"Do you have to go now? My dissertation's at a crucial section--"

"Can't you wait until next year?"

"Of course she can, she's just being mom."

"Mom?" (Loudly, and slowly, like I'm deaf) "Mom, wait until spring, Lindy and I can take you then, okay?"

My loving family, who, nonetheless, seemed to believe I'd lost my ability to think after the death of my husband the year before. I was now a project, I needed "managing," so that's what they were going to do, my wonderful, intelligent, capable children and their various spouses.

My declaration that I wanted to go New York City was what had brought on this upheaval at the dinner table. Their words fluttered about me, their concern like a warm bath that had long since gone cold.

"I can go alone," I said to no one at all, because who was listening to me?

🍁🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍁

The plane tilted as we flew over Manhattan, almost as if it wanted to give me a view of the place I'd dreamed of for so long, the early morning sun slanting long rays across the surface of the earth.

I was glad I taken the overnight flight, the one that sounded like an ocular infection. I never had trouble sleeping, even since Jack's death, and I was ready when I got off the plane, my little pull tote behind me.

I got on the air train toward Howard Beach Station, already enamored of my trip. Howard Beach, Far Rockaway, Coney Island, all of these names danced in my head, exotic and unfamiliar, reminding me of books I'd read about Anaïs Nin, Woody Guthrie and Fiorello LaGuardia.

Next came the subway, noisy and yes, a little smelly, but there to be savored, part of my New York City experience. I transferred once, checking my app, and got off at Brooklyn Bridge Station, and prepared to enter the city the only way I should, the only way that did it justice, according to a romance novel I'd read once. It was a beautiful autumn day, the kind of day Jack would've loved, which was fine, since I would love it enough for both of us. I could smell the East River, the brackish tinge where it began to change to salt. I could hear birds, and there was a breeze, not cold, exactly, but hinting that cold was coming. And maybe it was my imagination, because I knew it was there, but it was like I could sense something big out there, waiting to be seen, tasted, experienced.

I climbed the stairs cut into the concrete that were labeled "Pedestrian Walkway," and emerged into bright sunlight, squinting until I remembered to lower my sunglasses. I could see the huge, tall, upright supports of the bridge looming above me, vivid in the morning light. Suddenly, the calling of the birds was much louder, the reflection of the sun off the water impossibly bright.

And there it was.

Manhattan, stretching from my left to my right, from south to north. I could see the Statue of Liberty as a dot off to my left, her size letting me know just how large the glittering buildings in front of me were. There were ships and boats coming and going under me, with larger ones at the broad confluence where the East met the Hudson River. Numerous bridges spanned the East River, though none with the grace and beauty of the Brooklyn Bridge, to my eye.

I began to walk, trying to keep an equal eye on my surroundings and on the skyline, which showed both the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings, rising majestically into the dark blue sky. And though of course there was nothing unusual in this fact, for some reason, the fact that I could see both, at the same time, was amazing to me. I nearly tripped while watching the unmoving skyscrapers of Manhattan.

I finally walked down the incline on the other side, bought myself a sweet donut and cup of coffee from a vendor, and sat in the brisk air on a bench in City Hall Park, watching people go by. It was mainly young people and nannies with strollers at this hour, and I couldn't help but think how wonderful to live in such a city, where the cost of immersing oneself in such vibrance was a coat and scarf, and maybe subway fare.

I rose and found the correct subway to take me to my hotel in Times Square. Again, noisy, smelly, the rhythmic clacking was soothing in its own way as it carried me north, and a mere fifteen minutes later I climbed the stairs into an absolute blizzard of noise and color and smells.

Times Square is like no other place on earth. The signs make night as bright as day, and make day brighter than any day could possibly be. The intersection of Broadway and 42nd Street is not a square at all, though it is in the "public meeting place" sense of the word. It was a completely wonderful overload for my senses, and I stood and looked around myself for a good two or three minutes before even trying to find my hotel.

Eventually, though, I did, and I checked in, took a nap, showered, and went out for the second half of my first day in New York City.

If my family had been with me, they would've told me to take it easy; New York wasn't going anywhere, wait until tomorrow.

But they weren't with me.

I left my hotel and turned north on Broadway, which would take me to Columbus Circle. As I got closer, I could see the tops of the trees, in yellow, orange, light brown, all of the crisp colors of autumn.

It was a scant fifteen minutes to where Columbus Circle met Central Park South. I stood for a moment, just looking.

New York, in all your beauty, I see you.

On my own terms.