Would You Be Mine?
October 24, 2010 § Leave a comment
The New New Yorker
by Courtney Hilden
I hadn’t meant to be late. But I didn’t sleep well the night before, and then I didn’t get up as early as I wanted. And then, yes, I forgot which street it was on. And the thing about churches in New York is that you don’t really see them until you’re on top of them. I was only eight minutes late, but I feel bad about walking in late. It would be just my luck to run right into a priceless candle holder and knock it over, interrupting the first reading with a giant, hollow boom.
So I wandered the neighborhood instead. I like this neighborhood, I like that so many of the buildings are older. Some look like they’ve been well-cared for, but even the ones that aren’t look beautiful to me, like they’re gently falling apart, like they’ll be gone in a decade. I’ve been advised not to look up, because it makes me look like a tourist, but I find it’s one of the few ways to really appreciate these buildings.
I began singing in my mind “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…” thinking about how I would like to live in one of these buildings, thinking about how nice the local school looks (decorated for Halloween with a large raven poster), thinking I could easily make this home, could easily wake up here one day a true New Yorker and not a tourist who looks up. “Would you be mine?” I wonder. “Would you be mine?”