-tapping impatience that made me feel apologetic for any extra moment I took to get my bearings. At the curb outside the airport, she pushed me into a cab smelling suspiciously and excessively pleasant; the first of many affronts to the senses. The cab - whose air-conditioning was conveniently broken - raced and crawled and lurched and pushed its way through thick evening traffic, leaving my stomach trying desperately to hold on. She sneered. Her strong body shimmered in the stagnant heat, but it was clear that up close she was far from the glittering gem who held so many audiences captive. Her tattoos mottled her skin, dirt disfigured her nails and hair, and the setting sun revealed stretch marks and scars - proof of a life lived unapologetically. Smoke clung to her fashionable clothes, frayed and worn at the edges. She was beautiful. . . so long as you didn't look too close.
She pushed me from the cab and allowed a brief helloIloveyougoodbye with my fiance before she ushered me to the train. MTA card in hand I moved from station to train, train to station, station to train, train to station. I moved like everyone else with her driving pulse, frenetic as it was. We pushed in, we rushed out, we pushed up, we walked around. Repeat. She finally set me down and let me breathe over a plate of hummus with the sister of a friend of a friend, someone well-acquainted with her and happy to vouch for her best qualities. Her variety and joie de vivre, the way she empowered others, her spirit. But it would take more than a dinner and some sweet talk to convince me. The fact was that New York did not give me the greatest first impression. I'm not even sure she was trying. And yes, perhaps I went into the whole thing all too wiling to dismiss her from the start, but surely she could have put in some effort? All it took was one day, one impression, and my mind was set: New York and I could never be friends. But maybe, just maybe, we could learn to be kind acquaintances who might miss one another in the end.
3 Comments
3/10/2018 03:42:40 pm
Ahh this sounds similar to my introduction to NYC as well ha. He did residency out there and we lived (survived?) for 5 years. I do sometimes miss it now though. Looking forward to reading more of your blog.
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AuthorNashira is a music teacher and proud Small-Town Jew who, after surthriving six years in Brooklyn for her husband's surgical residency, is finally back in Wisconsin where she belongs! At least until the end of the two-year surgical fellowship, that is. It's a wild ride, and she's ready to tell you all about it! Archives
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