Kat was surprised I wasn’t ordering the pizza, but the thing is, when the menu includes ramekins of mushrooms or roasted beets or English peas and prosciutto, and when the salad of the day is dandelion, then, come on, I think the choice is clear. To wrap up the night, a rhubarb coppetta, which was just the kind of miracle ice cream cup to challenge my sister’s genius sundae creations. At the bottom, fine slices of sweetsour rhubarb; then a creamymelty layer of exquisite rose-rosemary gelato, with small, crunchy cubes of toasted pound cake tossed in; and the whole wondrous thing covered, as if after a generous snowfall, with fragolini zabaglione. That the zabaglione tasted almost exactly like Pop Rocks was extra treaty.
I walked Kat to Fourteenth Street, and then I walked and walked and just walked. Ten o’clock and the post-rain night breeze, a blue stripey dress and pink rain boots. I bypassed the Fourteenth Street subway station, and then the one at West Fourth, and then the Broadway-Lafayette, the Second Avenue, the Delancey. My mind sang Moacyr Luz’s “Jogo Rasteiro.” South and east and east and south. I klick-klacked my umbrella against a wire fence. I dawdled under a row of trees, their branches curving overhead, heavy with pink blooms.
On East Third, a girl with panda-eyed sunglasses knocked about with a boy with a fat cigar. On MacDougal, shops still open and lights still on, it came upon me suddenly, a feeling of rue de la Roquette one night eight years ago. On Mulberry, the wall read, in chalk: sun sun Kiss the Sun. On Houston, the sharp, sweet smell of burning tobacco made me close my eyes and remember a boy. On Ludlow, the bouncers were out, and the air vibrated with thick bass beats. On the left, El Sombrero Hat Restaurant. On the right, 24 Hours Good Luck Car Service.
At the East Broadway subway stop, it occurred to me that maybe I needed to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I paused for the briefest moment to think about it while the bridge lights in the distance winked and grinned between city blocks. So then it was south and west and west and south, and then there was City Hall, and the entrance to the bridge, and I smiled quite widely in greeting.
Halfway across, a muffled thump in the cotton-woolly sky. Because I am good at sensing fireworks and lion dances, I knew to peer round the curve of downtown Manhattan to see the show. Red and white and gold and green while the Statue of Liberty stood watch over the harbor.
There was a tinkling behind me, and then a long-haired girl on a red bike rode by, a windchime hanging from the handlebar, sunflowers in her basket, and a feather in her hat. Clearly a bridge fairy. She cycled off ahead and into the night on the wooden slats, and then the tinkling disappeared, too.
I walked Kat to Fourteenth Street, and then I walked and walked and just walked. Ten o’clock and the post-rain night breeze, a blue stripey dress and pink rain boots. I bypassed the Fourteenth Street subway station, and then the one at West Fourth, and then the Broadway-Lafayette, the Second Avenue, the Delancey. My mind sang Moacyr Luz’s “Jogo Rasteiro.” South and east and east and south. I klick-klacked my umbrella against a wire fence. I dawdled under a row of trees, their branches curving overhead, heavy with pink blooms.
On East Third, a girl with panda-eyed sunglasses knocked about with a boy with a fat cigar. On MacDougal, shops still open and lights still on, it came upon me suddenly, a feeling of rue de la Roquette one night eight years ago. On Mulberry, the wall read, in chalk: sun sun Kiss the Sun. On Houston, the sharp, sweet smell of burning tobacco made me close my eyes and remember a boy. On Ludlow, the bouncers were out, and the air vibrated with thick bass beats. On the left, El Sombrero Hat Restaurant. On the right, 24 Hours Good Luck Car Service.
At the East Broadway subway stop, it occurred to me that maybe I needed to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I paused for the briefest moment to think about it while the bridge lights in the distance winked and grinned between city blocks. So then it was south and west and west and south, and then there was City Hall, and the entrance to the bridge, and I smiled quite widely in greeting.
Halfway across, a muffled thump in the cotton-woolly sky. Because I am good at sensing fireworks and lion dances, I knew to peer round the curve of downtown Manhattan to see the show. Red and white and gold and green while the Statue of Liberty stood watch over the harbor.
There was a tinkling behind me, and then a long-haired girl on a red bike rode by, a windchime hanging from the handlebar, sunflowers in her basket, and a feather in her hat. Clearly a bridge fairy. She cycled off ahead and into the night on the wooden slats, and then the tinkling disappeared, too.
posted by stellou at 7:46 AM
4 Comments:
I took a late-night walk through our downtown recently. While not quite as idiosyncratic as your landscape, it still afforded new insight (who'd've thunk it, in Singapore), new moments of peaceful meditation, which was just what the soul needed that night.
You know, for all my supposed bridge use, I've never done the bridge at night. I do like taking cabs over it at night, though. Everything's twinkly.
tym: come on, man!, "surprising singapore," you donch know meh? :-p no, but, truly, i do like singapore at night, when things calm down, when the steamy, sticky humidity and the non-stop bustle are replaced by a cool, and a quiet. there is something in that muted loveliness, sometimes accompanied by a late-night ice milo, that comes close to a feeling of home.
bbrug: you must fix this immediately!! walking the bridge at night is a-plus. everything is twinkly, too, but you can stand there and let it twinkle as long as you want. and the night air, and the cars rushing by under you. and i'm not saying i did this or anything, but it seems quite possible to peer over the railings and let fall a fat droplet of spit on passing vehicles.
...no, really, i didn't do it.
...but i thought about it.
...twice.
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