My Brush with Life 

I know that when Gertrude Stein said, “There is no there, there” she was referring to Oakland but I think that is only because Plano Texas had not been invented yet. Being raised in the cultural wilderness of north Texas in the 80’s I was a miserable, misunderstood , sensitive and artsy kid. I must have been around 10 years old the first time I told my family that I wanted to move to New York City. All through high school and college I danced from foot to foot, like little kid needing to go potty, anticipating my move and when I finally did at age 22, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

My roommate at the time often joked that he was going to buy me a child harness because I frequently wandered right into the street without looking, so dazzled was I from the excitement all around me. And it was that propensity, for blazing ahead without looking, which nearly ended me.

Autumn in New York, is there anything prettier? Autumn is my favorite season anyway but in New York the air is crisp and the trees in Central park are colors that arouse you just to say their names, much less gaze upon them-- burnt sienna, magenta, aubergine… There is a busyness and crispness to the people, too. Everyone moves around with such purpose and vitality that it’s hard not to feel as if you are an important part of things, somehow. That you’re not simply another bum with your finger on the pulse of the city but that you are an essential element in it. You are helping to move the whole thing forward. And then you step out of your dentist’s office and you pass Neil Simon (or Philip Roth, or Mary Tyler Moore, or that fantastic Phil Hartman, may he rest in peace) and you think: Man, I freaking love this town! Bend over to tie your shoelaces and then look up to see an icon!

But onto my brush with death.

So it was Autumn, as I said, and it was my third month in New York and I had just come from ice skating at Rockefeller Center for the first time. It was just past dusk and my cheeks were flushed from the cold and the rush of circling round and round and did I mention I was 22?! Yes, I was 22 and I had been cast as a dancer in an off, off, Broadway play and I weighed about 100 #s and I was really enjoying my life at that particular moment in time. So I was feeling quite giddy and lost in thought as I stepped into 5^th avenue without looking. Once again I had wandered into the street but this time it was just as a truck had careered towards me and a complete stranger had pulled me from certain death or at least serious flattening by the strap of my back-pack. I’d thought I was being mugged and tried to resist (it all happened so fast) and he had pulled so hard that he lost his balance and then we were both in a heap on the sidewalk. Rendered speechless I started laughing and he started laughing. And he. Was. HANDSOME!

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah”, I said. “Although I’m feeling a little lightheaded now…but thank you, oh my god, thank you so much…” (and then the embarrassment set in and I started rambling) "Oh, my roommate says he needs to buy me a child harness because I just walk out into the street like that all the time and I just moved here from Texas, can you tell, I am such an idiot and Ohmygodiamsosorryand thankyouthankyousooooomuch……I think my blood sugar is dropping…. I’d better go get something to eat. But thank you again.”

We were standing now. I don‘t remember the whole, getting to our feet part but I remember how tall he was and how silky and black his hair was and how I nearly swooned when he smiled down at me and said,

“Well, let’s get something to eat then. Can I buy you dinner?”

Now, Texas me would have said, “Umm, I don’t know. I mean, I don’t even know you. I don’t know your people. You could be some kind of psycho.” But that was the Texas me. The New York me liked to say yes. In fact, “yes” was new New York me’s favorite word.

“Yes!” I said.

We walked over a few blocks to Docks and he ordered EVERYTHING. He was a venture capitalist but he really wanted to be a chef. He had gourmet tastes. He had a lovely Brooklyn accent (I love all accents) and he spoke fluent French. We had NOTHING in common but attraction. We had a bottle of wine and oysters and tuna carpaccio and then cappuccinos and gelato and he walked me back to my apartment in Murray Hill*. And I stood on my tip-toes to give him a hug and he opened up his long wool coat to pull me in closer and I fell into him again-- twice in one night. And then we fell for each other. Hook line and sinker.

We had a romance which lasted many months and he wanted to make it permanent but I was only 22 and had lots of other adventures ahead of me so I eventually set off from Fred, my savior, but I will never forget the night we met.

Today I look both ways before I cross the street. And sadly, I drive a lot more than I walk, too. Today, I watch my mid-thirties grow smaller in my rearview mirror and I look back on little adventures from my 20’s and I smile. While my older, married mommy sisters cluck their tongues and say, “Tick, tock, Dharma! You’d better hurry up!” Or “You shoulda married that one, girl.” And now I am alone and some months I don’t know how I will pay for rent and tuition both and I can hear the ticking, too. And then. And then I look back on my life and I say:

Who gives a damn?! I might not have a hubby or kids but I have had more romance and adventure in my stupid life than anyone could hope to ask for.

So my little brush with death is just another brushstroke in the picture of my life.