Getting My Bearings

It was a pleasant enough day in the midst of something that was at least calling itself "winter" for someone's sake. Morgan and I were killing some time and strolling around the far west side, in the 20s. We don't spend much time over there, and thought we'd see what there was to see.

Turns out there was quite a bit to see over in what I've always thought of as "Julius Knipland," but after a while, we figured it was time to head back. Taking a random turn off 10th Ave., we found ourselves heading eastward again on 28th St.

"I know that place," I said, as we passed a tavern. "I was in there once a long time ago."

"Yeah?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah...not long after I got into town."

As we walked along 28th, and the road began to curve unexpectedly around a park and in between towering project buildings, I told her a story she'd probably heard from me a dozen times already. How, after being in town for about two weeks, I went to my first New York job interview. It was just a little writing job for a magazine, not a big deal at all. The editor?who'd read some of the stories I'd written in Philly?was an informal type, and wanted to meet me in a bar. The one we had just passed, as it turns out.

He gave me the address and the cross streets over the phone. Still, being new in town and not really knowing my way around yet, I got as close as I could get on a subway, then grabbed cab and asked the driver?despite his confusion?to drive me the remaining three blocks. I knew I didn't see too well back then, especially in the dark, and I didn't want to be late because I had to spend an hour wandering around the block looking for the place.

I stepped through the doors about 10 minutes early, found myself a seat at the mostly empty bar, ordered myself a beer and waited. Place was fancier than I was used to, but the few people who were there seemed fine. They kept to themselves, for the most part.

I lit a cigarette, worked on the beer and kept my head down (except for occasional glances at the door). This guy, I was assured, would recognize me.

Three hours, seven beers and two trips to the bathroom later, I was still waiting. I'd never bothered to take my coat off.

Fuckin' typical, I thought. I'd been stood up like this so many times, I'd actually reached the point where I was always surprised whenever anyone actually did show up.

"Are you waiting for someone?" a voice next to me asked.

I turned to find a young, well-dressed man standing there. He wasn't the one I was there to meet. "I see you looking at the door every few minutes."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm supposed to talk to a guy who's offering me a job."

"Really."

"Yeah." I didn't suggest that he sit down.

"Are you sure you're in the right place?"

"Yeah."

"Because there are a lot of bars around here, you know."

"Yeah, I know," I lied, beginning to have my doubts for the first time. "But I'm in the right place."

Perhaps sensing that I wasn't in much of a mood to chat, he wished me luck, went away, and I felt much better for it. Then I ordered another beer, figuring I'd give this guy just one more hour. That's all.

Two hours later, I figured that was it. I'd been screwed over again, and this guy was probably having a grand chuckle with his sophisticated New York magazine friends over the fun he'd had with this dumb rube from Wisconsin.

Mighty unsteady on my feet, I made it to the bathroom one more time, then went back to the bar to settle up. Before I left, the bartender offered me one more on the house, which I accepted. Then he plunked a shot of Wild Turkey next to it.

"You deserve it," he said. I thanked him, threw them both back and headed out.

It was a chilly night, but not too bad. Early autumn. I no longer had any idea where I was, or how to get where I wanted. I didn't know where the nearest fucking subway station was, and there were no cabs to be seen. So I chose a random direction, and started walking. It'd get me somewhere eventually, I figured.

The lights were wavery, I couldn't see much, but I remember walking past a tall iron fence, and I remember that the road seemed to be curving. It didn't make sense. Figuring it was that final belt of Wild Turkey kicking in, I stopped and looked to make sure I wasn't veering into the street. Nope. Sure enough, the road was curving?

Then everything came together for the first time. I grabbed Morgan's arm.

"This is it!" I said.

"What?"

"This is the street I was walking down that night. I remember the fence, and the park, and the curving sidewalk, and the buildings?though I couldn't tell they were projects in the dark."

It was the first time I walked down that street that I remember since that time more than a decade ago.

"The reason I remember that night so well," I went on, "is that before I started walking again, I looked up. I was drunk, I was lost, I didn't get a job that seemed like a sure thing. I was a mess. But when I looked up, I saw the Empire State Bldg., right there," I said, pointing to where it still rose over all the other buildings in the area.

"It was all lit up, it was beautiful. And for the very first time, I remembered where I was. For the first time since I got here, I finally realized that I really was in New York. And more than that, looking up at that building, I knew why I was here."

I stood there thinking, "Oh, yeah."

It all made sense. Sure, I was drunk, lost and jobless, but all those things seemed okay right then. I knew I'd be just fine here. I pulled my eyes back down to the sidewalk, and kept walking. Just a few blocks later?I still don't know how I did this?I came upon the exact subway stop I was looking for. It was right there, as if by magic. I got on the train and went home.

"So you never got the job."

"Nope. And to be honest, things went straight down the crapper after that for the next few years... But it sure was a good few minutes that night."