New York Narrative

My friend was dog-sitting for an elderly couple thinking that all she would have to do is to play with this cute dog. So after an afternoon of watching bad television shows with the dog in the living room, she left to get something to eat. When she came back, she discovered that the dog had died. Yes, it was dead, just lying there on the couch. Panicking, she called the owners and explained everything. Turns out, the dog was elderly and didn’t have many days left in him. The couple wanted her to take the deceased to a vet who can deal with it properly. It was an easy enough task, except you can’t just carry a dead 30 pound dog around in the streets. So, after surveying the apartment, she decided to wheel the dog in a suitcase. Then she had to take the subway uptown with the dead dog in the suitcase. But on the platform, my friend got into a coversation with a fairly attractive, well dressed man. They started to flirt a little and the man offered to help her with the suitcase. But knowing its contents, she declined and guarded the suitcase with care. Instead she explained that it was only some things that she wanted to move into her apartment. As she reached her stop, she said goodbye, but the man also got off saying that it was his stop too. The man again offered to help her carry the suitcase, but she claimed that it wasn’t too heavy. As they reached the top of the staircase on the street, the man suddenly turned to her, punched her in the face, grabbed the suitcase and ran. Now you can imagine how weird it was for her to have to find a dead dog and not only that to be robbed of the dead dog. At some point the man is going to go home, having lugged the suitcase around the city and find a dead dog in the stolen suitcase. Karma, I tell you, karma.

I moved to New York broke, with one suitcase. I’m sure I’m not the only one who came that way. I took the F train to Brooklyn, and hauled my suitcase up to the top floor of an old brownstone. It was a studio apartment. It had one bed, one window, and a bathroom shared with another apartment down the hall. It had one window, and it was one hundred degrees outside. And there were three people staying there. We needed a sense of humor. Also, a lot of wine.

My first afternoon, one of my roommates and I felt quite clever after we discovered an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood with both good house wine and a good price (we went there the next day too, and the next). We ecided to head in to Manhattan, and ventured down the steps to the F train. From the wine and the heat, and the excitement of the day, we were sloppy. I kicked my companion’s flip flop on to the tracks as she led us on to the train- the wrong train, shockingly- and there we rode, 3 shoes between us, heading deeper into Brooklyn.

An hour later, I found myself standing outside a shoe store on 8th St. like a stork on one leg, while my friend replaced her shoes, wondering what was to come for me in this city. I laughed the whole day long at the ridiculousness of it all. I kept laughing as I moved 3 more times in the next month, and 3 more times still in the next 3 years. I was entirely hopeful, and found?the chaos of the city intriguing. I was ready to jump in full force (with both feet, even though just one shoe).

Lots has happened in the years since that first afternoon, but now that I’m leaving I’m jolted to find how close I still am to that first afternoon. I’m amazed to find myself starting it all again somewhere else soon. My last few weeks in this city are a mirror of my first few. I am sharing a studio apartment, broke, living out of one suitcase. It’s been worth it, and I think I’ll be back. I can’t be the only one to leave this way either.