I went to New York City for the first time when I was seven.
From that trip I can still remember the sound of the flags flapping in the wind at Rockefeller Center,
the chicken wire atop the Empire State Building, the neon gaudiness juxtaposed with
a blackened ocean at Coney Island. I remember climbing into the foot of the Statue
of Liberty and watching the Fourth of July fireworks from atop an apartment in Greenwich
Village.
From that point forward, New York, to me, was magic.
I'm constantly amazed at the tiny little corners of the city that open up to me upon each visit.
A neighborhood bar here. A new place for brunch there. A tiny paper store. A gallery. A plate
of exotic sorbets. Toast at a diner. The mosaic tiles at Grant's tomb. The light pouring through
the windows of the Frick Collection at dusk in winter. The blood red carpet of a fortune
teller's apartment on the Upper West Side.
The last time I saw the World Trade Center Towers was in July before Todd and Hayley's
wedding. I had picked up Laine at her apartment on the Upper West Side and the two of us
drove South on the West Side Highway to go to brunch at Tom's Diner. With the top down,
we looked up to witness their looming, steely frames literally scraping the sky. On Saturday,
driving North on the New Jersey Turnpike, I saw the smoke that has become commonplace over
the course of a week. And though I was not standing, I could feel my knees buckle.
Laine and I took the Subway down to Union Square at 14th Street on Saturday night to see the
memorials. The banners. The signs. The candles. A men's choir sang "New York, New York".
An endless stream of people took photographs and shot video. There were flyers and postcards
and flowers every single place you stepped. We stopped to read the phrases of sorrow and anger and
inspiration and patriotism on one massive banner laid out on the concrete at our feet. Pens were scattered
all around encouraging us to add our own marks, our own thoughts. Laine leaned over to write:
"Remembering Together." As I knelt, I couldn't feel anything. I was at a loss.
Then I suddenly remembered being in that very spot with LA Michael nearly a year ago. His instant
infatuation with all things New York. How dark and quiet and cold the city was that night. Our dinner with
Laine and Jeff, a taxi ride to Times Square. The blending of so many moments during so many different
visits came flooding into my head. And I was left thinking of only one thing to write:

And now, more than ever, it's really that simple.
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