January 27, 2005
January 7th 2005John and I rose before 8:00 a.m. that morning with the sun charging through the uncurtained windows. While he was getting ready for work, I meandered through the variety of books that decorated his window ledges and surveyed the apartment that I did not quite recall from the night before. It was a simple, bacheloresque dwelling with a modicum of furniture and a cold, bare floor. Plenty of room for a single man
We hit the subway around 9:45 a.m. and parted ways as John headed off to work.
Although I knew the route back to Queens, I was still a bit groggy from the night before and the rush of people simply exhausted me even further. I had waited on the platform as three full subway trains rolled by, afraid to push myself on through the crowd. Finally I made my move and stood, grasping the railing, until sign for Grand Central Station quickly came into sight. I exited the train and followed the flood of people heading upstairs, aloof to the fact that the 7 Train was actually located two levels below this one. I circled around for several minutes and eventually slid my card through another gate before being forced to turn back. Upon sliding my card, the electronic sign on the gate read something to the effect of, 'Already Used.'
I was completely twisted and confused.
I noticed a uniformed woman standing in one of the subway boxes and waited in line to plead my case. When it was my turn, I pushed my Metro Card toward her and explained that I had somehow managed to get turned around, running my card through twice. She cocked her head to one side, squinted at me as though I was speaking Chinese and wearing a three foot tall, cone shaped hat upon my head and frowned emphatically. She removed her questioning eyes for about two and a half seconds in order to engage them in a dramatic roll and then pushed my card back toward my fumbling hands, instructing me to go through the large metal door to my right. As I timidly shuffled through the door, she shouted that the number 7 train was two levels down from our present location. I looked back to thank her, but she had already dismissed my presence.
I exited the subway at 111th Street and enjoyed my walk down Roosevelt to 114th Street where I turned left toward the Ramada Hotel. In the lobby, there was Vincent, grinning and shaking his head.
"Are you just returning from your adventures last night?"
I replied that I was, indeed, just returning.
"It's 11:00 a.m., girl!"
"Yeah and I am so ready for lunch!"
Vincent simply shook his head and smiled.
I grabbed a menu from the restaurant and ordered room service before attempting to do anything else. I had not eaten in 24 hours and was rather deficient of liquids (ones that did not containing large amounts of alcohol). This served as reason enough to bask in the warmth of an over priced hotel meal delivered to my room. It wasn't long before I was contentedly munching away on a large chicken wrap and paying ten dollars for a few moments of internet time. Moses, the pilot from the previous evening, had already sent me an e-mail along with his phone number.
There was a knock on my door. It was one of the gentlemen whom I had met the day before from behind the desk. His eyes lit up and his lips dipped suddenly into a knowing smile as though to say, 'I know you're the one who stole all the candies from the dish at the front desk,' or 'the lamp is missing from your night stand; any thoughts?' I put on my best facade of innocence and allowed my lower lip to protrude slightly, just in case, but he merely handed me a piece of paper and stated,
"Rachel wanted me to make sure this was delivered directly to your hands."
"Oh, really?"
"Yup. She's been rather a regular around here for quite some time now."
"Oh... Really?" I replied, getting to be quite the articulate conversationalist.
"Uh huh. Oh and, um, here's my card. My cell phone number is on the back. Ya know, if you need directions or something while you're here..."
"Oh, why thank--"
"Or if you just want to talk. Or something."
I completed the 'thank you' and we parted ways. The note from Rachel contained every possible means of contact which included two e-mail addresses, two phone numbers and an invitation for later that evening.
Four phone numbers, three e-mail addresses, two New York days and one unruffled hotel bed.
I called my parentals to assure them that I had not yet been stolen. I told them about the shuttle ride to the hotel; I told them about pilots, transvestites, caddy cab drivers and subway trains and meeting someone whom I've never met before from the internet and stumbling in at almost noon that day. There was many a sigh from their end of the world.
The next thing I remember is waking up at 4:00 p.m. and hopping into the shower. I took my time and allowed the steaming water to rinse away all the grogginess of a well deserved nap. I found a classical station on the radio and danced about the hotel room as I began to get ready for another fine evening full of the people in New York. I was a bit giddy after such a long repose that I decided to give John a call and inquire as to whether or not he wanted to get together. I left him a message and skipped downstairs to practice my 'old routine.'
The lounge was busy and bustling with newly arrived patrons making their selections from tall, burgundy colored dinner menus. The number of bartenders were increased and the atmosphere was light hearted and loquacious. Each customer seemed to smile directly at me as I entered and found my way to the one or two empty seats available. A group of three or four men, who were acquainted with each other, sat to my left and almost immediately began introducing themselves. The gentleman closest to me was (surprise!) a pilot. His name was (double surprise!) John. I laughed at his acquaintance and quickly explained myself.
"You see, I have a lot of friends named John."
"Do you now?"
"Yup. You could say that I collect John's. I'm a sort of 'John Connoisseur.'"
"But can they fly you to Paris for free?"
And you all know the sort of tangent that sent me on...
We all chatted for a couple of drinks before John (the other one - in Brooklyn) called me on my cell phone. We agreed that I would take the subway to Union Square and that he would give me further directions so that I could meet him at his favorite hangout. I rushed up to my room to grab my bag in order to spread the joy of the six CD's I had burned for him and made my way to the subway. At Union Square, I exited and found my way outside on 14th Street. After being lost for several minutes, John beseeched me to stay where I was and he would come to find me. Find me he did and once again I was in familiar territory.
We didn't stay too long. Instead, we went back to his place so that I might share with him the small library of music I had with me. What was meant to be a short and quiet evening of music and chatter, ending up being an elongated session of Tug of Tunes coupled with green bottles of cider and too many cigarettes. We covered songs from Green Day, Dido, Collective Soul, Orgy, Bowling for Soup, The Darkness, Kate Rusby, Delerium, Moby and many, MANY more. It was supposed to be a relaxing night, but we somehow ended up at the other end of the spectrum. What once seemed to be a harmless CD player, now became the battle ground for hostile harmonies and combative comedies. Each of us wined for the right of way...
"OH OH OH!!! Let me play you this one, okay?"
"No, wait! I have one more short sound clip and then you can play two whole songs in a row."
"But... but--"
"Oops! It's already playing..."
"Two songs, damn it. TWO songs."
I cannot quite recall if there were any fist fights, but I do vividly remember the ephemeral pre-lunging motions that could have easily lead up to blood shed.
At any rate, we didn't get to sleep until nearly 6:00 a.m..
*** To be continued...