The Perception of a City

I will always remember my first date vividly. July 9th, 1999, sitting at a beat down wooden table in the middle of Bryant Park with a man I had met just the other night at a cocktail party on 42nd. He was your average blue collar, getting by just enough so that his monthly rent could be paid on time. He lit a cigarette as soon as he sat, pulling it from the back pocket of his worn down jeans. 

“Want a light?”  
“No thank you, I’ll pass.”

I’ve never been the “dating type,” if you will. I stayed single throughout all my high school and college years, even though my friends told me I was “irresistible.” So irresistible that I was never asked to prom, or to a fraternity formal, or a simple date. I was inexperienced, I had no clue what I was doing, I didn’t even know why I said yes to this poor slob. We sit for what seems like an eternity in complete silence.

“New York City is the most romantic place in the world, don’t you think?”

Romantic? I have lived in the city for all my life, and I have never known this place to be romantic. A city full of the dying who just wanted a change at love, garbage strewn about every street corner, the nightly appearance of a cockroach in your shower; what’s so intriguing about that, I wanted to ask. What is so romantic about getting drunk in your dirty apartment every night by a bottle of wine you bought from a cheap gas station? What’s so god damn miserable about the sleepless nights, the bills, the lack of money to pay those bills? 
I didn’t realize how long I had been sitting there, wordless.

“It’s all about perception, I suppose.” 

He was gone before I could mutter an apology. I sighed, pulled out the Times, sipped my watery coffee. 

“It sure is.”

Reviews

[Carly]

You made a very good point in your story. I thought you did it an effective way. I could feel myself being pulled out of the speaker's thoughts as (she?) snapped back to reality.