I stepped off the bus in front of Grand Central Station. Small clusters of snow began to fall, sticking to my eyelashes.
I could feel the energy of the city. It breathes like no where else I have been. The pace, the subway, the culture – a constant source of inspiration. Always on the move; no time to collect moss.
It felt good to be back.
As I walked up Lexington Avenue I began studying the faces of those who passed me by, each more intriguing than the last. I created a backstory to match every face I met, filing them away as a detective to his evidence.
I ducked into a subway terminal to purchase a week pass, allowing me to stow away a few moments of warmth. On my way out I passed a vendor who gave me a kind and contagious smile, free of charge. It reminded me of a friend back home, a smile so bright that she warms the room. I smiled back with a nod and headed out into the chilled air.
I passed a blind person – that made three in the last ten minutes. Each walking with a cane in one hand and the arm of a friend in the other.
Compassion.
I don’t know that it was completely circumstantial but I likened it to when you think about purchasing a vehicle, or make the purchase, and begin to see that same model pop up everywhere on the road. Better still – when you meet a beautiful brunette that strikes your fancy and you catch resemblances of her in those who pass you by. At any rate, since my brush with vision loss, I noticed and said a prayer.
I breathed in the cold air as I took to the charm of the city. From the corner shops, with their baked goods on window display, to the delivery men running out of soup kitchens and Asian markets jumping on their bicycles and rushing off a delivery. Flower shops seemingly on every corner displaying a wide variety of colour and life as bright as Spring in the dead of Winter. Fruit stands, hot dog vendors – buildings that tell stories of old.
I took the long way to my destination – so as to receive a bit more of the city. I didn’t mind the blistering cold all that much. Still, I kept to the subway grates attempting to catch the rising heat taking its form in steam. I arrived at 5th avenue. Turning left I was surrounded by ritzy store fronts and high society hotels laced with fake gold. I laughed at how time can change a man. I lacked any interest in seeing the latest in fashion or design, I wanted only one thing – and there it stood.
St. Thomas Church.
As I walked up the steps, a homeless man was to my right – taking to the stairs bundled in jackets and using his cardboard proclamation to shield him from the unforgiving wind. I told myself that I would make a point to talk with him on my way out. I swung open the heavy wooden door. As it shut behind me it took the city with it.
Inside all that could be heard was the echo of footsteps and the occasional low rumble of a passing train below. I loved that the city was breathing at a runners pace yet inside all was as calm as a baby’s heartbeat in the womb. I made my way down the aisle, passing by grain-bin sized pillars made of stone and underneath low hanging candelabras the size of chariot wheels.
I entered a row of cold wooden pews, pulled out the kneeler and laid claim to my sanctuary.
An hour later I exited.
The details of that hour belong to me. The door was heavier as the wind outside made haste through the streets. The man was still huddled on the stairs so I approached him and took a seat. I introduced myself and he did the same.
“They call me C.”
Just a letter in a world that is at times full of too many words. I shared with him my bottle of water and a candy bar that I had picked up in the train terminal as I hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
At least I could whenever I chose to.
As we conversed he shared with me his woes of life. He explained how badly he wanted to try and retain his CDL so that he could drive a truck again. We discussed the state of the economy and I asked him how he was holding up through the Winter months on the street. I left him there with a handshake and a candy bar. As I walked away I said a prayer for his well being.
There were traces of dishonesty surrounding this man. Nevertheless, his soul was as equally important as the most saintly on earth.
I walked down 5th Avenue towards Central Park taking in the beginnings of my stay here. These are the moments I live for. This is the part of life that makes the muck bearable.
Each day brings me closer to making sense of it all.
