One of Jerome's best friends was Gordon Elliott who was attending Columbia University to pursue a master's degree in American Literature. He was fresh from the University of Texas and had come to New York City to pursue his dream of writing fiction. Academia was a comfortable way of landing in New York where he knew no one.
Gordon actually arrived in New York City before Jerome. When Jerome got to the city he looked for his friend at Columbia. He found Gordon so excited because he was learning so much from a girl named Rona in his class.
Gordon had noticed Rona, often by herself, always obsessed with her smartphone where she seemed to be constantly texting and reading messages. Rona Cohen had a dark intensity that promised a keen intellect sharpened in the cultural context of her Jewish heritage. She was stunningly beautiful, and so her countenance was a source of obsession and challenge to Gordon who had plans of conquest if he saw an opportunity. Rona was majoring in medieval literature, and married to Irving Cohen who was the wunderkind of the psychoanalytic world.
Gordon was attracted to Rona, petite, sexy, and vividly alive. Gordon was not without attractive qualities to someone like Rona. He was a Texan, strong, masculine, and a diamond in the rough. She could see he was very smart, but he came to New York knowing nothing, having not read the essential literature. He was essentially a blank slate. Rona thought Gordon was an unconscious genius, and she was more the happy to be his muse, to be his Beatrice.
They became lovers and were inseparable, with Rona taking on his education in a crash program of analyzing masterpieces of the world's greatest literature. But Gordon benefitted from an extremely gifted scholar who not only knew the masterpieces he should attend to, but also the critical reviews and theories that were essential to complete his education.
It was incredibly thrilling to for Gordon who found their bouts in bed awesome and inspiring. Rona was constantly taking selfies of them as a couple and posting them on FaceBook. Some of them were of them together in bed, looking relaxed and reading the Sunday Times. They became an item in the New York gossip circuits. Every moment she was pushing his career, urging him to write.
As Gordon's Muse, Rona had considerable effect. She inspired him to write, to publish. He started to connect with stories in The New Yorker, and in some obscure literary journals where he could experiment with form.
The Cohen couple's best friend was their high school buddy who had become one of the most important celebrities in the entertainment business. You would recognize him instantly, but he has asked to remain anonymous, since his identity would not add anything to this narrative. It is only pertinent because the four of them hung out together: the Celebrity, Irving, Rona, and Gordon. They were known as the Quartet, and pictures of them at various clubs, pubs, and the latest celebrity chef hangouts often appeared in the New York press and the Internet.
Through it all, Rona's husband Irving was calm, reflective, and understanding. He knew Rona had to have her fling, but he knew she would be back. Irving became a good friend of Gordon, and this was a source of wonder for Gordon, who doubted he could be as gracious if Irving was bedding his wife.
As Gordon completed his studies, he accepted a position teaching at the University of Alaska. In the late summer, as August rounded the corner to September, he asked Rona to go to Alaska with him. This was an extremely significant and passionate exchange. She was deeply in love with Gordon, but she still felt a loyalty to her husband Irving.
Gordon sold most of his belongings and raised enough money to buy a motorcycle, a Harley-Davidson Road Glide. He left the showroom and headed for the Cohen Townhouse. Rona had texted him not to come, but he went anyway and parked his cycle at the Cohen doorstep. Rona opened the door and and went down to Gordon. He was quite, strong, and insistent, and in the end, Rona mounted the steps and returned after a few moments with some clothes, some books, lipstick, and a purse. She climbed on the motorcycle behind Gordon and wrapped her arms around him. He handed her a helmet and adjusted his own.
The sound of the Harley Davidson exploding to life on 10th Street in the village shook the windows violently and seemed an assault on the neighborhood. Gordon sat there and reved the engine a few times, each blast rattling the windows and trashcans nearby. He slowly pulled away from the Cohen Townhouse with Rona clinging to him.
Then Rona and Gordon pursued their cross-country adventure toward Alaska and a new future.
They raced across the George Washington Bridge and headed west on highway 80, Rona clinging to the love of her life as they crossed the Delaware Water Gap and headed west through Pennsylvania with the wind whipping away like a major windstorm. Rona could feel the wind burning her face.
Rona lasted until Chicago. Then she quietly boarded a train and headed back to Irving and her life in New York. Even Muses have their limits.
Gordon continued to Alaska and started living with a sweet young coed from Seattle. She was blonde, friendly, and open. The exact opposite of Rona. Rona went on to become a world renowned scholar of secret societies, and Gordon wrote short stories of life in Alaska. Irving Cohen became the foremost practitioner of integrative healthcare, world renowned for a therapy of the imagination.
The coed from Seattle would always address Gordon by his last name. She invariably called him Elliott. He simply could not persuade her to call him Gordon. As a result, he changed his first name from Gordon to Elliott and became known as Elliott Elliott.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Thursday, September 17, 2015
KARLA'S WORLD
Karla was from Kansas, but now she worked at NBC, attached to the newsroom. She loved going to Rockefeller City, and walking around the area on her lunch break, if the weather was nice. She was a good worker and everyone liked her. She knew all the famous newscasters and personalities, and they all knew her. She was even FaceBook friends with some of them. She was on a trajectory to become famous. It was just a matter of time. She already had acquired more than 300 FB friends without trying.
It was September, but summer clung to the air as if it would never let go. She had spent a dull summer. She did't even visit her parents back home. She never talked much about Kansas, but her favorite painting was Wyeth's Christina's World. She finally saw the original in MOMA. She had seen the painting in an art book her parents owned. It was of a girl crawling and looking longingly across a flat plain at a house in the distance. Karla always assumed it was Kansas. In fact, it was Maine.
This misconception was indicative of an overall perceptive disconnect in Karla's life. Most of her assumptions about life and how to live were based on vague premises that never quite fit reality. She had come to New York to be discovered and become famous.
Karla decided she was an actress, so she hung out at a repertory theatre in the village that was run by a writer who thought he was Tennessee Williams. He would write long, rambling plays based on his growing up in the south. Wannabe actors would pay him to perform in his plays so they could get exposure and experience. Most of Karla's friends came from that crowd. She would get an occasional small role, and tried to speak with a southern accent.
She had a husky voice and great eyes, for which she used too much make-up. Being fresh from the plains, she had been in New York for about a year. She had a Tom Boyish quality, and some of her acquaintances thought she was gay. But Karla liked guys, and she was always on the prowl, except it was a life she kept entirely private.
When first in New York, she drove with her theatre friends to Maine to see a total eclipse. She had her first fresh lobster at a little restaurant on the bay. It arrived freshly boiled with a tiny fork in its claws and was propped up looking at Karla. She didn't know what to do so she started struggling at getting some meat from the lobster. She tried to hold it, but the buttered creature would slip out of her hands as though it was still alive. Finally in frustration she exclaimed, "I'd love to eat ya sweety, but your legs are crossed." Everyone in the restaurant burst into laughter.
Shortly after Karla started working at NBC a certain famous comedian and director was going through relationship problems. Some mutual friends who had met Karla at a party arranged for her to meet him on a blind date at a Chinese Restaurant on the upper west side. They thought she might make a great girl friend. She had a great sense of humor, and they knew she had seen him around the Rockefeller Building because the comedian had been writing for the Tonight Show.
His friends went with him to the restaurant. They arrived a few minutes early and decided to start ordering while they waited for Karla.
Time passed. They decided to go ahead and eat. Thirty minutes later, Karla walks in nonchalantly, without a care. She was dressed to kill, really made up like a doll. She and the comedian were introduced, and he was very sweet to her. He said, "Karla, you must be hungry. Sorry we started without you... here, let me help you catch up with us."
He took some tongs and started piling food on a plate. "You should try these noodles, and here are some dumplings, and chop suey..." He kept piling the food until he could barely hold the plate. "Sorry, we're all outa motzah balls!"
With that, he threw the plate down in front of Karla and stormed out of the restaurant, leaving her and his friends stunned and speechless.
Karla's life was like that. She had skirmishes and near hits with fame. She hung out in the center of New York across the street from Radio City Music Hall, but she was just a few inches too short to be a Rockette.
That was it. Although she often was in the vicinity, she was always falling short of fame, kind of like that girl Christina who was forever crawling across that prairie field toward the house in the distance, but never getting there.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
SLEEPING BEAUTY
Usually you might not notice Koko, which you should find mystifying because Koko was statuesque and ravishingly beautiful. She should have caused a crowd in a room to suddenly stop talking when she entered, because her presence was potentially spectacular. Her skin was flawless, alabaster and translucent. Her smoldering eyes could be inexplicably deep and compelling, except that she would never look at anyone.
This mysterious aloofness was not because Koko was fashionably inaccessible or naively detached. It was not because she was so completely self-assured and in control of her destiny, although to look at her you could have thought this should be the essence of her.
At the heart of this enigma was that Koko Minami seemed to have no idea who she was or why she was on this planet. Although men pursued her, she could not believe that anyone could really take an interest in her.
Koko had come to New York from Japan to escape her family. She strove to be anonymous. She did not friend many people on FaceBook, and she seldom used her phone to text anyone.
Her girl friends didn't really know her, but still tried to be the best of friends. Koko would occasionally go to movies with them or go to some popular restaurants or local clubs. On those occasions, her girlfriends often went home with guys they met, and Koko would go home alone.
Koko wandered through her life as though she had lost her way. She was not happy, but at the same time she didn't think of herself as unhappy. She preferred a quiet, simple life. For a while, Koko was a student at city university because it was a place where she could get by unnoticed.
There was Jerome, an older man she met in Central Park who spent his time watching people. Jerome recognized Koko's remarkable beauty and was mystified why she was so alone. He predicted someday she would surprise herself. He thought of her as slumbering through life as though she was in incubation.
Koko's days passed unremarkably. She would walk around her neighborhood on the upper East side, and then find herself in the rotunda of the Guggenheim, or wandering around the Metropolitan Museum saturated from overexposure to so much art.
She would spend long hours alone, often sleeping the day away, with nights becoming days and days becoming nights.
And then quite suddenly Koko disappeared.
On FaceBook appeared a most phenomenal posting. Using Check-in, Koko revealed she was at JFK waiting to board a plane for Paris. Her global positioning confirmed her location. Friends read her FaceBook status in bewilderment. Koko in Paris?
But indeed, in Paris, Koko became the exotic toast of the town. Emerging from the Paris Hilton in a provocative red dress that underscored her flaming sensuousness, Koko was pursued by an Italian film director who had fallen into obscurity but recognized that Koko was his ticket for a comeback. Perhaps the most incredible turn of events was that the camera positively loved Koko The camera embraced her incredible frame, her glowing complexion, and what had become a radiant, penetrating smile that could melt your heart.
Koko Minami became Coco Chenille. She never looked back as she enjoyed international acclaim in films and managed to go through several famous European directors and even one aging and popular American filmmaker, eventually becoming a celebrated director in her own right.
Jerome was somewhat astonished in later years when he went to the Angelika to see a film Awakening which starred his beautiful friend from Central Park. He found her transformation breathtaking. He thought maybe he had witnessed a subtle pattern of evolution.
Koko literally really did disappear. Emerging from her cocoon was the beautiful butterfly Coco who amazingly happened upon her place in the sun.
This mysterious aloofness was not because Koko was fashionably inaccessible or naively detached. It was not because she was so completely self-assured and in control of her destiny, although to look at her you could have thought this should be the essence of her.
At the heart of this enigma was that Koko Minami seemed to have no idea who she was or why she was on this planet. Although men pursued her, she could not believe that anyone could really take an interest in her.
Koko had come to New York from Japan to escape her family. She strove to be anonymous. She did not friend many people on FaceBook, and she seldom used her phone to text anyone.
Her girl friends didn't really know her, but still tried to be the best of friends. Koko would occasionally go to movies with them or go to some popular restaurants or local clubs. On those occasions, her girlfriends often went home with guys they met, and Koko would go home alone.
Koko wandered through her life as though she had lost her way. She was not happy, but at the same time she didn't think of herself as unhappy. She preferred a quiet, simple life. For a while, Koko was a student at city university because it was a place where she could get by unnoticed.
There was Jerome, an older man she met in Central Park who spent his time watching people. Jerome recognized Koko's remarkable beauty and was mystified why she was so alone. He predicted someday she would surprise herself. He thought of her as slumbering through life as though she was in incubation.
Koko's days passed unremarkably. She would walk around her neighborhood on the upper East side, and then find herself in the rotunda of the Guggenheim, or wandering around the Metropolitan Museum saturated from overexposure to so much art.
She would spend long hours alone, often sleeping the day away, with nights becoming days and days becoming nights.
And then quite suddenly Koko disappeared.
On FaceBook appeared a most phenomenal posting. Using Check-in, Koko revealed she was at JFK waiting to board a plane for Paris. Her global positioning confirmed her location. Friends read her FaceBook status in bewilderment. Koko in Paris?
But indeed, in Paris, Koko became the exotic toast of the town. Emerging from the Paris Hilton in a provocative red dress that underscored her flaming sensuousness, Koko was pursued by an Italian film director who had fallen into obscurity but recognized that Koko was his ticket for a comeback. Perhaps the most incredible turn of events was that the camera positively loved Koko The camera embraced her incredible frame, her glowing complexion, and what had become a radiant, penetrating smile that could melt your heart.
Koko Minami became Coco Chenille. She never looked back as she enjoyed international acclaim in films and managed to go through several famous European directors and even one aging and popular American filmmaker, eventually becoming a celebrated director in her own right.
Jerome was somewhat astonished in later years when he went to the Angelika to see a film Awakening which starred his beautiful friend from Central Park. He found her transformation breathtaking. He thought maybe he had witnessed a subtle pattern of evolution.
Koko literally really did disappear. Emerging from her cocoon was the beautiful butterfly Coco who amazingly happened upon her place in the sun.
Monday, September 14, 2015
CHOGA
Benjamin plodded along Bleecker Street headed west toward Sixth Avenue or Avenue of the Americas as it had been dubbed in 1945 by Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia. That was before Benjamin had come to New York in the 70s. Benjamin had come to The Big Apple to seek his fortune, but it isn't clear just exactly how that turned out. Clearly, Benjamin was not wealthy, and as he walked along Bleecker he noticed how much it had changed when it was the center of the burgeoning music world of jazz, folk, and rock clubs that peppered the street with thousands of visitors milling around seeking the latest acts. Now the clubs had been replaced by drugstores and banks, The Village Gate was barely a memory, and Bleecker was becoming bleaker.
As Benjamin crossed La Guardia Place, he glanced up at a place that had almost been like a second home to him, a tiny Korean restaurant named Choga, up a flight, above The Bitter End. It was closed now... not exactly boarded up, but empty and lifeless.
Benjamin paused, and for a moment he felt inclined to struggle up the steps as though this might magically make Choga reappear. Maybe something like that should happen, he thought. Maybe like Brigadoon, Choga could appear every hundred years when something magical might happen to people who came looking for adventures in the Village.
For Benjamin, Choga was a place of enchantment. The owner and cook was Mi-sook who had come to New York from Jeju Island, by way of Daegu. She added a regional touch to her Korean offerings, not that Benjamin would have known, since although he liked Korean food, he had no experience beyond Korean Barbecue and Kimchi. Mi-sook's repertoire was far more varied, and she often cooked custom dishes for her friends that never found their way to the menu.
Benjamin had been introduced to Choga by his friend and colleague, Andrei, a composer from Romania. Benjamin regarded Andrei as the first true world citizen he had ever met. Andrei used Choga as a gathering place for friends to make plans for outrageous events in the village. Now Andrei was gone. Choga was gone. Benjamin felt as though his world was disappearing.
As he looked upstairs at the empty space that had once been Choga, he noticed the name and logos were still in place although it had been closed for almost a year. October was near at hand, and the Village seemed poised for a celebration of Autumn and the end of summer. Benjamin remembered the many feasts and celebrations in Choga with his friends. He had met Mi-sook because he had been talking about someone he had heard about called Mi-sook, and the waitress told her boss that someone was talking about her at one of the tables. Mi-sook came to inquire, and all at once they became old friends as though they had already known each other from another time.
Choga had closed suddenly, without warning, and Benjamin frantically tried to contact Mi-sook, but she had disappeared. He and his friends had so many celebrations of events, happenings, birthdays, and holidays, that it was hard for Benjamin to imagine his life without his second home. Every Sunday night he would have dinner at Choga and contact his friends through his smartphone. It had become a ritual. He even documented the many different dishes and posted them on FaceBook. Mi-sook had introduced Benjamin to Makgeolli, Korean rice wine, and would often offer an especially rare brand "on the house," for special occasions.
It was very quiet on Bleecker. Night was coming. Benjamin waved at the upstairs as though Mi-sook might be looking through the window. Many times she had watched him walking on Bleecker and waved to him. He felt a rush of emotion and tears welled up in his eyes.
What had disappeared was more than a restaurant. It was a way of life, a brief reality so precious that he never realized how fleeting and transient such treasures can be. If only once he could embrace that reality, celebrate it. He tried to keep such moments vividly alive, but Time erodes such corridors of permanence.
This is how it happens, he thought. We continue to remember even as we disappear.
Even so, Choga would always be a place he would return to in his mind, a haven for remembering some of his best moments and friends. As he continued along Bleecker he picked up his pace and smiled at people passing by. Benjamin felt something was enduring there on Bleecker Street. Despite the many changes eroding our sensibilities, there is substance to the past that shapes the present. He heard an echo of Choga resonating even as it faded into history... seemingly lingering forever.
As Benjamin crossed La Guardia Place, he glanced up at a place that had almost been like a second home to him, a tiny Korean restaurant named Choga, up a flight, above The Bitter End. It was closed now... not exactly boarded up, but empty and lifeless.
Benjamin paused, and for a moment he felt inclined to struggle up the steps as though this might magically make Choga reappear. Maybe something like that should happen, he thought. Maybe like Brigadoon, Choga could appear every hundred years when something magical might happen to people who came looking for adventures in the Village.
For Benjamin, Choga was a place of enchantment. The owner and cook was Mi-sook who had come to New York from Jeju Island, by way of Daegu. She added a regional touch to her Korean offerings, not that Benjamin would have known, since although he liked Korean food, he had no experience beyond Korean Barbecue and Kimchi. Mi-sook's repertoire was far more varied, and she often cooked custom dishes for her friends that never found their way to the menu.
Benjamin had been introduced to Choga by his friend and colleague, Andrei, a composer from Romania. Benjamin regarded Andrei as the first true world citizen he had ever met. Andrei used Choga as a gathering place for friends to make plans for outrageous events in the village. Now Andrei was gone. Choga was gone. Benjamin felt as though his world was disappearing.
As he looked upstairs at the empty space that had once been Choga, he noticed the name and logos were still in place although it had been closed for almost a year. October was near at hand, and the Village seemed poised for a celebration of Autumn and the end of summer. Benjamin remembered the many feasts and celebrations in Choga with his friends. He had met Mi-sook because he had been talking about someone he had heard about called Mi-sook, and the waitress told her boss that someone was talking about her at one of the tables. Mi-sook came to inquire, and all at once they became old friends as though they had already known each other from another time.
Choga had closed suddenly, without warning, and Benjamin frantically tried to contact Mi-sook, but she had disappeared. He and his friends had so many celebrations of events, happenings, birthdays, and holidays, that it was hard for Benjamin to imagine his life without his second home. Every Sunday night he would have dinner at Choga and contact his friends through his smartphone. It had become a ritual. He even documented the many different dishes and posted them on FaceBook. Mi-sook had introduced Benjamin to Makgeolli, Korean rice wine, and would often offer an especially rare brand "on the house," for special occasions.
It was very quiet on Bleecker. Night was coming. Benjamin waved at the upstairs as though Mi-sook might be looking through the window. Many times she had watched him walking on Bleecker and waved to him. He felt a rush of emotion and tears welled up in his eyes.
What had disappeared was more than a restaurant. It was a way of life, a brief reality so precious that he never realized how fleeting and transient such treasures can be. If only once he could embrace that reality, celebrate it. He tried to keep such moments vividly alive, but Time erodes such corridors of permanence.
This is how it happens, he thought. We continue to remember even as we disappear.
Even so, Choga would always be a place he would return to in his mind, a haven for remembering some of his best moments and friends. As he continued along Bleecker he picked up his pace and smiled at people passing by. Benjamin felt something was enduring there on Bleecker Street. Despite the many changes eroding our sensibilities, there is substance to the past that shapes the present. He heard an echo of Choga resonating even as it faded into history... seemingly lingering forever.
Saturday, September 12, 2015
THE WHOLE RIGAMAROLE
George was both elated and distressed as he stood on the deck of Staten Island Ferry while it pulled away from the ferry slip. He watched as the ferry churned toward toward Manhattan, away from the myserteous woman who had dominated his thoughts. He could only imagine what she must think, but the most startling development was that she appeared to recognize him! He could hardly believe his eyes when he thought she had noticed and remembered him. Yes. that was definitely a wave, he thought, and she really smiled!
His thoughts raced feverishly as to what he should do. Of course, he would catch the return ferry, but now it was evening, and the ferry crossings were fewer. She would wait for him. But would she? Maybe she would have the same idea and take the next ferry to Manhattan to find him!
But wait! What if all of this was just a fantasy? Just an illusion? George staggered backward and crumpled to the bench at the rear of the ferry. He watched as he continue to pull away from Staten Island. Hadn't he wondered if she had even existed at all...whether or not his encounter with this stranger and her butterfly in Washington Square Park was just a figment of his imagination?
What should he do? He was now halfway back to Manhattan. He took out his phone. He was so stupid! Why hadn't he thought to take a picture? That could have proved it wasn't just a dream. Yes, he should have the presence of mind to document his adventures. He started to think on the power of these smartphones... but if they are so smart why couldn't they use the global positioning technology to identify her frequency so he could track her and find her? Yes, he thought, they could that. Suddenly he thought maybe smartphones are not smart enough. If they were smarter he wouldn't be in this predicament. Just a few clicks and he could know where she was and who she was.
All at once George began to realize that Irving Berlin had anticipated this whole smartphone revolution in All Alone. How could he have known the phone would become the basis for relationships in the 21st century?
All alone,
By the telephone...
Waiting for a ring
A ting-a-ling
I'm all alone every evening
All alone feeling blue
Wondering where you are
And how you are
And if you are
All alone too...
(Just for a moment you were mine, and then
You seemed to vanish like a dream).
Amazing, George thought, except maybe now it is "All alone WITH the smartphone." He thought about all the people walking on the street caressing their phones.
George was alone, but still clung to hope. He had been astonished to see her again against at all odds, only to watch her vanish! Irving Berlin's melody was running through his head, distracting him from his real objective. He needed to figure out how to find her.
But this mysterious woman who seemed to hold George's destiny in her hands was oblivious to his distress and unaware she had triggered an identity crisis in this strange man who seemed to stalk her, but also appeared not to be a threat. Sylvia thought perhaps they would talk, but things took a strange turn when she left the park, half afraid that maybe he was deliberately following her.
This was Sylvia's last evening in New York, and on a whim, she had decided to ride the Staten Island Ferry. It was always such fun, and this summer day had been so beautiful. The ferry would give her a last glimpse of her favorite sky-line and remind her of all the wonderful moments spent in New York City after so many years of absence.
But she did become concerned during the ferry ride. She noticed the man who had followed her into the park had now apparently followed her to the ferry and maybe really was stalking her!
As the ferry came to the landing, Sylvia panicked and ran ahead losing herself in the crowd. She could see him running after her, but looking confused and agitated. She knew he would attempt to follow her, so she ran toward the return gate for the ferry. He would assume she had come for a round-trip ride. She disappeared into the women's restrooms.
True to form, George followed her and surmised she had boarded the return ferry. It would be perfect. He would introduce himself, and they would talk. Maybe even become friends. He thought he saw her ahead. He rushed to catch up. For a moment, he went to a woman with long flowing black hair, but it turned out to be a false alarm. Then the Ferry whistle blew, the gates were lowered and the Ferry cast off. George continued to search the different decks.
Sylva had seen him rush onto the ferry and felt relieved that she had escaped. Maybe he was dangerous. But as she thought about it, he seemed intense with a certain abandonment that she found attractive. In fact, on one level she thought he might be interesting to know. Why was she always so cautious, she wondered? She began to regret that she had tricked him to get on the return ferry.
She pressed forward to the ferry entrance and watched as the ferry departed its moorings. Then she saw him looking back at the ferry slip. She caught his eye. She smiled and waved at him. She wasn't sure why, but she could see that he recognized her waving and seemed so jubilant. Now she was certain she had been too cautious and hoped she might meet him.
And this is how the whole rigamarole began. George caught the return boat to Staten Island and Sylvia headed for Manhattan. For the rest of the evening they went round and round, always out of phase, never really touching. Finally Sylvia had to leave for JFK ,and George would probably still be passing the Statue of Liberty in both directions if he thought there was the slightest chance he would find her.
He was convinced there was something magical about her. He thought Rodgers and Hart had nailed it when they created:
I'm wild again, beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again,
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I...
That was it! He knew it. She had bewitched him that day in the park, that mysterious woman who could gesture to butterflies to land in her lap.
George never lost hope of finding her. He would dance around the places where he had seen her, celebrating her existence and singing "I took one look at you, that's all I meant to do, and then my heart stood still..."
He walked around and sometimes floated on air as he continued to search for her in Manhattan. He danced along the wharfs and piers, and made a ritual pilgrimage to Staten Island every week hoping against hope that he might see her.
There was something quite innocent and magnificent about George and his imagination. The world was always challenging him to rise above the mundane. To find adventure and to make miracles. George liked that about the world.
Yet, George could not forget the mysterious woman who had so beguiled him. He thought she embodied all that he had been searching for his whole life. He continued to search. He continued to hope.
His thoughts raced feverishly as to what he should do. Of course, he would catch the return ferry, but now it was evening, and the ferry crossings were fewer. She would wait for him. But would she? Maybe she would have the same idea and take the next ferry to Manhattan to find him!
But wait! What if all of this was just a fantasy? Just an illusion? George staggered backward and crumpled to the bench at the rear of the ferry. He watched as he continue to pull away from Staten Island. Hadn't he wondered if she had even existed at all...whether or not his encounter with this stranger and her butterfly in Washington Square Park was just a figment of his imagination?
What should he do? He was now halfway back to Manhattan. He took out his phone. He was so stupid! Why hadn't he thought to take a picture? That could have proved it wasn't just a dream. Yes, he should have the presence of mind to document his adventures. He started to think on the power of these smartphones... but if they are so smart why couldn't they use the global positioning technology to identify her frequency so he could track her and find her? Yes, he thought, they could that. Suddenly he thought maybe smartphones are not smart enough. If they were smarter he wouldn't be in this predicament. Just a few clicks and he could know where she was and who she was.
All at once George began to realize that Irving Berlin had anticipated this whole smartphone revolution in All Alone. How could he have known the phone would become the basis for relationships in the 21st century?
All alone,
By the telephone...
Waiting for a ring
A ting-a-ling
I'm all alone every evening
All alone feeling blue
Wondering where you are
And how you are
And if you are
All alone too...
(Just for a moment you were mine, and then
You seemed to vanish like a dream).
Amazing, George thought, except maybe now it is "All alone WITH the smartphone." He thought about all the people walking on the street caressing their phones.
George was alone, but still clung to hope. He had been astonished to see her again against at all odds, only to watch her vanish! Irving Berlin's melody was running through his head, distracting him from his real objective. He needed to figure out how to find her.
But this mysterious woman who seemed to hold George's destiny in her hands was oblivious to his distress and unaware she had triggered an identity crisis in this strange man who seemed to stalk her, but also appeared not to be a threat. Sylvia thought perhaps they would talk, but things took a strange turn when she left the park, half afraid that maybe he was deliberately following her.
This was Sylvia's last evening in New York, and on a whim, she had decided to ride the Staten Island Ferry. It was always such fun, and this summer day had been so beautiful. The ferry would give her a last glimpse of her favorite sky-line and remind her of all the wonderful moments spent in New York City after so many years of absence.
But she did become concerned during the ferry ride. She noticed the man who had followed her into the park had now apparently followed her to the ferry and maybe really was stalking her!
As the ferry came to the landing, Sylvia panicked and ran ahead losing herself in the crowd. She could see him running after her, but looking confused and agitated. She knew he would attempt to follow her, so she ran toward the return gate for the ferry. He would assume she had come for a round-trip ride. She disappeared into the women's restrooms.
True to form, George followed her and surmised she had boarded the return ferry. It would be perfect. He would introduce himself, and they would talk. Maybe even become friends. He thought he saw her ahead. He rushed to catch up. For a moment, he went to a woman with long flowing black hair, but it turned out to be a false alarm. Then the Ferry whistle blew, the gates were lowered and the Ferry cast off. George continued to search the different decks.
Sylva had seen him rush onto the ferry and felt relieved that she had escaped. Maybe he was dangerous. But as she thought about it, he seemed intense with a certain abandonment that she found attractive. In fact, on one level she thought he might be interesting to know. Why was she always so cautious, she wondered? She began to regret that she had tricked him to get on the return ferry.
She pressed forward to the ferry entrance and watched as the ferry departed its moorings. Then she saw him looking back at the ferry slip. She caught his eye. She smiled and waved at him. She wasn't sure why, but she could see that he recognized her waving and seemed so jubilant. Now she was certain she had been too cautious and hoped she might meet him.
And this is how the whole rigamarole began. George caught the return boat to Staten Island and Sylvia headed for Manhattan. For the rest of the evening they went round and round, always out of phase, never really touching. Finally Sylvia had to leave for JFK ,and George would probably still be passing the Statue of Liberty in both directions if he thought there was the slightest chance he would find her.
He was convinced there was something magical about her. He thought Rodgers and Hart had nailed it when they created:
I'm wild again, beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again,
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I...
That was it! He knew it. She had bewitched him that day in the park, that mysterious woman who could gesture to butterflies to land in her lap.
George never lost hope of finding her. He would dance around the places where he had seen her, celebrating her existence and singing "I took one look at you, that's all I meant to do, and then my heart stood still..."
He walked around and sometimes floated on air as he continued to search for her in Manhattan. He danced along the wharfs and piers, and made a ritual pilgrimage to Staten Island every week hoping against hope that he might see her.
There was something quite innocent and magnificent about George and his imagination. The world was always challenging him to rise above the mundane. To find adventure and to make miracles. George liked that about the world.
Yet, George could not forget the mysterious woman who had so beguiled him. He thought she embodied all that he had been searching for his whole life. He continued to search. He continued to hope.
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