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things worth celebrating--

stories that live in found chair arrangements and also, the people who love them.

117//365

once

I saw myself tumbling down subway steps. knees buckling, limbs folding soundlessly beneath me. I saw it all-- the reactions of people standing on the platform, my bag following its own airborne trajectory. the way I might fight to recover balance, pretend it did not happen. I knew I would never stand at the top of another set of stairs and not imagine this very scenario.

104//365

once

I stopped in chinatown for pork buns and moon cakes but left with a silk cherry red fan instead.

85//365

once

while walking in central park, I spotted what I hoped my future might look like. 

65//365

once

I stood on a crowded train headed for queens. with my suitcase awkwardly sandwiched between my knees, I balanced a book in one hand and gripped a subway strap with the other. I was lost in thought (and wobbling just a little bit) when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. a man traveling with his family offered me his seat. just a few minutes earlier, I'd watched them as we passed the brooklyn bridge, how they'd quietly marveled at the sight of it. kids wide-eyed, adults too. I held onto that little sliver of wonder I'd witnessed, the kindness too, all the way to la guardia. 

40//365

once

I stood on pell street and waited for something to happen. something, anything. but it was already happening, everywhere, all around me.

34//365

once

I met a man in washington square park holding a small cardboard sign that read: IF YOU WANT, I WILL BE YOUR FIRST MARIJUANA MAYOR. we talked about the possibility of this for a few minutes before he slowly flipped the sign over to show me what he'd written in block letters on the back: WHY NOT REPLACE TRUMP WITH ME?

4//365

once

I lost a polaroid portrait of ava in chinatown, somewhere between pell and mott street, I think. She'd stood at the mouth of doyers while sunlight sliced through buildings behind her, turned to look at me and, I made the picture. and then let out a long, slow breath like I do when I think something might be good.

I dumped my bags upside down that night, I couldn't believe it was gone. I have never lost a polaroid, never. ever. I wonder if someone stopped to pick it up. if they took it home, tacked it up on the wall. if they make up stories about it. I wonder if it'll eventually end up at the fleamarket in a box with all the other found photographs. 

I wonder if I remember her more vividly in that moment precisely because I lost the polaroid. 

these are all things I wonder.

292/365

sounds I hear in the background when I listen to my friend jen's messages:

horns honking
brakes screeching
ambient street conversations
muffled announcements
subway trains coming
subway trains going
buses heaving 
urgent, steady beeping
saws, drills and jackhammers 
things, people, bikes, cars whizzing past
women talking
kids laughing
motors revving
the wind

frankly, I need these new york street sounds as much as I need the messages and conversations with my friend. while we're on the subject, I'm not sure what I'd do without the voxer conversations I have going with three friends who live in completely different parts of the country. many times, they have saved me. many, many times.