New York Diaries

Dina moved to New York City two years ago, and now she is a writer living on the East River, taking her dog to the dogrun, enjoying the old Italian neighborhood where everything is a caricature of old New York. I took the subway from Harlem to 59th Street and walked east past the park with the cold wind biting my face, enjoying the excitement that being half-lost brings.

Dina, who gladly left her job at the university and created a new one, is happy. Through her window I see a giant ship glide silently past on the river as endless traffic crosses the 59th Street Bridge. Her husband makes us martinis and we hug again. "Remember the night at the conference when that drunk hippie guy put the moves on you? You tried to avoid him, but he really liked you. Later, when he was sober he thought I was you, and said he hoped we could see each other again."

"Remember when we walked the deserted streets of Omaha and a homeless man appeared, quickly came up behind us and placed his hand on the back of your head? He looked at you and said, "do you see how easy it was for me to do that?"

Later, sitting at the bar at a tiny jazz club, Dina says she loves the organ, that the only possessions she cares about are her computer, her piano and her man. She no longer has unnecessary baggage in her life. I am happy for her. Outside the bar we wait for taxis to take us back to our separate lives. "It sometimes gets very lonely here," she says.

In the middle of the night I fumble to unlock the building door. A woman, standing alone in the doorway smoking a cigarette, smiles. "I'll open it for you."

AJ and Moe dance to Eminem in their little living room. They wave down a taxi, talk smack, dress to kill, give me advice like "tell him you could suck the chrome off a hubcap." God! They are cute and sassy and they think it would be fun if we could all live together.

In their Dominican neighborhood I hear childrens' voices on the street below. Horns honk, traffic speeds by, a man stands on the sidewalk calling to the window above. "Eddie! Hey, Eddie!" And of course Eddie comes down, and the woman with the keys sleeps through the afternoon and California Rolls litter the table in my daughters' living room like little lush islands from which grow tiny succulent green trees.