In This City
In which our heroine takes her first step;
They say, if you throw a baby in the deep end of a swimming pool, it'll either take like a duck to water and swim, or writhe, struggle and sink until someone would fetch it.
I felt like that sinking baby as I plummeted into New York, head first, and no arm bands.
'I'm not prepared for this!' I screamed inside my head, clutching onto my all important bag that contained all the precious items I didn't trust the shipping company with. I sat on the bus, feeling so overwhelmingly jet-lagged, watching the buildings get taller and taller, as Debussy's La Mer played in my ears failing to sooth my frantic brain, as the knot in my stomach grew tighter and tighter. I began to count the number of fast food restaurants that crossed my vision when a tap on the shoulder interrupted my silent break down.
"You alright sweetheart?" asked an elderly woman with coral pink lipstick on her teeth. Usually it was against my better judgment to talk to those who were unable to apply make up correctly, however her intentions seemed fine, so I smiled a polite no-teeth-smile, and said, "I'm just fine thank you."
"Is that a British accent, sweetheart? I just love the British accent!" she gushed, her water eyes creasing with a smile, the lipstick on her teeth becoming even more noticable, "It's so beautiful compared to our drawl, don't ya think?" I couldn't agree more, is what I wanted to say.
But instead, I kept on smiling and said, "I think the New York accent is very beautiful in it's own way ma'am", and turned my attention back to the world passing by outside.
The lady continued to chatter on into my ear, flattered at how I’d called her ‘ma’am’, and how she’d always wanted to visit the Queen in England. My brain kept whirring, it never stopped, but today it was extra busy, extra anxious. I had no plan for today. Dad told me not to.
“Listen Rory,” he said, “if you’re gunna do this, kid, you’re going to have to go all the way. None of those silly –“, I winced then, “quirky plans of yours. You get the bus at JFK, and from there you work out how to get to 237 Eldridge Street, okay? That’s all I want you to worry about. It will be easy, once your thrown in at the deep end, kid, you’ll bob up in no time. Just you see. This is good for you Rory. This is really good.”
At the moment, I didn’t feel like I was going to bob up. I felt like you do when you’re in the pool looking up the waters surface, light dancing upon it, like stars to the night sky. And no matter how beautiful the waters surface is, and no matter how much I want to reach it, to be a part of it and to break through it, I’m not sure if I can. How in Gods name would I get to Eldridge Street? I had no idea where I was going, this was the first time I had been to America, let alone New York!
“Sweetheart, you sure you’re alright there?” I noticed my breathing was shallow for the first time. I looked her concerned face, but I was unable to plaster on my polite no-teeth-smile for her. Ask for help. said the voice inside me. She’ll know where to go, what to do. She likes you. Ask for help.
It’s not in my nature to ask for help. Asking for help is equal to failure for me. I felt though when I asked a question, people would judge me, laugh at me in their head, mock me. But I needed to fail to succeed. I had to get rid of this act that I had kept up for so many years now. I need to do this. Task 1. Ask for help..
“I’m not sure, ma’am. I don’t know where I’m going.”
And so it began.
I felt like that sinking baby as I plummeted into New York, head first, and no arm bands.
'I'm not prepared for this!' I screamed inside my head, clutching onto my all important bag that contained all the precious items I didn't trust the shipping company with. I sat on the bus, feeling so overwhelmingly jet-lagged, watching the buildings get taller and taller, as Debussy's La Mer played in my ears failing to sooth my frantic brain, as the knot in my stomach grew tighter and tighter. I began to count the number of fast food restaurants that crossed my vision when a tap on the shoulder interrupted my silent break down.
"You alright sweetheart?" asked an elderly woman with coral pink lipstick on her teeth. Usually it was against my better judgment to talk to those who were unable to apply make up correctly, however her intentions seemed fine, so I smiled a polite no-teeth-smile, and said, "I'm just fine thank you."
"Is that a British accent, sweetheart? I just love the British accent!" she gushed, her water eyes creasing with a smile, the lipstick on her teeth becoming even more noticable, "It's so beautiful compared to our drawl, don't ya think?" I couldn't agree more, is what I wanted to say.
But instead, I kept on smiling and said, "I think the New York accent is very beautiful in it's own way ma'am", and turned my attention back to the world passing by outside.
The lady continued to chatter on into my ear, flattered at how I’d called her ‘ma’am’, and how she’d always wanted to visit the Queen in England. My brain kept whirring, it never stopped, but today it was extra busy, extra anxious. I had no plan for today. Dad told me not to.
“Listen Rory,” he said, “if you’re gunna do this, kid, you’re going to have to go all the way. None of those silly –“, I winced then, “quirky plans of yours. You get the bus at JFK, and from there you work out how to get to 237 Eldridge Street, okay? That’s all I want you to worry about. It will be easy, once your thrown in at the deep end, kid, you’ll bob up in no time. Just you see. This is good for you Rory. This is really good.”
At the moment, I didn’t feel like I was going to bob up. I felt like you do when you’re in the pool looking up the waters surface, light dancing upon it, like stars to the night sky. And no matter how beautiful the waters surface is, and no matter how much I want to reach it, to be a part of it and to break through it, I’m not sure if I can. How in Gods name would I get to Eldridge Street? I had no idea where I was going, this was the first time I had been to America, let alone New York!
“Sweetheart, you sure you’re alright there?” I noticed my breathing was shallow for the first time. I looked her concerned face, but I was unable to plaster on my polite no-teeth-smile for her. Ask for help. said the voice inside me. She’ll know where to go, what to do. She likes you. Ask for help.
It’s not in my nature to ask for help. Asking for help is equal to failure for me. I felt though when I asked a question, people would judge me, laugh at me in their head, mock me. But I needed to fail to succeed. I had to get rid of this act that I had kept up for so many years now. I need to do this. Task 1. Ask for help..
“I’m not sure, ma’am. I don’t know where I’m going.”
And so it began.