Snow Day

New York, New York in a blanket of snow. In a flurry of a million icy sparkles, twirling quickly to their respective spots in life, where their purposes are fulfilled. Lie here, lie real still, and, for a moment, be magic.

Like a shroud, it covers Bleecker street.

We drove slowly along the Bronx River Parkway in Westchester County. Wary to go down the steep hill to the train, but what choice did we have? The radio raved about the unheard-of-ness of this storm, and from the sounds of it, Long Island was lost forever. Perhaps there would be no train. Staring out on the tracks, it seemed impossible that anything could ever traverse such a darkness. We plowed through the snow toward the tracks and prayed. The city seemed suddenly so far away, and I felt utterly helpless without it.

Not five minutes after we stepped onto that platform did the train come, safe and reliable, as if nothing was different from any other Saturday night, and let us go home now, quietly. At Grand Central, the 7 came within a minute of my getting to it; the same story was repeated when I transferred to the 1 at Times Square. I sat on the train and felt so safe. It does not rain or snow or blow harshly on the subway trains of New York City. They rock through their tunnels, they carry the tired, the happy, the visitors, the faithful. I sat on the train and remembered an old roommate of mine, who was not fond of the system. Because she never knew where she was getting up, she was not connected to the real world while in the underground. I feel completely opposite. As though the subway is the very womb of the City. It's always a little bit warmer down there, a little more quiet. And the real world cannot reach you, there.

I stepped out at Sheridan Square and packed on my winter knits. With no cars on the road, the wind reigned over 7th avenue, racing along the broad street and a cab was stuck at the curb. Green lights came and went as lone cars tried to pull out into intersections. Doormen tried desperately to keep their patch of land neat, but mostly, walking on the sidewalk was like wading in the sea. I danced merrily along, taking the long way home down bedford and walking in the middle of the street. Who was going to bother me? In the cotton of snow, New York was quiet, calm. And so was I.

Lie here, lie real still, and, for a moment, be magic.