The first time I went to New York City, I hated it.
It was a bitterly cold January. Jessica and I were staying with her cousins in Philadelphia, and after the hoo-ha of New Year’s had blown over, we decided a day-trip to New York was in order. I actually looked forward to it. Let’s put it this way: when you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, you’re either trying to recover from poor arch support or you’re brimming with anticipation. My arch support was fine, so there you go.
Jessica particularly wanted to see the Statute of Liberty. I really had no inclination to see the Lady, to tell the truth. Okay, she carried a torch. And there was that toga. I still get a kick out of that bit in Ghostbusters II, when the team enlists Lady Liberty’s help to defeat Viggo and his river of slime:
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Wonder what?
“What she’s got underneath that toga.”
Classic Venkman.
But other than that, it did not pique my interest at all. There were streets to walk! Shop windows to goggle at! Don’t make me go to a statue, for crying out loud!
We went to the statue. “For the view,” Jessica insisted cheerfully.
It took a car ride, a subway trip (in which two little boys and I stuck our tongues out at each other) and a ferry chug-a-lug before we were at Liberty Island. And discovered the long lines.
Standing three hours in line in the middle of a brutal January winter should really be near the bottom of anyone’s to-do list. Our winter garb lent no help, because two-thirds into it and the tips of my ears burned; my eyes watered; my nose ran. I thought about Manhattan, and Saks Fifth Avenue, and basically anywhere that wasn’t where I was at that moment. I could not feel my toes.
The final straw occurred when we were close enough to see the entrance to the statue. I abruptly realized that my necklace had broken off sometime during the stand-still-then-shuffle,-stand-still-then-shuffle dance we’d been doing. I glanced around, but there was no way I could possibly find my pendant anyway along the three hours’ worth of distance we’d passed.
It wasn’t just a trinklet. My mom had given me that pendant, after years of my gazing at it longingly from behind a display window. I was away from home; this kept me close. I was cold, numb, and pissed.
When we got to the statue, we found out that the upper half was closed for renovations. So we trotted up a curvy staircase to spend twenty minutes at the base of Lady Liberty’s feet, for “the view.”
The day was more than half over by the time we got down. We’d have to have a bite to eat first before making our way back to Philly. This was what I’d seen of New York, and so far, I didn’t like it one bit. I was despondent as we alighted the ferry to get back to the mainland.
Shoulder bumped against shoulder as the ferry filled. Well, at least there’s body heat, I thought, standing next to a family of particularly buff size. Even their two young boys, not approaching puberty yet, were a handful of inches away from towering over me. I felt small and squishable next to them.
The boys bickered at each other in typical sibling fashion, smacking an arm every so often for emphasis. They were bedecked in black leather jackets and spoke with loud, unapologetic Bronx accents. I eyed them surreptitiously, not only because I’ve always liked observing the subtleties of familial interactions, but also to make sure I would indeed not get squished should one of those jabs go awry.
Dad chided them in a rumbly voice before his wife pointed out something across the ferry for his attention. The boys shuffled restlessly, hands in their pockets, and then caught sight of my glancing at them.
The elder boy, who couldn’t have been more than twelve, looked sheepish. “Sorry,” he said to me, the Bronx thick and discernible in his voice. “Don’t mind him.” He nudged at his indignant brother, who turned away. The elder boy ventured a half-non-smile, the kind pre-adolescent boys give when they duck their heads and hide their pink cheeks, not wanting to give away what they’re really thinking.
And it was then that I understood; it wasn’t about monuments or weather climates or trinklets. It wasn’t about what we could’ve seen. Whether or not we’d have made it to Saks Fifth Avenue, who was to say I would’ve found there there what I did find here, what really made New York City what it was?
This was what made visitors from all over the world venture a trip to the Big Apple. This was what made the city brim and bubble and spark with life. The people. Big and small and short and skinny, dark and light and slick and spiky, they were bold and bustling and snorting at whatever life threw at them. They could cuss you and kiss you in the same breath and still keep the city running. All that, and still you won’t know half the things they could show you.
It was then that I understood, and now I can’t wait to go back.
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