Ground Zero: A Chance for Renewal

My feet were on fire.  Crippled as though I intentionally walked a turtle pace over searing coals.  Yet there was a determination to arrive before sunset.

My last memory of the towers were seen through the eyes of a chubby child.  Brooding monoliths – the epicenter of New York.  I recall peering up at them, agog at their ability to touch the heavens, wondering if they communed with God.  We visited a store, a vast one where I could select any doll representing a country.  My visual senses were intrigued with a doll from Panama, she was clothed in a flamenco style dress, dark glossy hair spilling down, a serene smile suffusing her face.  Little did I know her gypsy image would become my emblem.

After that, I filed away those memories as an important site of New York, where workers conducted business and sold pretty dolls.  Until September 11, 2001.  I secretly rallied against a corporate mentality, but my beliefs were not in play here.  Politics, personal ethics, or conspiracy theories aside, those who perished were humans with dreams, possibly even to escape a 8/9 hour day in the towers.  What a horrible way to exit, most undesired.

I walked down Worth Street, willing my aching legs to comply – make it to Center at least.  I cut down Church Street, eager to trek to the end.  What hit me was a mob of workers/commuters.

All of them in a mad rush to start the long commute home.  Maybe as far as Brooklyn or Queens.  The edges of sunset started to form on the horizon.  People walked by the site unfazed,

By |November 3rd, 2010 |Categories: New York |10 Comments

Journey to New York & Whirlwind Week

After leaving Longus snorting.. er.. sleeping happily away at 5:30 am, I stumbled out of my room to grab a cab back to Bangor’s bus station.  The next leg of my overland journey would total 11 hours of bus time.  My call to the front desk the night before was a small victory after losing out on a cheap room at Motel 6.

“Yes, we can arrange a cab for you.  It’s a complimentary cab as our guest at Ramada.”  Sweet relief on the budget.

Come 6:00 am I grew nervous because the bus was due to leave at 6:30.  Greyhound has been known to arrive early.  After cajoling the young man at the front desk to inject some new life into my cab request, it finally arrived at 6:10.

I hopped in barking at the guy to hurry up, when he cheekily pointed out the empty streets.  Heh.  I always get a little jumpy about missing a bus or train, so sue me.

Maybe my panic was justified, once we pulled up they were already loading.  Another mad dash to board before I was left behind with a gigantic statue of Paul Bunyan.

Bus rides for me are punctuated by zoning out, listening to neglected music, or sleeping.  I cannot, for the life of me, write.  That’s how I whittled away hours on the bus, between quick sprints to the restroom or snacking.

Eventually we made it through Massacheustus and onto Boston, where I had to disembark for 45 minutes at South Station.

The few visuals I saw of Boston intriuged me, seems like a place worth exploring one day.  It

By |October 29th, 2010 |Categories: New York |16 Comments