Side Salad

“I have never been to New York City. “

What a silly statement to make, its no wonder she smiled at me and moved on. She probably hears that from every other person on this flight.  I might as well just tell her I’m an idiot and get it over with.  Why did I tell her? It is none of her business? She didn’t ask to know. Why did I blurt it out like that?

Because I’m scared, that’s why.  I don’t travel well, and when it comes to being on my own I really do not travel well. This entire trip is a challenge. I have to do this; I have to prove to myself that I am not afraid of everything in life and that I can be strong.

“Would you like a drink?”

The flight attendant’s question drew my attention; she was staring at me-- waiting.

“A drink?”

“Yes, a drink. Coke, Diet, Coffee, Water, Sprite….what would you like?”

“Oh, a drink. No thank you.”

The last thing I need is a drink. Then I would have to climb over this fat guy sitting next to me who probably would love having me rub up against him and make my way down that long aisle to the restroom.

I shuttered at the thought. This action piqued the interest of the fat guy next to me. He stared at me, his eyes passing up and down my shivering body. He smiled raising his eyebrows in a Groucho movement.

“You had better not be serious,” I stared out the window the rest of the flight.

I took a deep breathe as the plane landed and remained seated as others fought to debark the plane. The fat guy offered for me to step in front of him in the aisle, but I quickly shook her head no and turned back to the window.

I was the last one to leave the plane. Even the flight attendants left before I finished gathering my carry on, my magazine, water bottle, purse and shopping bag filled with necessary items- a map of New York City, a flashlight, a stopwatch, matches, and a first aid kit. I left the plane and stepped into the gate area to discover it too was relatively empty.

Beat the rush. Good. I don’t like people pushing and shoving me around anyway. Let the idiots run out there in one big mob.

At the airport’s entrance I stepped out into the bright sunlight squinting from the harsh glare. I searched my purse for the snap on sunglasses as a Taxi pulled up to the curb.

“Taxi?” The driver inquired.

“Yes,” I snapped the sunshades on, closed my purse and wrestled my bag and carry on into the cab.  Thanks for the help, dude.

“Driver, I want to go to one of those sidewalk café. You know, where everyone sits at a table on the sidewalk and watches the people go by?”  I nodded to assure the driver that he knew.

“Yes, Yes, I know.”

He pushed the meter flag down and sped away from the curb. Forty minutes later he pulled along side a lovely little café and stopped the cab.

“$65.00.”

“What?”

“$65.00.” The driver held out his hand.

I paid the driver while mumbling bitterly about being taken for a ride and gave fifty cents as a tip. He sped away with my carry on still in the back seat. 

I chose a table in the corner against the building where I felt protected but able to enjoy the traffic. There was a green and white striped canopy stretching out from the building over several rows of the tables. The last two rows were closest to the street and sat in full sunshine.  Between the row and the street was a line of manicured trees planted in three-foot high boxes giving an appearance of sitting in a garden.

“Bonjour,” the waiter announced his presence.

That doesn’t sound Italian.

“Ice tea?”

The waiter nodded, left a menu on the table and hurried back into the restaurant.

I smiled as I looked around. There were, of course, many interesting things to look at- the people passing by, the cars zooming up and down the street right in front of me, the tall buildings, and, of course, the pigeons.

The waiter returned with my tea and then waited for the order. Realizing I needed to give a response I opened the menu and pointed to an item. The waiter frowned at me, took the menu and slowly left the table.

Well here I am, in New York City, the greatest city in the world.

There was only one other table occupied in the garden restaurant- a table in the far right corner near the street, where a couple sat closely with one another.

Big deal. If I looked like Jay-Lo I could date him too.

With the turning of my head to the left I could smell bread baking, and a quaint smell of gas fumes from the street. Above the restaurant were apartments, and from the opened windows music filtered to the street- the soft tones of a guitar.

A mother leaned from one of the windows calling to her son in the street. “You better get your worthless behind up here, now mister!”

I glanced around to see if I could recognize who was being addressed. There was a group of young boys not far from me, but none of them gave indication that they were even aware of a voice from above. They were throwing dice against the building and continued to do so.

Above the sounds of the guitar I could now recognize the cry of a baby.

He’s hungry!

It was just so lovely being on vacation. No work, no alarm clocks, no one telling me what to do. I did it. I am here. Who says I am afraid of life? Here I am in a big city, traveling on my own, ordering in French and losing luggage.  I am a brave woman.

The waiter arrived with my order-- a side salad with house dressing.

“Perfect!”

Others were moving into the area now choosing tables, placing their orders. The sun was setting and the lights on the trees boardering the café lit. It gave a soft glow adding romance to the garden area.

I finished and asked for the check.  $22.50?  I left $25.00 on the table and gathered my shopping bag, magazine and purse moving toward the street. I held my hand up and a cab dutifully swerved into a halt.

“Airport please,” I instructed him.  What a wonderful trip. Next time, I’m going to order a hamburger.

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