My morning drive is early. Then again all morning drives are early, at least mine are.
I am up long before the sun, which is fine because it has been this way for a very long time.
I am an early riser. I always have been and I always will be,which, again, this is fine because I like the quiet before the world wakes up.
I like the early stillness and the sleepiness of the towns which I have earned the right to call my own.
I am used to this – my routine.
I have moved quite a few times throughout my life. I have never lived in a different state and for the record, I am what is called a Native New Yorker.
I say this proudly too.
I have seen different parts of my City and spent time in different parts of my state. However, I do feel a strong connection to my City, itself.
I am comforted here. I don’t know why. I don’t know how either – I only know that even amidst turmoil or despair, or with bouts of lonesomeness, or in moments of crisis or chaos, or even while under duress, there is something comforting to me about the sight of my City.
There is something warm and welcoming.
But more, there is something comforting about her – my City.
She knows . . .
She welcomes me because she knows there is no room to judge. After all, we have all kinds of people here. We have good people and bad. We have the wild ones and the crazy ones. We have the white and black and the tan or the brown, the so-called yellow, or the bronze and sure, we have all kinds of sexual preferences here too – and all different genders as well, which is not to enter into the argument of male, female or otherwise. However, instead of dealing with identity politics, I offer this as a background or a backdrop of my City. I see this is as meaningful to me because as crazy as times can be, I know she loves me.
I know she welcomes me home, all the time.
Like a mother who nurtures her child with the soft bosom –
She feeds me.
My morning drive is quiet. I play music but at the same time, I’m not even sure what I listen to.
My mind slips into an almost semi-conscious state – in which I am awake and responsive. Yet, I am on autopilot and not thinking, just driving and reacting, breaking or changing lanes without considering which way to go, when to switch lanes, how to get where I want to be or when to get in the right hand lane to get off at the Van Dam exit.
I have been coming in and out of this City for decades now. She has seen me grow from a crazy kid to a young adult – and then from a young adult, my City has watched me change professions and locations. She knows exactly where I have been. She holds my secrets and she knows my dreams. She knows all about my love and eagerness to fulfill a love scene in scattered areas around her parks.
Ah, my City . . .
She knows that the garden up in Harlem will always hold a special place in my heart. She knows that I have worked here for 32 years – that’s the age of a grown man, yet I am a senior now, which is not saying that I am old. No, I am more like a wine that has matured with age – still smooth going down.
That’s me. Smooth.
(At least I hope to be.)
It amazes me – how the quiet mornings allow for moments of solace. It amazes me how the early morning streets are still and the windows of apartment buildings are mainly dark.
No one else is around and the only cars on the road are driven by people like me; up and awake, out of the house and early at work with hopes for an early escape.
Everyone around me is just doing their thing.
That’s all.
This is not so bad, by the way.
The hours, I mean.
Work on the other hand – I can say that yes, I could use some relief every now and again.
I could use a break – and maybe I’ve been given too many breaks as it is, which could be why there are times when it seems as if I am somewhat behind.
But I’m not.
I am right where I am supposed to be – exactly!
She is comforting though – my City.
I know her tricks too – and she knows mine only she never reveals my secrets whenever I say Abracadabra or try to pull a rabbit out of my hat – like the ultimate mother, rather than expose me, she plays along – my City, and she acts as if this is the first time she’s seen a trick like mine – just to let me know, I know son. I’ve been watching you practice for years now and rather than ridicule, she cheers me on as best as she can.
I am slipping into a different section of life now.
I am older, of course. But am I wiser?
Well, the jury is still out on this one.
However, I am a student of the game.
I pay attention – or at least I try to.
I have come to the understanding that “Never” is really a very long time.
However, there are times when the word “Never” is fitting.
For example, I will never be that kid again.
I will never walk outside of my grade school classroom and be beaten up by a kid named Garrett.
I will never have a morning in a salt cave again. That was nice.
I will never see the inside of certain places again. But at least I can say that I was there. At least, I can say that there were times when I stood in the pocket and I played the game as well if not better than anyone else.
I can say that yes, there were times when I took a shot and I missed.
I swung for the fences and yes, I struck out – but even still, my City was around to tell me, “Don’t worry, son. You’ll get your chance to try again.”
A
Maybe I will – or maybe the term never is a fitting word in more ways than one.
So, while time is absolutely infinite and since we are smaller than dust in comparison to the hugeness of the outside of our atmosphere, I can say I am aware that not all things last or fit together as well as we hoped or believed.
I know that times, things, people and places will change.
But not her. No, she keeps me.
My City.
She never changes.
Not even with all of her facelifts and physical changes because she is my heart and she is my City.
New York City.
My home.
I know that I’ve heard you say that you don’t believe in “Never,” but never is a real word for a reason.
Maybe never is a fitting description for us or certain things.
But that’s okay.
I get it now – which is fine because if anything, this allows me to address my truth, which is this – I have never addressed myself the way I do now.
I have never valued a moment as much as I do now.
I have never valued the ability to smile or to hold hands or kiss or to make love the way I do now.
I have never seen myself like this before, which is good.
This means that I have either adapted or this means I have to work my way through the unmasterable features or the tricks and slopes of the unexpected landscapes. This means I have worked through the impasses of an otherwise unexpected life.
I drove over the 59th Street Bridge this morning – quiet as could be.
I swear, she knows me.
My City.
I swear, she understands my heart and without a word on either side, from her or myself – she knows.
My City.
I don’t mind this deepness of thought. I don’t mind the quietness of the morning drive, tired as ever, because once more, sleep can be an evasive thing.
I don’t mind the chaos or the crisis or the irrational conclusions that my brain comes up with.
She is there – out there – somewhere –
My heart.
My love.
My dream – sleeping softly, soundly and hopefully –
dreaming of me
(As well)
Never only applies to the flesh –
But my spirit, he knows no boundaries.
Therefore, this is why I can say to you that I know my love will never die –
nor shall we –
Instead our oaths my come and go more split by tomorrow
But always – I will be with you
throughout eternity.
The Written Addiction 