Rainy Manhattan

I sit here at the counter of a Starbucks on the Upper West Side, watching Manhattan roll by in the rain. Through the picture window is a constant flow of taxis, cars, pedestrians, strollers, nannies, and the occasional leashed dog. Most of the umbrellas are black. I just saw a synthetic tan toupe go by. Everyone looks so serious. I wonder if they would smile more if they carried colorful umbrellas.

I’m in familiar territory. Michael and I lived 20 blocks south of here as newlyweds and later, as new parents. This area of Broadway and Columbus marks my well-worn path, when I slipped Harrison into the stroller and walked to the local Duane Reade on Broadway, often followed by Citarella, Fairway, and sometimes Zabar’s. There were the miscellaneous stops for the non-essentials, too. I often stopped in Poppy’s Fabric on 72nd street, but for reasons inexplicable Harrison always burst into a tantrum within five minutes in the store. We loved Krispy Kreme next door to Poppy’s, but if I had worn a swimsuit recently I would opt for the Tasti D Lite on Columbus instead.

This neighborhood was our social hub. We took out-of-town guests to the Museum of Natural History for the laser shows at night, and Harrison visited it by day with his Nana B. There were friends all over the Upper West Side with whom we shared dinners, brunches and Central Park walks.

As I sit here, looking out onto the gray day in Manhattan, I allow myself the privilege to pause and marvel: Who Knew? Who knew, when I was a young, married stay-at-home mother here on the Upper West Side that I would one day return with such a different life? I couldn’t have known I would one day become Jewish, that my mother-in-law would die, that our city would be victim to the worst terrorist attack in our history, that I would move to the Other coast, become single, and embark on a new career, that I would write a book, and enroll to graduate school. When I lived here, I had written in my journal dozens of times that I dreamed of a writing career. And now, here I am, returning on book tour as a Jewish, Californian, single mom.

Last night I dreamed I was handed the reins of an agitated horse. The horse was difficult to control. The more I shortened the reins, forcing its head closer to my wrist, the more the horse yanked violently away until it finally reeled back and fell down, chest-to-chest, on top of a friend. “Get it off,” she calmly said, as if she were asking me to remove some lint from her shoulder. I wondered how the one-ton animal didn’t crush her. The horse just grinned its big teeth into her face. When I raised the huge animal back to its feet, I risked a new strategy. I held very loose reins, letting them sag a few feet between us. The horse’s entire body relaxed and we walked on amiably.

When I searched for images on the internet for this post, I was startled to find repeated images of a famous race horse. Its name Manhattan Rain.

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