Ellis Island Ferry

Hello, she said, What's your name? My name is Jasmine. Do you live in New York? She nestles in next to me at the railing. Next stop Battery Park. The breeze is cool, and welcome. That's the Freedom Tower. She points to the spire that makes all the others seem like walkups. My grandpa was here on 9/11. He went to buy some bread, and when he came out, he saw the airplane hit the building, and he ran as fast as he could and hid behind a bush. What's New York like? 

I tell her it's busy, and full of people. I ask her where she's from and try to imagine what she could hear that might stick. I ask her age; she was not born when 9/11 happened. Remember myself, in the shower, my college roommate coming in to tell me, how everything changed after that. How I thought This is no longer a country where my children should grow up.  Her hair is long, and dark, her skin tone not mine. How many stores, and restaurants, and neighborhoods were attacked because of the sound of the name of the owner.

I want to tell her it is the most awe-inspiring place in the world. That the streets are paved with magic and there is space enough in these buildings for everyone to fit their dreams. I want to tell her that the void of those skyscrapers are only one piece in the giant puzzle of stories from the people who make this their home. I want to tell her that this city is the place that makes me feel like myself, when no other place ever could, and that I still get tears in my eyes when I remember it.

It is too late, of course, she has run off to her friends to giggle and share Jujubes and get in trouble with their teachers. The south tip of Manhattan arrives quickly, its glass buildings towering over the little boat. I think of those poor immigrants, what they felt.

Realize in a hundred years, the stories haven't changed at all.