Two and a half minutes
Sunday, November 30th, 2008
I overslept again this morning. I showered, dressed, had breakfast, put on scarf, hat, gloves, left home. I walked to the bus stop, where the 26 stopped only a few minutes later. I got off at Fulton and Flushing Avenues, went down Dekalb Avenue subway station, boarded the B. I could have taken the Q, but this train came first, so I mentally adjusted my route: I would get off at 47th Avenue/Rockefeller Center and walk the rest of the way to 59th Street and 3rd Avenue. I was running late, so I couldn’t afford an alternative. This had to work.
I surfaced on 6th Avenue. I had only 18 minutes to get there, so I walked fast through Rockefeller Center, stopping only for much-needed coffee. I made up for the stop by walking even faster. Shop windows, Christmas decorations, a woman in a fur coat with a hood, Saks, a jogger, the Tiffany store I had never seen “in stone” before, the girl in sunglasses and high heels – a model? – with whom I shared a crosswalk and part of the street. “I’m not going to make it, I’m not going to make it” I thought. But I didn’t slow down, I couldn’t slow down. I had a few more blocks to go – up and east, up and east. Two More Years from Bloc Party on my headphones helped to set the pace.
I arrived too late. Two and a half minutes too late. As I stood on 59th Street – arms slightly open from wearing a thick pea coat, fingers apart inside Thinsulate™ gloves – I felt hopeless, disappointed, clumsy in the 31-degree cold. I had missed the 11am tram to Roosevelt Island. Forever.
This is part of the text I wrote about a piece of New York infrastructure for Urban Curation class, entitled “Looking for romance on the Roosevelt Island Tramway”. I came back to the Tram the following week, and hope tocome back often.
