The forecast said intermittent showers every few hours, so I wore my bright orange rain boots to work (and then switched them out for the pointy-toe black stilettos in the gallery). But I forgot socks for the boots and therefore rubbed the beginning of a couple blisters into my heels as I walked the few blocks from the subway. Now, I know better than to cab it anywhere between 3-8pm, but the potential pain in my heels convinced me to go the safe route. So on my way back home, I decided "better a wound in my wallet than blisters that won't heal" and hailed a cab.
As the traffic backed up towards the 59th Street bridge like a clogged drain, my driver and I chatted: traffic is crazy, living in the city, moving out of and back to the city, job prospects, education, and life experiences. We had such an enjoyable conversation. As the meter ticked upward and the lines of vehicles inched forward, we were trading stories.
My driver's name is Manny, and he's a New Yorker from birth. He moved out for a time, but the city called him home. I told him that we were moving out, and we compared opportunities, hopes and abridged histories. (Get it? We were on the 59th Street bridge - "abridged"? Chuckle, chuckle.) And while the tone of this post sounds all happy-sappy, everyone's hopes are tinged with fear and everyone's histories have a bit of intentional blurriness. So as I write this, I wonder how much to reveal of our conversation and how much to keep in my pen (or keyboard, as it were) knowing that when I return to this post, I'll remember what I held back.
But it's not so much how much I share with you, it's more how far our rare conversation traveled in those few miles. As the traffic thinned, the cab dropped me off at my house and I asked Manny if I could paint his portrait. He said he'd seriously consider it, and I anticipate that he may flag me down to be a part of this project. Until then, I hope that his travels bring him always safely home, too.
 |
| Though it's not a sketch, the receipt and a primed metro- card will hold Manny's spot. |
My driver's name is Manny, and he's a New Yorker from birth. He moved out for a time, but the city called him home. I told him that we were moving out, and we compared opportunities, hopes and abridged histories. (Get it? We were on the 59th Street bridge - "abridged"? Chuckle, chuckle.) And while the tone of this post sounds all happy-sappy, everyone's hopes are tinged with fear and everyone's histories have a bit of intentional blurriness. So as I write this, I wonder how much to reveal of our conversation and how much to keep in my pen (or keyboard, as it were) knowing that when I return to this post, I'll remember what I held back.
But it's not so much how much I share with you, it's more how far our rare conversation traveled in those few miles. As the traffic thinned, the cab dropped me off at my house and I asked Manny if I could paint his portrait. He said he'd seriously consider it, and I anticipate that he may flag me down to be a part of this project. Until then, I hope that his travels bring him always safely home, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for your comment!
I'd love it if you'd "come along for the journey" with me - please follow my blog.