“Tally, what is it that seems to ail you?” Dr. Lawson’s tone was old and removed. Who says “ails?” “I’m just tired.” Tally wasn’t tired — at least not at the level that required you to sleep, or better yet pass out. Caffeinated and rested, she felt sadness more than anything in her attempt to fix something she couldn’t quite name yet. This in turn ignited her mood swings and left her unwilling to explore conversations with those in a seat to help her. “I could see in your email that you joined a women’s bicycling group that meets weekly. How’s that going?” “I’m not sure I’m going back. I wanted to try it out, but it doesn’t seem like the right fit.” “Why do you say that?” In her mind, Tally wondered how to verbalize grown women saying hello but only talking about their past training seasons, races, and inside jokes that she couldn’t understand. Inserting herself into conversation felt painful and forced. “Have you ever been othered? I mean in a room of people that advertise they want to be your friend once you pay a membership fee?” “Yes, Tally. I have. It’s a very frustrating, often humiliating feeling. How do you think this feeling or experience can be overcome?” “I don’t, really,” she pondered. “In a city of millions, I’ve learned to be my own best friend.”

Imagine — something so massive in size, so indescribable with human language, so necessary for survival that we paint its name as a mural to decorate the bleak concrete of our city as a reminder, a purpose, a modus operandi. Take notice of what’s important.

Don completed each task with unmatched precision. His crew designated him as, “The Line Lord,” an admirable way of teasing his ability to never require anything but concentration to ensure perfect symmetry. Don didn’t mind much — he took pride in watching pedestrians, adults and kids of all ages, hop over the lines, comment on the beauty of the new repair, and continue on their way. In school, Don’s notebook, full of daily doodles, impressed teachers who often commented to his parents that his level of creative expression was extraordinary for his age. They encouraged his parents to consider after school programs that would enhance and challenge his natural ability. But the Hendersons wouldn’t accept this type of education for their son. They’d jest that if Don gave just a tenth of the concentration to math and science that he did to his drawings, they’d be millionaires. Money would never motivate Don who was driven by making the simple things in life beautiful, accurate, and useful.

We (NYers) collectively complain about it, but we couldn’t go everywhere without it. We cluster together and wait for the means of going to work, play, and in between. We pick each other out when the F / G stop doesn’t make it clear on how to find the R. We hate delays: construction, change to a different line mid ride, or weekend maintenance. We find ourselves agitated elsewhere, when the only option is calling a car. She’s not perfect, but I’ll take her over the other options.

I tried to explain how it happens. It always starts with trying to go to bed. Not to fall asleep, but the act of walking to my bed. It’s 10:54pm and I can make it before 11pm. Record for me. I’ll give myself a time limit. “I’m just reading one more page.” But then I notice the book ends with pictures, so I flip to the end just to take a peek. Ok now that I’m actually finished with that, I can brush my teeth. But on the way to the bathroom, I realize the dishes are still in the sink and I’m unsure if my partner started the dishwasher. So I wake him to ask if the dishes in the dishwasher are clean. He’s sleep talking.. I load what little dishes I can and hand-wash others. Now I can get back to brushing my teeth, but I realize I forgot to do the laundry and I’m out of clean work shirts. The machine is full and I start the cycle, but in my peripheral I can see I overlooked the pans that need washing. Back to the sink… And then it dawns on me. I forgot to do my PT exercises. But I can’t remember the login and if I don’t electronically record them, the doctor won’t think I actually did them. Done. Shew. Now as I go to turn the lights out I realize I am assigned to complete the report of the work day. I forgot. I flip the computer on and finish it within just a couple minutes. It’s 12:50am. It’s tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow to try to sleep normally.

Flowers seemed like a grand gesture, until they withered and died. Jewelry seemed to last forever, until it slipped off his hand. “I do” felt eternal, until she changed her mind.