A New Year's Eve to Remember

New York City was still beautiful. I heard rumors the iconic skyline had become nothing more than a few teeth jutting skyward from the bay, but I could see much of it remained. It was still the most beautiful city in the world to me, even in ruin. 

I had traveled over a hundred miles to stand here on the shores of New Jersey, nearly all of that journey coasting on the fumes of hope that I would find New York City at the end of it. 

I came from the northern forests in St Marys, where I was generally safe and well-supplied. I left it all to come here and remember life along the way, back when New York was my dream. The food was all gone. My clothes were in tatters and smelled rank. My boots were reduced to scraps, and I felt each pebble and crack through the weary soles. No matter, I thought, I'm almost there; they only needed to last that long. 

I should reach Manhatten by sunset, though I could only guess. I had grown competent in my navigational skills (once the nation lost tower reception, we all had to). Still, the old maps did not account for streets buried under rubble, collapsed bridges, or the innumerable setbacks in the wilds. But I would make it; I had to. Tonight was New Year's Eve, and I wanted to spend the last few moments of 2059 in Times Square, if it still existed. I am 72 years old, and the last time I rang in the New Year in New York was in 2023, the year the world ended.

I sighed. The little notebook in my hand was open to a yellowed page decorated with truly terrible handwriting. Quite a few things were listed with little checkboxes to the left. My stubby pencil hovered over Make a Friend and See the Skyline, and I checked the box for the latter. I snapped the book closed and coaxed my old bones into a walk. There were other things left on the list too, and if I was slightly smart and exceedingly lucky, I could check them off before midnight.

I continued on my way until the area began to feel familiar. I could see the arches of George Washington Bridge peaked above the rooftops now, and it energized me.

You only think of bridges once they collapse. People traveled them often; an old technology, spanning gaps and crossing waters. But when they crumbled in the great shakes, suddenly, the world became so much smaller. I could see that New Jersey and New York were two lonely worlds now.  

The bridge tumbled into the depths of the bay like a broken spine. I found myself at the edge, and the expanse overwhelmed me. I didn't remember it feeling so daunting, but I supposed it wouldn't have in a vehicle. I lowered my eyes. I saw a graveyard of empty vessels clustered in areas across the shoreline below, some above ground and others loose in the water. As my eyes roamed, one group of boats, in particular, caught my eye; a collection of vintage sailing boats. They were all tied together to a dock that looked rebuilt, accompanied by a canvas tent. Where so many struggle, perhaps someone here is capable. Let's find out if they'll kill me or not. And so I walked down to the them, and towards the dock.

My foot fell onto the old wood, and it gave a soft squeeee.

"Aye! Here now!" 

My eyes flicked up to the tent flap. A meaty hand pulled it back, revealing a grizzly face cloaked in auburn hair, a fiery beard, and eyes rimmed in dark circles. His bulk rose to an intimidating height, and brushed his hair away from his eyes to judge me properly. 

My voice shook. "Uh, hello. I am looking for a way to cross into Manhattan. I saw these boats, and I thought perhaps they had a captain." I tried to sprinkle more confidence into my voice and less panic. "Would I be right about that?"

He eyed me warily. "P'rhaps."

"Could you take me across?"

He paused. "If you weren't looking for charity. I am a businessman," to which he pulled his loose and very weathered trousers up to his formidable belly, "and there is a fee." 

"How much?" 

To this, he did not answer, instead he began rummaging around in a deep pocket in his pants and pulled out a very small notebook much like mine. He squinted, grumbled, opened it to the middle, and began reading. "Carrots, potatoes, cabbage, beans, 'er the seeds of any. Bread. Eggs, any. Uncut leather…" he trailed off and glanced at me.

Few of us had the skills to cultivate gardens or properly maintain animals, so these commodities were scarce. I lived off of expired canned goods and a little hunting, as he probably did. 

"I'm afraid not," I patted my backpack, "I am only carrying what will get me there." I pointed out towards the water. "Is there anything else you will take for the ride? I'm only going one way. You won't have to bring me back." 

He thought about this. "Got'ny power?"

It took a moment for me to understand. Then, I dropped my pack and rummaged around. There was not much I could spare, but I could part with a bit of energy. I pulled out two ancient AA batteries and held them up. "It's not much, but I know they work. You can test them."

Hunger flickered across his face. He snatched them from me and quickly disappeared into the tent, and I suddenly realized I had let my batteries go without any idea of his promise. You are an idiot. How have you even survived this long?

But the tent flap soon whipped open again, and he emerged, a wild smile touting a missing front canine. "These are at least half alive!" He croaked a laugh. "All aboard!" He made his way to the other side of the dock. Shark, still lying in the pathway, eyed me. I gave him a wide birth and followed my new guide into a white and red vessel with a towering sail.  

"What's your name?" I asked.

He began to do very important looking things with ropes. "Captain." I let him continue uninterrupted, and he paid me no mind. I decided to seat myself and settled in. 

Our passage was uneventful, the winds favored us, and I enjoyed the view for the first time in a hundred miles. We sailed, the wind swept and caressed us, waves lapped at the boat, and I began to drift into my memories. We did not talk. I liked that. 

Soon enough, Manhatten loomed ahead of us, and I breathed it in, a dear old friend, arms stretching wide from horizon to horizon, welcoming me back. Friends… I reached for my pack and found my notebook and pencil stub. I scratched a tiny checkmark next to Make a Friend. I glanced back at Sailor and smiled. He would do.

We reached the other side, and I asked my friend if he wouldn't mind helping me out of the boat and onto the land. My legs had gone weak, and I swayed terribly. He held my arm with solid balance despite the rocking tides.

"No ride back?" He squinted up at me through his hair. 

I nodded. "I'm staying. A very long time ago this was my favorite place to be. I am happy to be back. Thank you, Captain. I hope the batteries last for you." He turned away from me and prepared to launch without reply. I left him there and made the last leg of my journey toward Times Square.  

A wave of pain that had been quiet on the boat surged into my body now that I walked. In my ears, a thunderous thumpthumpthumpthump began, and I realized it must be mid-afternoon, maybe 3 o'clock. I pulled a very old orange pill bottle from a side pocket in my pack and swallowed a little white pill from it. You have to be very good at telling time when you take one daily. I've been taking one every few hours now. 

I will spare you the rest of the details; despite my account with Sailor, this story is not like the old tales in which the story is the journey. It is about the destination, and I had finally reached mine, after several hours of following numbered streets.

This place had suffered. Broadway ended at 42nd with a barricade of crude design, and buildings stretched skyward on either side with broken windows, cracked walls, and fauna creeping in through boarded-up doors. The sidewalks were slowly being reclaimed by nature bursting up through the cement. It was a mess. But I could feel the city that never sleeps writhed under the tangle of wilderness. I am here, it said. I never gave up, even when my people did. Despite my joy, I shuffled to a ledge and lowered myself onto it. My body swayed and lurched, and the hurried thumpthumpthumpthump began again, and it brought a headache to the party too. 

I fumbled with my backpack and plunged my shaking hands in, rifled, and pulled out the pill bottle. I couldn't seem to get enough air into my lungs. I wrenched the cap off, and the bottle spat a single pill onto my hand—the last one. Perhaps the very last one ever made. I swallowed it dry and winced at the bitter taste scraping down my throat. Judging by the blue haze settling over the city, it was around 4:45 pm. It would be uncomfortable after a few hours, but I wouldn't be walking anymore, so it would hold me until midnight.

My body settled. I picked up my things and moved closer to the tower. Amazingly, beyond everything I could believe, 1 Times Square still stood. Even the digital billboards remained, though broken and missing pieces. Part of me wished that people had seen sense in having a clock much like Big Ben, but I don't suppose they were planning for the end of the world. I filed this away in my mind under Complaints To No One In Particular, for which I had an extensive list. It was a running amusement since the events of that ill-fated year, and I thought one day it would be a funny thing to share when we got back to publishing books and writing blogs. That day never came. 

The sad truth is we simply forgot how to survive. We were so busy creating the future we let go of the past, and it ruined us. We didn't have a chance, even if the earth gave it to us. We stored our knowledge away in electricity and data instead of the inheritance of skills. 

I shook my head, scattering those thoughts. I was here for something else. I was here to relive the good things.

I made myself as comfortable as possible in this concrete place, unrolling a small blanket and emptying the contents of my backpack onto the ground. I admired bits and pieces of pretty things I had collected along my journey. I unfolded some photos, some pages with scribbled writing, rocks and small shining things. Finally, I pulled a small box from a pocket and opened it. Inside rested my greatest treasure, preserved just for tonight; a cell phone, a few cords, and a small travel projector. 

I watched the skies darken, then I watched the stars, and I talked to the moon as it traveled across the sky. I was exceptionally good at telling time when the stars were out. I wasn't going to waste any battery life on checking that. I needed every last bit of juice from this phone. So I waited, I read the stars, I continued to tell the moon my dreams and best memories, and we laughed together in those last moments of 2059. Then, as the stars aligned in such a way, and the moon seemed to puff out its chest and shine with pride, I held a deep breath unfolded a small white blanket. I draped this over my backpack, and smoothed it as much as I could. It would do.

I pressed the power button on the side of the phone. I waited. The cracked screen came to life in a few seconds, and a familiar little fruit with a missing bite glowed up at me, and I let out a shallow breath. I plugged the projector into the phone’s port.

First, I checked the time which I had set manually the last time it was charged. 11:42, that seemed right. I opened the photos next and thumbed through my memories, wishing I had the time to relive so many of them. But the ache in my chest and the pressure in my head told me I only had time for one memory tonight. My shaking hands led me to the video, I pressed my thumb to it, and it began. 

The cheaply manufactured contraption threw the most beautiful and pixelated square of heavenly light onto the blanket in front of me. I covered my mouth and held back tears. The clock on the cell phone read 11:47. It's working, it's actually working, I thought in disbelief.

I watched. Unfortunately, the speaker on my phone quit working long ago, but I didn't need it. Every single sound came flooding through my memory and into my soul. Frank Sinatra sang over an impossibly large crowd, a blizzard of confetti filled the air, and the crowd roared along. Everyone who wasn't singing or taking photos was kissing someone else. Light-up glasses flashed, colorful scarves and costumes filled the street, and couples, children, and tourists were flowing and cheering together. Balloons. Fireworks. Spotlights. It was beautiful, and tears flowed into my open smile as I watched and relived. 

It was raining too, but nobody cared. We celebrated as if the rain were another falling adornment from the glittering towers above. No one was sober. Everyone was smiling.  

"Babe, make a wish! Make a wish for 2023!" A voice nearby. I swayed. The real world became blurry. My memory was becoming real, I heard it in my head, and I heard it in the air, too. My fiancé, the love of my life, had been there with me that night. 

"I wish you'd finally marry me, loser!" I laughed. The footage shook and spun, showing his face, pixelated and gorgeous, with an open ring box on bended knee.

"Oh my god. Oh my god!" I yelled. The footage shook again. I stumbled my way through yes’s and more crying. 

The rest of the footage only shows a little. I was hugging him, covering the camera. But in my head, I was in the middle of the crowd with confetti and rain tumbling down on us, and I was finally starting the life I wanted to live. The ring barely fit onto my finger, but I shoved it on and didn't care if it got stuck there. 

11:59. The battery icon glowed yellow. 

I realized that I had forgotten to check off my last item. Damnit. I tried to say it, but my tongue lay still. Hmm. I looked back at the video and realized it—and the whole world—was on its side. Oh. 

I couldn't feel my body. I could feel the cold ground beneath my face, though; it was soothing. My eyes flicked back to the screen. The camera had been uncovered and showed the chaos of New York City and the giant glowing clock. I stopped looking at the battery icon as the clock struck midnight in my living dream. 

12:00. Fireworks lit up the sky. I was in them, and they were in me, high above the world and the crowd, even above myself lying so still on the broken Broadway street. The city awakened from its grave, and suddenly, I was thriving again, smashing my lips against the love of my life, and we kissed into the new year, the last year. Frank Sinatra's voice crooned, I sang and swelled with joy, and somewhere in the haze of lights and eternity I imagined a stubby pencil checking a box next to the very last item on a list: New Year’s Day in Times Square.

Below me, the crescendo rang into the night, thousands of drunken voices cheering and joining in:

These little town blues, oh, are melting away

I'm gonna make a brand new start of it in old New York

And if I can make it there, I'm gonna make it anywhere

It's up to you, New York, New York