For about four and a half years, I had the life-altering experience of staying in Manhattan in a cramped little building on 24th Street, between 2nd and 3rd Avenue. The apartment was an eight-flight walk up that provided a wonderful workout. My former reason for being in New York carried his bike up and down those stairs numerous times everyday. He was in damn good shape. He was, and probably still is, an actor/musician/waiter. This meant weeks or months gone and when he was home, he was still gone. Rehearsals, auditions, band practice, blah, blah, blah. But, at night I was always told the best bedtime stories and when I was restless, he sang me to sleep. I had all day and many nights to be bored in the big city. This led me to become good buddies with his friend and roommate, Kwajo.
Kwajo was a very tall, very built, soft-spoken man from Kenya. I still list him amongst the sweetest people I've ever met. I would often drift into his room and watch as he attempted to transform it from the cobalt blue man lair the last roommate had created. When he took a break from blue bleeding though white paint after three coats, he would sit down on the floor and roll some smoke. This made an already immensely laid back person supine for a time and when I looked at the notebook next to his bed I found the entire thing was filled with these vast, intricate mazes. Page after page was maze after maze. When I looked over at him, he was laying on his bed, pen in hand, about half way into another one. He offered me a smoke and I figured, sure, what the hell. When I could finally breath again after my lungs went into rebellion, I was even more fascinated by the mazes and uncharacteristically quiet. After we'd listened to Massive Attack for about a decade and had discussed each individual note ad nauseum, we decided to go for a walk.
Manhattan is a wonderful place to walk in. There are parks sprinkled between the beautiful, old buildings and skyscrapers that make up the main part of the island. The people pounding the pavement around you are themselves often wonders to behold.
We headed north and soon found ourselves near Time Square. An amazingly strong desire to eat had overtaken us and we stopped for a slice of the best pizza I've ever had. We then went into the dark, scary back alleys of Time Square. This was before Koch had the idea to "clean it up". I was very glad to have a mountain walking next to me as we explored.
We ended up by the East River watching this helicopter that was stored under the freeway. When it took off, it had to go sideways first and then it could freely fly. This kept us entranced for hours. Soon, it was dark. Empty stomachs and a chill to the air pushed us home.
As we walked, we came upon this odd edifice. It was a vast building surrounded by tall metal fencing opening into a courtyard that had a look of total urban decay. The building was very old and through the windows we saw what looked like guards and some truly odd-looking people. Picture Nick Nolte's mug shot and you'll get the idea. Outside, what once must have been a wonderful garden was overgrown and eerily light by bright spotlights.
We stood, rooted to the spot, as we took everything in. After an age, we turned to each other and an impish smile spread over Kwajo’s face. I swear I almost saw a light bulb go on over his head. He walked over toward a gate in the fence. It was locked by an old chain oxidized well beyond its usefulness. Kwajo took the chain in his hands and broke it apart. I think that is the coolest thing I've ever seen anyone do, hands down. With a quick glance that told us no one had seen what we'd down, we walked through the gate. Pure adrenaline had us walking fast, paranoid of every sound as we made our way to a series of steps that took us down. A bank of musty windows displayed their wares of row upon row of boxes. File boxes. There was some lettering on the boxes we could barely make out. Both of us shifted and tilted as we squinted at the dusty shelves. Was that a b? What’s the rest of that? Bellevue. Bellevue?
Kwajo whispered "This is where the take all the kooks!"
He reached over and tried one of the windows. It opened. That we did not expect. Now, the debate. Do we go in? Do we dare enter into the domain of those that even New York declared crazy? My heart beat so fast; I thought it would burst out of my chest. I could hear it pounding in my ears. I looked over. Kwajos hands shook. A feeling duh swept over me.
"What, are we nuts?"
Self-preservation had kicked in. I believe the term ‘high tailing it out’ of there readily applied. Up the stairs, through the gate and out on to the street where darkness and a chill in the air were very welcome. Looking out onto the street I saw a man having a very pleasant conversation with himself, swaying precariously while relieving himself. He turned to me.
"Look, ma, no hands!"
Yep, that was Bellevue, all right. Kwajo and I didn't make it very far before we collapsed together, laughing. Tears ran down both our faces and my sides ached.
"We just busted into Bellevue!"
"Almost," he said sagely.
"Most people are trying to bust out."
Another round of giggling. When we got home, my former reason for being in New York was already in bed. I burrowed in and he asked what we'd been doing. I gave him a big smile.
"A walk. We just went for a walk."
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