After receiving clearance from Stephen’s doctor, we decided to leave the house. Wearing masks, we walked around the neighborhood, which though somewhat quieter and less crowded than usual in some ways hadn’t changed. The storefronts were all there, though most (but not all) were closed. It almost felt like a holiday. Some people were milling around on the medians on Broadway, others walking up and down the sidewalks, still too small in relation to the amount of space given to parking and driving. Traffic, though lighter than what I associated with the pre-pandemic era was still not exactly light. Everyone in possession of an automobile or a motorcycle seemed to be in a rush, driving very fast, just like I had been reading about (specifically: car traffic was down but camera-issued speeding tickets were up, in both relative and absolute numbers). Ice cream trucks, scourge and delight of the summer streets, were everywhere, violating not only the lockdown but also the laws of humanity by refusing to turn off the jingle while idling at street corners. I recognized something familiar, a mix of exasperation and hope, that had always defined my understanding of life in this part of the city. It felt good to be back.
The next morning, not long after dawn, when the streets and sidewalks were even quieter, I went on a run to Fort Tryon Park. I had been thinking about the park a lot. I look forward to seeing it every spring; this year, I felt bad about missing the forsythias, but was happy to see the clouds of azaleas and streams of phlox.
During the pandemic, the park had become an even more important symbol of what our government is — or should be — able to offer: namely, a resource that benefits all of us without any pressure to justify its existence in terms of profit or revenue or efficiency. That this particular park is in — or adjacent to — a relatively diverse, lower-income neighborhood makes it feel that much more valuable.*
*I understand that Fort Tryon, like many in the city, depends on funding from private/non-governmental sources (wealthy people), which is an unfortunate reality of the pre-pandemic (neoliberal) era, but shouldn’t distract from the basic model.
But I tried not to think too much about the outside world. One of the pleasures of living in a city is that it offers the chance to be immersed in different landscapes without belonging to (or acquiring) them.
It’s a feeling that I associate with the opera, and specifically going to performances, when the initial drowsiness falls away and you find yourself mesmerized but bifurcated by the music, fixated on what’s unfolding in front of you while at the same time drifting away.
