New York Fairy Tale

Yesterday morning I parked my car at the Trenton Transit Center to catch the next train to New York. I asked the man in the lot how long I could leave my car there. Until twelve, he told me, and in my mind he automatically turned into my fairy godmother saying, “Be home by the stroke of midnight!” I stared at my feet. I was wearing cowboy boots, not glass slippers, and had packed a pair of flip-flops in my bag in case it got too hot. My bag was also full of vegetables from the farm. I was going to visit my former roommate, who is still living in our apartment, and I was bringing them to her for the homemade dinner we had planned to cook.

When I got off the train in the city, the nostalgia hit immediately. I felt that rush of excitement that only New York City brings- the busy sidewalks, the fast pace, the people with purple hair and outrageous outfits. Having been away from the city for so many weeks, I was glad to find it exactly as I left it. Well, almost.

The Calvin Klien billboard on Houston Street has switched from four topless models to a woman in a bikini and the park on Lafayette is nearly finished being constructed. But it wasn’t the physical changes that struck me so much way I fit into the city- Cinderella at the ball, slightly unsure of how things work. I usually give out whatever food I have to the homeless man on the subway, but I wasn’t sure that he would have appreciated the bok choy or hakurei turnips from my bag. And when we sat on a bench eating Pink Berry yogurt on Spring Street, I couldn’t tell if the drops falling on us were from the rain or air conditioner residue.

The thing that I love about New York City though, is that none of this matters. I could have worn my farming hat and ripped jeans around the village, and no one would have looked at me any differently. It’s that nonjudgmental quality that I love the most, and as we sat in the apartment, eating sautéed Chinese cabbage and sugar snap peas, I thought about my two worlds, the city and the farm, and liked that I could have a little bit of both.

When the clock struck nine I knew I had to be on my way back to the train station to make it to my car in time. It felt early and I wasn’t ready to leave one home for the other quite yet. But I didn’t want my car to turn into a pumpkin (as much as I love pumpkins), and so I took the familiar route- BDF train to West Fourth Street, ACE to Penn Station, and before I knew it the bright lights of the ball faded into the distance.

When I got home, I took off my boots and emptied my bag; out came the book I brought for the train, my wallet, my cell phone. But as I fished around the bottom, I realized that something was missing. I left my flip-flops in the apartment.

At least I won’t have to wait around for prince charming to bring them back. Instead it looks like another trip to the city will be in my near future, and for me that will be just fine.