I could barely manage a smile at Willie, our perpetually sunny doorman. “Good morning, Mrs. Lyn, ” he greeted me. After driving over an hour in traffic, the last thing I wanted to do was engage in small talk. Damn these elevators. Why so slow?
As soon as I entered the apartment, I flopped myself into the couch, high heels still on. What am I doing in this big city? Is this really part of reinventing myself — getting caught up in Manhattan’s concrete grip? Before self recrimination could set in, I quickly changed into my sweats and trainers.
I walked along 64th St., smelling the fumes in the air, feeling the rage of drivers caught in the sea of hardly moving traffic. I approached Fifth Avenue and started to see the verdant trees along its sidewalks, which are forever fringed with curious tourists — AAH CENTRAL PARK.
I started walking along its meandering pathways, avoiding joggers, skaters and cyclists wheel-dancing and speeding through orange cones and wooden barriers. I reached Sheep Meadow and decided to lay down, soaking up the slanted rays of the sun. After 15 minutes, I jumped up and walked by the Loeb Boathouse and watched families and couples happily paddling in the lake. The sun was going down and the shimmering water caught its golden glow. It was time to walk back.
Along 64th street, I saw two young men ascending from the subway, talking in French and clearly lost.
Eager to help, I asked “Where do you want to go?”
“Park,” they answered in unison.
“No…green…trees,” one of them said, in halting English.
AAH, CENTRAL PARK. With a smile, I pointed them to the right direction.
Yes, I am HOME.