The Grid

We followed the crowds, allowed ourselves to be herded in through red velvet rope and art deco light fixtures. And just as claustrophobia was on the verge of setting in, we were released onto the 86th floor observatory and scrambled out to equilibrium along the uselessly high fence. Clear blue skies and the ends of the Earth, the cabs along fifth avenue suddenly looking very much like toy cars and surely one could simply pick them up, if one reached far enough.

I gazed across this world which is Manhattan, tousled hair blowing in my face and vertigo tingling my feet, and I thought how it really isn't that big of a world, after all. Amazed that such a little island can contain so much hope, so many dreams, unnumbered individual destinies. Humbled to think how my drop of a destiny disappears in the seas.

Looking down, I saw the terrace of our old apartment on 28th street. The rooftop of the summer in Greenpoint. The cluster of trees that hints of my hideaway on Morton. The empty grid of Manhattan is mapped out, piece by piece, and filled in, with places I've lived, adventures I've had, and countless walks home across the avenues.

The Empire State keeps her watchful eye on all of us. Somehow, I sleep more soundly, knowing.