Scenes from the Life of a City: Brooklyn
“I’ve looked into the empty faces of the people of the nyght… Something is just not right – cause I know that I gotta get out of here ‘cause New York’s not my home….” Jim Croce, New York’s not My Home
The cold and rain passed into a deep blue sky that faded far into the distance. Despite the passing of October, the day was August-warm and as I crossed Vanderbilt Avenue, I pulled my sleeves up and away from my hands. It was a beautiful day and it was the last of our trip. Fortuitous for sure. Despite my love for the rain, I never relished rain in New York, not even after all these years. I especially disliked the stench of wet flesh and clothing in the subways. Besides, it is one thing to watch the rain from the silence of a dry room and another to suffer it relentless on the streets of the City.
I had never felt at home in New York, despite the fact that over the course of my life, the City had figured prominently in my life. It seems, as I look back, that at every key turn in my life, I was here. I had come to know the City, I had endured the aftermath of 9-11 with it, and I had longed, as did Jim Croce, to get out. I felt trapped and I couldn’t see a way out. Then when I left, I vowed never to return. But that was seven years ago now. Even if New York hadn’t changed, I had. The rough edge of the City no longer cuts me as it has. And I can see now, that even in the tough sometimes unforgiving urban sprawl, there is beauty and even amongst the juxtaposition of wealth and poverty, there is compassion and caring.
At the base of the fountain I found one of those moments. A memorial to a teenager who I assume died there. All those things which were important to him, along with a photo, carefully arraigned at the edge of the fountain. Four of his friends watched from the stone bench over my shoulder. They fell silent as I knelt by the shrine they had created for him, perhaps fearful that I would disturb their memories of him. Without touching studied each of the items carefully left to remember him – I could feel their pain and despite the warmth of the day, I shivered as their sadness filled me. I wanted to photograph them but a little silent voice within me told me to let them be and so I did. When I returned nearly an hour later, they were still there. I turned one last time as I passed into the distance and watched as the sun moved toward the passing of another day in
Tags: Brooklyn, grief, New York, NyghtFalcon, sadness, scenes from the life of a city
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