Reflecting on what used to be…
The microwave blinks 7:45am as I slip on my shoes in the dark, shoulder my purse, and grab my lunchbox. Gently closing the apartment door so as not to wake my roommate, I start another morning ritual.
The stairs are quicker than waiting for the elevators during morning rush hour, so I take the shortcut and patter my way down several flights, stirring up some of the dust bunnies along the way. The stairwell is gray and silent, save for my footsteps echoing. Every morning, I relish in the stillness and enclosure of these emergency exit stairs. It can feel like a few seconds of protective silo before entering the world of chaos.
Pushing open the heavy, fireproof door, I burst into the lobby and am hit with immediate hustle and bustle. First, the noise — the shuffling of footsteps, up and down the few steps in the connecting corridor; the jangle of dog tags and leases; boisterous greetings as neighbors say hello and good morning; elevator dings; doors opening and closing. Glen, looking smart in his uniform and hat as usual, calls out good morning to each resident, and he never fails to shout in a booming voice that carries the distance, “Good morning, Salina!” which I half turn and casually wave back. I walk quickly across the familiar patterned carpet to the north entrance as two kids run by with their colorful backpacks swinging. I smile brightly at Peter at the front desk, wiping down the counter at the start of his shift. “Good morning, Salina! It’s a beautiful day outside,” he says cheerfully.
The doorman sweeps open the double entry doors, and I inhale the crisp morning air. It is a beautiful day indeed. Looking up, I see the Freedom Tower glistening against the clear blue sky, regally surrounded by its skyscraper peers. From my peripheral, I see a fluffy dog peeing in the landscaped bushes while its owner stood nearby drowsily holding a cup of coffee. I walk along the pedestrian path parallel to the West Side highway, passing the exercise group doing sprints in the park. Cars and trucks alike are in a hurry, carrying their drivers, passengers, or deliveries to another busy start of the day. Traffic lights perform their methodic green, yellow, red show to the sounds of horns, sirens, tire burns. Cyclists getting an early workout in or commuters riding city bike with their suits flapping in the wind whiz by.
On the other side of the walk, construction workers are pounding and drilling away, at least an hour already into their day. The next few blocks are lined with greenery, full of flowers and trees blooming a stark display of color against the blue and gray of the buildings. Coming towards me, a slightly chubby Hispanic man is pulling a cart of coffee dispensers and breakfast sandwiches, the entire cart enveloped in clear plastic wrap. He lifts his black cap and grunts in greeting, as I smile broadly and say good morning, per our daily exchange as we pass each other.
My office building looms on the next corner, and I see a throng of people crossing the street a block ahead, rushing to make the signal. Other fellow colleagues stressed from their morning commutes, most likely having jostled through a crowded subway. Waiting for the final pedestrian light, I suddenly smell the nearby bagel store’s fresh baked bread, carried by the breeze. I take a deep breath, savoring the warm bakery fragrance co-mingled with the crisp air.
Before I enter the office — my destination for the next 11 hours or so — I take one last inhale, channeling the energy I can feel from all around me, the movement and noises of another glorious day as the city wakes.
