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Saturday, September 11, 2010

Hell, I still love you New York

If you were looking at a CT scan of my heart, this is what you'd see:


Photo ©HouseofJules


On a sunny afternoon at the beginning of summer in the mid-90's, alone (in the sense of being by yourself in a place with 7 million other people, which is possibly more alone than you could ever imagine), but excited after having relocated to the place in which I wanted to live ever since I was a kid; fresh off the train in the underground part of Penn Station, doing a trial run to see how long it would take me to get from my new apartment to my new job in my new city. I had a map in my back pocket and knew the address of the graphic design firm I was to start working at the following week, but literally had no idea how to get myself from where I was to where I needed to be.

All the anticipatory stress I felt about that had been weighing heavily on my mind since I'd unpacked the week before--if not for the entirety of the 6 months I worked after college just to save up for my big move to my new apartment in my new city-- faded away like white noise in the background as I rode one of the escalators up from lower earth to the sidewalk, and the gigantic skyscrapers on 34th street were revealed to me at a slow-boat-to-China rate of speed; my line of vision directed first at their massive entryways, and going up, up, up, and up, trying to take in all the floors of the buildings and the realization of how small I was in comparison, as I was lifted towards street-level. It was a kind of forced-acclimation through sensory overload.

I was able to be still, standing on the right side of those electric stairs, while moving upward and gaping at the buildings, smelling the food being cooked at street carts, hearing the roar of traffic and horns, people hustling and bustling; while my heart was thumping louder than ever, welcoming me home. Finally.

Some people leave their hearts in San Francisco. Even before I actually lived there, mine resided in New York.

If you were listening to my heartbeat through a stethoscope, this song is what you'd hear:

Ryan Adams. New York, New York
Well, I shuffled through the city on the 4th of July
I had a firecracker waiting to blow
Breakin' like a rocket who was makin' its way
To the cities of Mexico
Lived in an apartment out on Avenue A
I had a tar-hut on the corner of 10th
Had myself a lover who was finer than gold
But I've broken up and busted up since

And love don't play any games with me
Anymore like she did before
The world won't wait, so I better shake
That thing right out there through the door
Hell, I still love you, New York

Found myself a picture that would fit in the folds
Of my wallet and it stayed pretty good
Still amazed I didn't lose it on the roof of the place
When I was drunk and I was thinking of you
Every day the children they were singing their tune
Out on the streets and you could hear from inside
Used to take the subway up to Houston and 3rd
I would wait for you and I'd try to hide

And love won't play any games with you
Anymore if you don't want it to
The world won't wait and I watched you shake
But honey, I don't blame you
Hell, I still love you, New York
New York

I remember Christmas in the blistering cold
In a church on the upper west side
Babe, I stood there singing, I was holding your arm
You were holding my trust like a child
Found a lot of trouble out on Avenue B
But I tried to keep the overhead low
Farewell to the city and the love of my life
At least we left before we had to go

And love won't play any games with you
Anymore if you don't want 'em to
So we better shake this old thing out the door

I'll always be thinkin' of you
I'll always love you though New York
I'll always love you though New York, New York, New York


-

Luckily, I made some g r e a t friends there who give me an excuse, if I need one, to visit my heart at least once a year.

****

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I think my heart is split between
Chicago and New York. I really miss the big city. And of course you and your sister and her family.
Love
Mom