The bus ride back to New York City was uneventful. A young woman, my daughter’s age, sat across the aisle from me and tried to remain conscious. She watched some show on her phone, put her head down on her backpack and fell into a deep sleep. The young woman beside her, in the window seat, was unphased and continued listening to something.
It wasn’t until Woodstock that the cell signals came back. Texts and emails pinged on everyone’s phones. I looked around the countryside on the way back, wondering if I should contemplate a move to the mountain. Perhaps my longing for my son to find joy and peace was more rooted in my own desire for the same. I could go to the mountain.
But the winters. The rainy summer. The sharp and heartbreaking beauty exhaling “namasté” as I contemplate my life. Life’s work. Kids.
One is doing well. Sad about brother. Optimistic about life in general. She’s close to the next big transition of life: adulthood.
I agreed to keep zero in my thoughts and prayers until I returned. Minimum contact beyond logistics for my airport retrieval on Monday.
I picked up the tempo of my AirPod soundtrack as we neared The Port Authority Bus Terminal. Ah, the expanse of the weekend ahead. I was tired. But, the city would wake me up with possibilities. That’s how I (heart) NY worked.
The bus driver from my trip into the woods, the first responder on 9-11, caught up with me. “Johnny Mac, how was your musical trip?”
I was surprised by his voice.
“Hey! Wow. Yes. It was wonderful. I hope your week was good as well.”
“Indeed it was. I just wanted to say hi and good luck.”
A short cab ride and I was at The Night Hotel on Broadway, where I’d stayed with my ex-girlfriend and her son less than a year ago. Ah, familiar ghosts. Even the check-in guy was the “you look just like Bill Murray” guy. He was both happy to see me, to be recognized, and a little ashamed that he never reconnected with me last time I was in the hotel.
“Maybe this time,” I said to him.
“Yeah, life. It’s been really busy. But, I’ll hit you up while you’re here.”
We both knew that was never going to happen.
The room was a bed, a window AC unit, and a bathroom. Perfect. I threw my gear into the room, turned down the temperature and went across the street for some street corn and tacos. I would eat there each night of my stay, but I didn’t know that at the time. I’m not sure the waiter recognized me, but I recalled his face.
“Two corazons and a frozen margarita with no salt, please.” Corazon being the taco with the shredded chicken and slaw.
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