BEING WHERE I AM

clockwise from bottom left: Me, Meriç, James, Akil

I sometimes feel that I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about where I am, whether I should be there, and if there is someplace that I could be that would be better. Better in the nebulous sense that there might be another place to settle myself that might help to unlock or at least quiet some of my existential questions. A place that might allow me to live what is more fully "my life" or a place that might quiet the thrumming anxiety I encounter on weekend days, where it feels that no place in proximity to me will be able to quell the grating disquiet of being here. 

Sometimes I wonder if this feeling isn't about place at all, but is in fact is about people. I find relief in an afternoon spent with a group of friends. And often, for me, the height of social pleasure is a day that begins with one thing (coffee, for example) and then organically spools forth to include and sandwich, then a museum, then a quartet in the park, then a drink, etc. 

When I was in New York this past spring, I had an evening that gave me glimpse of this. We met with Lydia of Lydia Rodrigues Collection under the FDR bridge and sat by the river drinking natural wine and eating cookies I had picked up from an Italian bakery a block off of Columbus Park. Ostensibly, the gathering was to welcome me to New York and give me the chance to meet some of my fellow participants in Lydia's biannual Salon. 

There, I met Akil and James. Akil has worked with Lydia on the last couple of salons and James is a friend of Akil's from when they both worked at the New York location of Snow Peak. We talked for three hours. The wind gradually picked up as the night wore on and whipped away the lingering heat from the day. James pulled a soft pink linen towel out of his pack and offered it to me. Gratefully, I wrapped myself in it. I was perplexed by how to dress for the New York spring. 

It was already 10 when we began to realize we hadn't had dinner. Lydia headed off, leaving us to head in from the river towards Chinatown. Just a block off of the water, the spring heat returned, radiating off the asphalt. Gleefully, heading off with these new friends into the night, I felt like a high schooler again. It was easy to delight in simply being out in the dark. 

Akil was heading out to Long Island, James back up to the Bronx. We paused at a street corner. 

"Well, which way are you heading?" 

"This way," pointing deeper into Chinatown. We continued as a jovial band.

Winding our way through dark and narrow streets, past empty produce crates, we wondered aloud what to do about dinner. 

Akil knew a place, and it was right by a train. He could take the F to connect to another. James said he would do the same. 

"It's a cart," he told us, "During lockdown they disappeared and I didn't know if they would come back." It was a popular destination for people who had been partying late on the Lower East Side.

Despite the fact that it was 10:30 on a Wednesday night, the line was still four or five people deep. We ordered (one chicken skewer, one pork skewer, one rice cake skewer, one enochi mushroom skewer, and one corn on the cob) and paid $11 cash. We waited hungrily, with our backs pressed up against the shut metal grating of a Chinese grocery. 

In the daylight hours on this corner, commuters ducked in and out of the steps down to the Grand B/D train and weaved between shoppers poring over produce and fish laid out in crates on the sidewalk. In the night, this cart was the wick to which we all drew near. 

The waiting was a pleasure. Those last moments snatched to round out our serendipitous trek through Lower Manhattan. 

Akil's order was up and he ate it. It was late, now, and he and James both had at least an hour of train journey to reach their respective destinations. 

"Please, if you're ever in San Francisco, let me know and I'll take you around." Not quite a plea, but what else can you say to two wonderful people you know you're unlikely to see again, but that you're not ready to leave? 

Our order was up. James and Akil left into the night, and our attention turned to the contents of the small plastic bag that had just been handed over to us. Too hungry to wait and not feeling encouraged by the dark emptiness of the park across Chrystie, we stood on the corner by the dark steps of the train. 

The food was delicious. It was hot and well spiced and we ate it quickly and happily. Akil was already underground and speeding away from us, somewhere, but we praised him aloud for his suggestion. We were thanking him and James for their company, speaking their names into the warm night, already reminiscing.

Their companionship as we reached street corners and said "Do you need to turn off here? It was so nice to meet you," and then continued on all together, was a gift. Sweet and warm as the night. Meandering and gentle like a breeze.  

corn on the cob on the corner