It was her first time back in the city since it happened. Had four months passed already? Going under the guise of meetings with NYU and Fordham admission deans, she hopped on the train located two blocks from her house for the two hour ride up to the city.
She could do this, she was brave.
Standing amid the plethora of bodies, she became lost in the hustle and bustle of Penn Station. It was that moment when the images started to conjure up, of memories of a not so distant past. She saw him standing by that post near the Krispy Kreme, arms wide open with that smile he had just for her. She ran towards him, ready to be enfolded in his arms. What she discovered instead was her arms around the post.
She could do this, she was brave.
Walking along 34th St., she hopped on the subway taking the R train down to 8th Street. Climbing up the steps from the subway, she knew that she would be walking by their little cafe. Her justification was that it was the only route that would take her to NYU. She came upon it way too soon and glancing in the front window she saw their little table in the corner. There he was in his brown, tweed coat, smiling, beckoning. Slowly opening the door of the cafe, his image immediately vanishes.
She could do this, she was brave.
She had a few hours before her next appointment at Fordham and so she took the 6 train to visit her safe place - The Met. There were no memories attached to this place and with relief she stepped inside the museum where she immersed herself in works of art by Botticelli, Rembrandt, Renoir, and Gaugin. She sensed him in the Arms and Armour court, peering at her through one of the glass encasements. She shook off the feeling.
She could do this, she was brave.
Since it was a beautiful day she decided walk through Central Park to get to the west side. After all, she still had an hour and a half left before the meeting at Fordham. She was immediately flooded with memories the minute she stepped foot into the park. Walking through their favorite place, Bethesda Terrace, she stopped and sat on the edge of the fountain, gazing at the Bethesda Angel in all her splendor, who witnessed all their stolen kisses under the fountain.
She could do this, she was brave.
The meeting at Fordham deemed successful, helping in her decision to move to New York. Feeling satisfied she walked up Amsterdam Avenue when the realization hit her that he was only a few subway stops away. She could call and say hi, maybe get together at that little cafe near Columbia. She wanted him to see the transformation she had gone through in the last few months, dreaming that he would beg her to take him back. Flipping open her cell phone, she realized that she had erased all of his numbers.
She could do this, she was brave.
Back at Penn Station, she climbed back onto the train for an uneventful ride home. Thoughts swirling through her head of images of the city, conjuring up recollections of conversations, sweet words whispered, and Times Square kisses. But then, she became inundated with memories of destructive behaviors, the pain, and the tears. Back home, in the silence of her bedroom, she crumpled onto the hardwood floor and wept.
She couldn't do it. She wasn't brave.
About Me
- Joy
- I am a woman with a high-spirited soul. I love God with all my heart, mind and soul. I love the pitter patter of rain and the city lights, the quaintness of old brick roads and buildings, and the fresh scent of a hiking trail and the silence of a book shelf. I have an eclectic taste in music ranging from the oddity of Sufjan Stevens to the sassiness of Taylor Swift. I know the difference between saffron and sage, among other things, and I almost know what tumeric is. I believe in the contagiousness of joy and the basic sweetness of life. Nice things often happen to me - answered prayers, flowers from friends, unexpected phone calls from far away friends, the discovery of delectable desert shops, sweet cards and packages in the mail, and laughter till your tummy hurts. Some things I have but don't use as much as I maybe should are markers and crayons, a passport, a somewhat "perfect pitch", a slip-'n-slide, a camera and common sense. I have a big God who loves me, a beagle/french bull dog mix named Georgie who drives me up the wall yet whom I adore at the same time, and three things I prize: warmth, grace and brains.
5 comments:
Joy, this is a great example of how creating personal rituals in grief often make it possible to move on. Revisiting places, sometimes allow us an opportunity to say goodbye.
We all know that crumbled woman crying on the floor is brave. She just had a very full day.
I sometimes have to remind myself that grief is a process, not an event.
I hope she is brave, because just maybe I can learn from her courage.
Like everyone else said...she was brave. Just because she crumpled up on the floor and cried doesn't mean she wasn't brave. She did all that other stuff...and made it through the day. She made it through memories that must've been painful. And she made it HOME before she cried. She's very, very brave in my book.
Thanks ladies.
You've probably figured out that "she" is me. That was probably one of the most difficult times of my life and when I look back on it, I am amazed by how far I've come since that dark and dismal time.
I was almost afraid to write about that particular day, as painful as it was. Surprisingly enough, in the midst of writing this entry, the pain wasn't there at all. I look back and see how much stronger I've become as a woman and the wisdom that I was able to gain from that particular experience. And to be honest with you all, I never thought I would ever get to this place of healing. But I did. Where I am today is living proof of it.
I not only think you were brave to go about your day while thinking on the past, but that you were brave to write about it. You made it very easy to identify with the woman. I've just found your blog and am definately looking forward to reading more (and seeing the pics, lol).
Post a Comment