Kaetlin Perna
March 16, 2007

March 13th was a different day for me. It began as usual: wake up, tear myself out of bed, stumble to my train, ride to work, make lattes, cappuccinos, pour coffee, no cream, no milk, lots of sugar, light, dark, not too much half and half, whole, skim, 1%, 2%, sorry, we don't have 2%, supply order, milk order, rotate the milk, I'm beginning to really hate milk, put away the supply order, coffee beans, oh, hey look it's time to go, ride the train to the Columbus Circle Borders, look for a magazine in which I have an interview, can't find it, walk to the Lincoln Square Barnes and Noble, and can't find it. I hop on the 1 train headed home, and at 4 p.m. that day something changed: I was standing next to a girl from my neighborhood.

I meet people easily; I'm outgoing, I'm friendly but I kind of secretly hate people. I, at times, when I've slept very little, have very little patience with meeting new people. I stood on the crowded train by the door. In front of me stood a brunette, about my height and looking as uneasy about the crowding as I was. She got on at 72nd; "it's funny how people usually crowd toward people they like because you have to think, what's worse, standing here," I nodded over to the middle section away from the doors, "or over there in the pit." She smiled. At 116th, we both were sitting next to each other, having only spoken a sentence to each other. "I bet she's getting off at Dyckman," I thought. She said to me as we got off our stop, "if I only knew I was sitting next to my neighbor." She lives three blocks away; we exchanged phone numbers and made tentative plans for dinner.

I got home to find my roommate, Sarah, on her way out to Inwood Hill Park, and decided to tag along. "Let's go to the top," I said. "We will," she said. We climbed the stairs and saw, what looked to be a girl feeding a pigeon, but what it turned out to be was a girl saying goodbye to the pigeon that she rescued from 34th St, nursed back to health, taught how to fly and was setting free back into the wild. It was sad; it made me think of my cat. "Are you sad?" I asked her; she nodded. "Just walk away, it will be much easier for the both of you." The little pigeon squawked at the girl, the only mother it knew, as she walked down the steps of the park.

We soon reached the rim to the top of the hill; I asked Sarah if we should continue quickly to the top of the park. We turned right, away from the top, and she replied, "We are." Sarah took me the long way, along the bank of the Hudson River where we saw an oil tanker being pushed by a tug boat, passed the Cloisters that was imported from France, in view of the George Washington Bridge and into Fort Tryon Park. As it became dusk, we came upon a building, an oasis if you will, in the middle of the park, at the top. It was a restaurant-bar called "New Leaf Café," a park project started by Bette Midler to preserve culture in parks (and whatnot) that served the most insane Dominican Sunrise I've ever had.

The next night, I reviewed a staged reading of "Erica Seeing Red" in Lincoln Square. As I left, the feeling of jazz loomed in the balmy New York air, while I listened to a nearby saxophonist walking to the downtown 1 train to Invite Them Up that night. I felt like I was growing, learning to be patient, not everything was a rush or an uphill battle. You take in the sights, not taking your surroundings for granted, meet new people and live your life. I hope that pigeon is still alive because there's only so much nurturing that can foster your survival in this world.