Just Go

 From a Selection of Nonfiction Works

Up, Up and Away

The stun guns. Taylor bought them for us less than 24 hours after we booked a flight to New York City. She said it would make our mothers feel better about us going away by ourselves. I said I hadn’t told my mother yet.

Shortly after making the purchase, Taylor discovered that it was a misdemeanor to carry stun guns in the city and a felony to actually use them on our attackers. So we left our Chapel Hill dorm rooms at 3:45 on a brisk October morning, stun gun-less and hyped on Matt Nathanson’s latest folk/ rock album.

The idea of dashing off to New York City on a moment’s notice was only about 72 hours old. “I know this might sound crazy – and it is – but if you’re half as crazy as me (and I think you are), then how about NYC this weekend!?!?!?” I sent the text message on a Monday, and we left early that Thursday. I’d held my breath as I hit SEND.

“YESSSSSS!!!!” from Taylor, just moments later. Followed by, “Meet in my room tonight to get tickets?”

When I’d met Taylor two years previously in a creative writing class, I’d have never assumed we’d become so close. I was immediately drawn to her by our similar passion for writing. What I hadn’t realized was how much more we had in common.

To say that we left for the city to escape our rigorous, soul-sucking university schedules – classwork, jobs and applications, repeat cycle – would only be partly true. To say that we left for one last college hurrah together – Taylor would graduate and I planned to study abroad in the spring – would also only be partly true. But I think – for me at least – a part of the appeal of flying away was just that – I wanted to see just where “away” might take me. As a writer, someone who often escapes within an on-going Word document about people and places that only exist on paper, I was tired of living through my fictional characters. I was jealous of all the things they did and said that I’d dreamed up but never tried for myself.

From the Back of a Napkin

Getting a cab from the airport proved more difficult than we’d imagined. Neither of us had ever hailed a cab in America. “Emily, are you sure that’s how you do it?” Taylor asked.

I was flapping my hand upside down, just as I’d learned when I’d studied abroad in Thailand that summer.

“Yeah, maybe not,” I agreed and tried a more aggressive approach, thrusting my head through the open passenger’s window.

Eventually, we ended up with a Moroccan cab driver. He spoke with a laugh and a thick accent. We were watching “Good Morning America,” in the backseat, unable to believe we were in the very city where it was being filmed, when we realized that we’d come to New York without even a sketch of an itinerary. For two people with college planners filled to overflowing, the realization was liberating, albeit a little disconcerting.

First up: breakfast. But where?

Taylor named the first place she could think of: Times Square.

By this time, our cabbie had determined from our open back-and-forth and a few sly questions of his own, that we didn’t have much experience in that – or any other – city. We were just two wide-eyed girls studying humanities at the University of North Carolina. Taylor had never even been to New York City before. I’d only traveled there for a long, chaperoned weekend with my high school newspaper staff.

“Can you pull over here?” I asked the cabbie, noticing several quaint little cafés with brightly lit signs promising warm pastries.

He shook his head. “I would, but it’s illegal,” he said. “Cop’d pull me.”

This time I shook my head. I might not have ridden a taxi in New York, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t know the rules of the road.

After he’d driven us several blocks from any quaint café, I managed to convince him to drop us off by the Disney Store and a cluster of theater posters.

“IT’S EVERYTHING BROADWAY … AND MORE! Mary Poppins” and “NEWSIES: The Perfect Musical of Our Times” greeted us at the street corner.

“We’re gonna see that tomorrow night,” Taylor smiled, pointing to the nanny with the “cheery disposition, rosy cheeks” and magical umbrella.

We struggled to remove our luggage from the trunk. As we rolled our luggage behind us, we wove ourselves in and out of rushed workers headed to their PERSPECTIVE jobs. Although Times Square at 8:00 in the morning isn’t as busy as I’d remembered it the one late Saturday night I’d spent there before, I could feel the sidewalks filling up even as we walked.

“There were so many bakeries back there,” Taylor said, looking back longingly. “Where are they now?”

But the excitement of arriving in the city forestalled any true exasperation, even with our smug cabbie. We pranced – rickety luggage and all – through Father Duffy Square, passed the CNN building and towards a crowd clustered around the “Good Morning America” studios. That’s when we ran almost headlong into the Europa Café. The promise of hot tea and chocolate croissants lured us inside.

Pulling off long buttery bands of pastry and sipping spiced teas, we made our first attempt at a plan, brainstorming all the places we wanted to go. Taylor served as scribe. On the back of a napkin, stained with a tea ring:

Times Square (night)

Bus tour

Empire State Building

Ground Zero

Statue of Liberty

Met

Little Italy/ Chinatown

Central Park

91^st Street Garden

Broadway

GMA

GW Bridge

Shopping

“Well, we need about two weeks,” Taylor laughed.

We dusted the flaky crumbs from our hands.

“What’s first?” I asked.

View From the Top

A sea of lights greeted us from the 86^th floor observatory deck of the Empire State Building. We arrived shortly before sunset, and the dying sun’s rays cast the cityscape in a shadow of watercolors.

As the sunset and lights twinkled on, the Chrysler Building with its beautifully sculpted roof that sparkled in ever-ascending tiaras caught my eye. I promptly deemed it my favorite building in the city.

“We haven’t been to every building, silly,” Taylor laughed at me.

I hung on the crisscrossed metal bars keeping us from jumping off – not that I could imagine anyone even thinking about something so dire with a view like that.

“We haven’t seen them all yet,” I smiled.

Our conversation died with the dimming sunlight. The city seemed to sparkle to life as more buildings flickered on – blue, green and pink spires. The glowing city demanded our attention and our silence. We circled the observation deck, lingering until all that remained were brightly lit buildings. Everything else dimmed from view. Then we slowly descended, taking the stairs down the last ten or so flights to prolong our return to the lowly streets.

At the Angel’s Feet

            “I need to get away from all the buildings,” said Taylor, who’s spent a good part of her life in the rural mountains of North Carolina. “I think today would be good for Central Park.”

            As someone with parents who own their own landscape design company, I’ve grown up avoiding dirt mounds and prickly bushes. Still, while I didn’t feel like the buildings were closing in around me, I had to admit that a stretch of greenery and a clump of trees were sounding pretty good.

            Taylor glanced at my short green, yellow and pink polka doted dress paired with black leggings and tall leather heels. She, too, was dolled up in a gray dress with black belt and boots. We were dressed for our “Mary Poppins” musical later that night – the only part of the trip we’d scheduled in advance, buying our Broadway tickets moments after booking our flight and hostel. We’d both agreed that Broadway came first, paying more for our tickets than two nights at the International Hostel together.

            “Photo shoot in Central Park?” Taylor grinned.

            We swung around lampposts and scaled the rock mounds for a few full-body shots. Reflecting picturesquely in the water below, Bank Rock Bridge made for an idyllic portrait-taking venue. We perched and draped over the intricately intertwining white wrought iron work and kicked out our heels when we thought the camera wasn’t looking.

            A hotdog and Nuts4Nuts stand grabbed our attention away from modeling long enough to purchase hotdogs and several bags of honey-roasted almonds and cashews. We found a bench by Bethesda Fountain, where we met our match for a model: standing eight feet tall, the bronze angel towered above a cluster of cherubs. Birds flocked atop her soaring wings and another nestled in her outstretched hand. The water cascaded in gentle streams below her feet, raining over the lowly cherubs and pooling below. 

            “Now there’s a shot for you,” I said with a click.

In and Out

Central Station proved a beautiful building only appreciated by two girls gawking in its center as busy travelers pushed their way passed. I marveled at the intricately carved gold partitions and lamps hanging over each stall of the Ticket Vending Machines. The tall arched windows let in warm sunlight from the outside world as people ducked in and out of terminals, going from one place to the next. Never looking up. Never appreciating the transitions. We, too, hurried out, deciding to ponder the midpoints later.

Tap Dancing on the Rooftops

            With the hushed voices of little girls wearing velvet dresses and big bows and the playlist humming softly in the background, I felt like I was on 17 Cherry Street Lane before the thick red curtain had risen.

There was plenty to amuse the senses before the “Mary Poppins” started: a cornucopia of fruit in luscious pastels burst from the ever-ascending private seating at New Amsterdam Theater. And our playbills were chock full with information about each of the actors playing the parts of everyone from the magical nanny with the all-purpose handbag to the taciturn and cold Mr. Banks.

A live musical can’t exactly bring chalk paintings to life or make animated penguins waddle on command. But Mary Poppins could still fly and Bert even tap-danced – upside down! – on the rooftop.

“Childhood played out on stage,” Taylor smiled.

“Could your nanny fly?” I asked, laughing.

“I never had one, but some might,” she said.

“Me neither,” I said. “But I jumped in those chalk drawings as many times as Jane and Michael Banks when I was younger, didn’t you?”

“Mine were books,” Taylor said.

“Yeah, mine, too,” I smiled.

Breakfast in Tiffany’s

            “Let’s get our croissants to go,” I said suddenly.

We stood in line at Europa Café – which had become our go-to breakfast spot, awaiting our warmed almond pastries. “Let’s have breakfast in Tiffany’s.”

            “You mean at Tiffany’s?” Taylor raised her eyebrows.

            I shrugged. “Why stand outside the window?”

            A long subway ride to 59^th St/ 5^th Ave. later, we found ourselves standing in front of the jewelry shop. Just like Audrey Hepburn, except that instead of her little black dress and oversized sunglasses, we had practical tennis shoes and jackets to brace ourselves from the brisk morning winds.

            We sipped our tea and admired the jewelry from the granite exterior, but there wasn’t a whole lot to admire in the display windows.

            “Let’s go inside,” I suggested.

            “With our drinks?” Taylor sounded incredulous. “They’ll make us throw them out.”

            But I was already pushing through the grand turning doors.

            The well-suited doorman greeted us with a smile, and I noted at least one or two other browsers with Starbucks cups.

            “The necklaces are nice,” Taylor said, surveying a collar of interweaving sparkling diamond-studded silver ribbons wreathing a giant honeyed diamond. “But I wanna see the engagement rings.”

            We made our way to the back of the room to ask for directions.

            “That’s on the second floor,” said the gold-buttoned elevator man.

            “You mean there’s multiple floors?” I asked, wide-eyed.

            “Why certainly,” he smiled. “There are eight in all.”

            He ushered us inside the elevator, where another lady keyed in our request.

            Neither Taylor nor I are anywhere close to becoming engaged. We aren’t even dating anyone. But a girl can always dream! After all, it worked pretty well for Holly Golightly.

            The elevator doors opened.

“Heaven couldn’t hold more diamonds!” I breathed, making my way, half-dazed, to the first display counter.

            “Let’s find our favorite ones and try them on,” I grinned.

            And sure enough, moments later, my ring finger was heavy with $77,000 worth of carats.

I’d chosen a ring encrusted with diamonds leading to a sparkling globe that resembled the crystal ball dropped on New Year’s Eve.

Taylor splayed her fingers and observed her own ring – worth a whopping $117,000 – from a greater distance.

The sales lady talked numbers of carats and gave us great detail on the design of each ring.

“They’re just so pretty,” Taylor giggled.

A Ferry to Greece

            We managed to check off each item from our list – with the possible exception of The Statue of Liberty. We arrived at the ticket stand to see the infamous statue 15 minutes after closing and were told we should have gotten in line three hours before.

“So, no to Ellis Island, then,” Taylor said, looking dejected for the first time all trip.

But a quick bathroom break at a nearby ticketing place introduced us to an alternative: take a free ferry to Staten Island and get a sunset view of the statue as you pass by. As far as makeshift Plan B’s tend to go, it didn’t seem so second-rate.

            Sure enough, the sunset in gentle pinks and purples over Lady Liberty’s powerfully outstretched arm. We arrived in Staten Island, just to await the next ferry back. While we waited, we considered what to do with our last unplanned night in the city.

            “How about another Broadway?” Taylor grinned. “Wanna spring for it?”

            I dug a coupon out of my wallet.

            “I thought these might come in handy,” I said, showing her a pass for “Mamma Mia!” that I’d picked up during our first night at the hostel. “Thirty bucks off each of our tickets.”

            “Make the call,” she said, smiling.

            By the time we were headed back to the mainland, we were two Broadway tickets richer and hurrying to Winter Garden Theatre, singing, “I Have a Dream,” at the top of our lungs.

            The sign outside the theater read, “‘Mamma Mia’ is the Most Fun on Broadway.” The sign could have easily been edited to exclude the word “on.” The show was everything I’d imagined Broadway musicals to be before I’d ever seen one. When Sophie and her slew of father prospects weren’t singing or dancing, the audience members were swaying in their seats and tapping their feet. And Donna and the Dynamos were just as crass and fun loving as I’d hoped. Just as the curtains closed, they reopened to reveal a concert setting. The Dynamos called us to our feet and soon we were all boogying in the aisles and belting the words to “Dancing Queen” and “S.O.S.”

Polishing off Serendipity

            “There’s just one more place we have to go,” I said, as we left the theater.

            Serendipity 3 is famous for its Frrrozen Hot Chocolate and ritzy clientele; Tom Cruise has dined there with both Nicole and Katie, and other guests include Marilyn Monroe, Jackie O, and, yes, more recently, even Justin Bieber. “So we just have to go,” I concluded.

            Among the other after-Broadway dessert options, we came across “Golden Opulence Sundae: $1,000.00.” We looked passed it when we realized that not only did the Guinness World Record-breaking sundae require 48-hour advance reservations, it also included caviar. Instead, we opted for Forbidden Broadway Sundae – aptly named considering our occasion and including “chocolate blackout cake, ice cream, hot fudge topped with whipped cream,” as well as Strawberries and Cream “with extra hot fudge on the side, please.”

            The table beside us – a cluster of oversized middle-aged women who could barely get through half their “Cowards Portion” sundaes gasped as our waiter delivered quart-sized glasses of decadence, heaping with hot fudge and whipped cream. We didn’t stop until both glasses – and the extra order of hot fudge – were scraped clean.

And Then They All Lived …

            With the end of the trip approaching, reality loomed like a gawking Joker in the corner of my mind. I’d be returning to an 8:00 a.m. midterm Monday morning, and Taylor had graduate school applications to get back to. Even as we booked our taxi to take us back to La Guardia airport, even as we waited and gave up on the aforementioned taxi which never came, even as I ran into the middle of the street and stopped a taxi mid-turn, even as our plane tilted up in ascension and the flight attendants offered us orange juice with our spiced Biscoff cookies, we never broached the topic of The Return. We just referred to everything that we had to do as responsibilities in the “after.”

            The hours of my return – wrought with harried studying – are a blur. But the following morning, after I’d ticked off answers to my midterm and put photos from our trip on Facebook, I clicked open the Word document where fictional occurrences awaited my notation. I tried to pick up where I’d left off – with two intriguing characters who do crazy things like go caroling in the middle of July and FedEx caramel cakes to their friends on their own special days. But this time, I found myself writing a different character: me. I started with the stun guns.