Road Trippin in 1973
Estimated reading time: 14 minutes, 26 seconds
Gramercy Park Altercation
“Not sure how I got thru the last few days,” I said as the group of twenty of us entered the soul food restaurant in Gramercy Park. “It still hurts, but I have been looking forward to this dinner for weeks,” I mumbled. As we found our seats, I felt a surge of pain and grimaced. Looking at the menu, I could not focus as the pain intensified.
“Are you sure you are OK,” my friend Mia asked? “If you need to go home, everyone will understand.”
I wanted to stay but knew that was not a good idea.
I pulled myself up and apologized for leaving so abruptly. A cacophony of voices said take care, we understand. Do you need help?
I waved them off and hobbled out of the restaurant and toward the subway. My legs were moving so slowly that I was unsure if I could make it the two blocks to the subway before my friends finished dinner.
As I approached the stairs to the subway, a couple around my age was arguing very loudly. I went behind the woman as it was the easiest way to the entrance and a spot where I could hold onto the railing, but as I passed her, she stepped backward and bumped into me.
I thought I recognized her, especially her voice.
“Sorry, are you OK,” she asked.
I nodded yes and then asked, “I am more concerned about you. Are you OK?”
“I am fine. We are just having a conversation.”
“If you need my help, let me know.”
The man said they were fine, but the woman looked nervous and fearful.
I started down the stairs like a man sixty years older than I was. About halfway down the stairs, I heard the woman scream.
“Keep your hands off of me!
“Jan, you are a bitch!”
Immediately, I remembered who she was. I met Jan at the VISTA training last December. I had spoken about my experience in the community. I had given her my number, but she had never called me. I had liked her when we met, but my relationship with the imaginary girlfriend had kept me from reaching out to her.
I stopped to hear what was said next, but even though his words were loud and angry, I could not understand them as a train entered the station.
I turned toward the railing on my right side, but the pain stopped me. I twisted to the left and began a slow walk up the stairs. Healthy, I would have taken the steps two at a time. Now I took half steps to get myself back up to the street.
When I got to the street, I looked around and could not see Jan or the man. The anger in his voice disturbed me.
I should have recognized her immediately and intervened. But what could I have done? Why had I walked down the stairs?
Like a jilted lover, I called out her name.
“Jan, where are you? Are you OK?”
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
