The City That Never Sleeps

Spring is the season when Winter blows it’s last kiss, it’s ashes of snow turning into fine drops of rain, rebirth coming in it’s finest form. The deadness that we had sat through all Winter long becomes so alive, so nourishing. Mom always said, when I had the Winter blues, “Just you wait my dear. When Spring comes, so does joy. Hold on, my love. Life will get warmer.” And so this year, like all years, I waited. I watched from the window seat, everyday, watching the flowers slowly bloom and the sky slowly lighten with each passing day. 

And though Spring in New York City held on to it’s truth this year, to its daisies and rosebuds and bees and birds, it did not hold on to it’s joy. 

It was a fine March day, sunny and crisp, when Dad told me the news. I came from school, as I usually did. But Dad was sitting on the doormat outside the apartment door, reading The New York Times. And then he told me. The city is closing down. School is closed for two weeks. Which became 4. Which became 6. 

I’m not sure how to feel. Unsettled is how the jumble of feelings comes out on top. I used to take to the window seat in our apartment and look outside everyday. It was my pleasure being there. I could watch the world go by; the cars, the people, the gossip- except I was only a spectator. The window changed as the seasons did- in Spring came the twittering birds and the buses, caressing through the street to reveal the greenery. Yet again, where had my mother’s words gone? I hadn’t realized that for the past week, that people taking their time, laughing with strangers and stopping for coffee at Railroad coffee, were beginning to take to their homes. The streets, today, are empty and sorrowful, as they have been. 

The news says that New York City has been hit worst by the virus. My home, my life, my world.

School has been put on hold. I’ve talked to my friends scarcely. The days are slowly merging together. I haven’t left the house in 6 weeks. 6 entire weeks. My only glimpse of the outside world is the window seat. 

The time is now 8 p.m. As usual, I get a book and read. For the past 6 weeks- it’s all I can do to escape. Read. 

Mom walks into the kitchen. “Mom!” I say. “Shouldn’t you be working?” She’s been working from home in her own bedroom. Dad has an office, and I have my room. We don’t have much space from each other. 

“Well, I’ve got a break, Astrid. Shall we go on a walk?”

“A what? Mom, have you forgotten? The virus?” 

“Of course I haven’t. Go get your mask. If you would look outside, it doesn’t seem too crowded to me. I don’t see why we can’t get a whiff of fresh air.” And she’s right. I’ve been counting- only 22 people have walked by our building in the past 5 hours. And now that darkness has come, I don’t see a soul. 

“Okay. Sure.” I get my coat from the closet and clasp my hand in my mother’s. We go out the door, down the stairs and through the lobby. Mr. Romney, our doorman, waves hello to me in a mask. I don’t see his teeth shine his bright smile, but his eyes crinkle in a small but noticeable way. “First walk of the month, is it? Doesn’t look too crowded.” 

“Sure doesn’t,” comes Mom’s muffled voice. 

We step outside the door, and a twirl of emotions fall onto me, like a dance of stars. I fall back into my confident rhythm that I take when I walk through New York’s street. Except, the city that once danced with light is dark. Except, the city that never sleeps was suddenly sleeping. 

I know Mom seems to notice it too. I know she knows what should have been but wasn’t. What should have been was jazz concerts on the sidewalk and hot dog carts around every corner and babies and parents and kids and grandparents and young couples and fresh-out-of-college workaholics. The city was nothing but a void of many dark buildings without its people. Without its people, any place in the world seems to recede into nothingness. 

Mom knows where she’s walking and I do too- Gramercy Park. It was the place I grew up, the place where we celebrated the holidays in the winter, the planting season in Spring, the hot weather in summer, and the Autumn festivals in Fall. Now it would be quiet, nothing but a reminder of what had been but wasn’t any longer. 

We walk through the ghost town, the sky a glorious navy blue. “Mom?” I say, my voice as quiet as the city. “What...when...will New York ever be the same again?” 

“I can’t know, my love. I can’t know.” 

To most, my city was a culmination of commercialism- of michelin star restaurants, of broadway shows and fashion and high class events. But to me, it was the dreams and love that had been created in The Big Apple. It was the dreams that had been lost and rebuilt during 9/11, it was the kindness of my neighbors and the history of our home. It was the challenge of adventure- that knowledge in the back of your head that dreams would be built in this city. It was, in fact, the American dream itself, under all the debris. Under all the history.

The cool breeze finally settles, crawling into the vulnerable space between my gloves and jacket sleeve, and crawling down my back. I like it. I just like being outside. 

In time, we reach Gramercy. Nobody is there but a man in a mask reading the paper, a woman walking her dog, and a few others, scattered and lost in the city that was no longer. 

We find a bench to sit on. And after a long walk of silence, Mom speaks. “So many people are leaving, Astrid. I know your friends, Madeline and Ella have already left. And I know so many of my friends and your father’s friends are leaving. And I know you are expecting us to leave next. Is that what you want?” 

I shake my head. Not yet. Not now. 

“Good. Because I don’t want it either. This is home, Astrid. This is home.” 

She is shaking, and then I know she is crying. I clasp onto her hand even tighter, and now I am shaking too. That’s my stubborn mother- come the apocalypse, we were staying right where we were. “I just want it to be normal again,” comes out my voice in a croak. 

“Me too, honey. Me too. I think...I hope...maybe it ends in June? I don’t know. Nobody knows…” Her words come out fractured and broken. My heart breaks for her, for myself, for this beautiful city. Beautiful New York doesn’t deserve this. 

In our masks, we lean onto each other, and cry, for I don’t know how long. Maybe five minutes, maybe 30, maybe an hour. But however long we sat there, I felt better. Because I was lucky enough to have a mother and a father who would stay with me in our cramped little apartment, and be there until the end of time. 

“Rain,” Mom says suddenly. 

“What?” 

“Spring rain! It’s raining!” 

“Oh. Should we go home? I didn’t bring an umbrella.” 

“Go home? Oh no, my Astrid. Oh, absolutely not.” And she begins to sing, in her clear and beautiful voice; “Just singin’ in the rain. What a glorious feeling. I’m happy again. I’m laughing at clouds. So dark up above, the sun’s in my heart and I’m ready for love.”

That was our favorite song. I’m happy to hear it again. I get up, and I begin to sing along with my mother, laughing and dancing like never before. The rain splashes upon me, as I twirl and twirl. I don’t care if I come home with hair wet as seaweed, I only want to feel the sun in my heart. 

For a minute, the rain to me is like the tears of the city, of her loneliness and deprivation. She’s crying, and as I dance, I tell her it will be alright. 

“Do you see, my Astrid?” Mom says, as she watches me swing along a lamppost adoringly from the bench. 

“See what?” 

“Don’t you see that even in these hard times, my Astrid, we must have our joys, our dreams and our moments of happiness too? And now, I do hope you agree, is one of those moments.” 

I do Mom. I really do. 

With a final leap, I land into her lap, and look up at the night sky, rain splashing onto my eyelashes.