She spoke to him in Japanese -- as if there were no question as to whether he understood it or not. But I had my doubts based on the look in his big brown eyes staring back up at her.
From the first minute I stepped into her apartment, I was in love with the place. A quintessential 5th-floor walk-up in Greenwich Village, maybe 400 square feet at most, eclectic meets shabby chic for style. I loved the eccentricities of it all. From the way she had mirrors fit for royalty mounted on the wall to the retro barbershop chairs for seating in the living room. It felt as though I had just stepped into a television set.
If you met Emi in person, she'd be just as kind as the style of her place. Though she wouldn't say too much in English, she prefers to stick with her native Japanese. I can't say I blame her based on how beautiful it sounded when she it rolled off her tongue and towards him. As if she expected him to respond. Maybe she was telling him about her day, or maybe she was asking him questions. I have no way of knowing. His big brown eyes just watching her talk. And when she would finish, he'd give a yippy bark as if to say, "I hear ya, girl." He was a good dog, a good listener and she dressed him up in little yellow sweaters to keep him warm in the often times drafty apartment. My new airbnb friends, though not so chatty with me, were a warm welcome to my new city.
Having booked the apartment for the week, it relieved a little bit of pressure knowing I had 7 days to find a more permanent place to live. Thanks to countless tips from friends and friends of friends, I had plenty of leads to go see when I arrived in the city. And two days later, I was celebrating the signing of my first NYC apartment. It's beginning to feel real, as if I'm staying here. As if this isn't a vacation after all, and tonight I won't fly home to Nashville just in time for work on Monday, but instead I'll walk 5 blocks Southeast and into a whole new world.
This week has been good to me. I haven't been constantly running; it's been filled with fun, but just as much with writing and quiet time, watching the snow fall and observing students cram for finals. Where every day feels like Saturday and her cat coughs like a human. Some mornings it's just too cold to get out of bed.
Today I moved into my new Chelsea apartment, but I hope it never feels too much like home. For one, Nashville can never be replaced. And, too, there's something about being in a new place, your senses are keen to every movement, every sound, every taste and smell. (Sometimes I wish I could skip the smells in this city.) But I'm taking these experiences, absorbing them through my skin and using them to fuel some writing. So when it feels lonely, I will share these words and maybe together we can live this experience. It's much more fun with a friend along.
Speaking of...
I was lucky enough to have one of my best friends here during my moving week. We spent a fair amount of time visiting the holiday markets and letting fate lead us into some of the most interesting of neighborhood restaurants. One of which was by accident when we were lost in Greenwich Village. It was the most perfect of finds, a small cozy nook seating a handful of people around a friendly bar. Where a banker sat to our right and a Brooklyner made our meal. The most curious of its decor, though, came from the restroom where posted for patrons to read was one heartfelt letter written by Roland Bartels of Oak Park Street. His letter entitled "Why Write????" told his personal tale of how 'something just builds up inside of me and my one finger just keeps on telling what I am thinking.' I couldn't help but think I share this same story.
We thought we were lost, but something tells me that we'd been found.
A reminder of why I write. Not just to tell the story of what's happening. But to tell the story of my heart.
Miss y'all. Love y'all.