A guest post by Shay Astar:
It was my birthday. I still smoked then, even if I couldn’t break the habit of going outside. He laughed when I slipped out with my pack at Village Vanguard.
“This is New York,” he said, not unkindly, “You can smoke here.”
“Want to stay with me? He asked.
I did. I had planned to.
“How long has it been since we’ve seen each other, 2 years?”
Something like that.
I had officially ripened, all pink cheeks and blonde hair. White tank, faded jeans, blue chucks. I carried a tan saddle bag slung low and I felt New York around me like I was conducting the energy myself.
He took me up to his room where a bottle of wine was waiting and soon we were out on the fire escape, smoking, catching up on each other, drinking each other in again after all the mad time.
I don’t remember what we said, did it matter what we said?
We were entwined, drifting when my alarm sounded. Leaving seemed impossible. I’d miss the flight but another would be along shortly. 3 soft hours later we stepped into the bright street.
“Is a gypsy cab all right?”
“Will you take her to JFK?”
He kissed me there in the street, my hair blowing back. The gentle strength of the breeze, his hand on my cheek, his lips on my lips.
I don’t remember waving. I don’t remember getting to the airport.
I sat against the wall at my departure gate, shaking my head in wonder.
I remember the fire escape, my hair blowing back.
The city’s autumnal breath.
New York is beautiful in September.
About Shay Astar:
Shay Astar is an actress/writer/musician based in Los Angeles, but some piece of her heart is always in the City that Never Sleeps.