Taking a bite of the Big Apple
Week in review
It’s been four nights since I returned to New York, and I’ve done everything I can to keep my mind from Rusty - going out to bars, eyeing and flirting with men all night, drinking and smoking myself into a torrid coma until there’s just enough time in the day to get ready for the night.
In the heady heat of New York City’s limitless summer partying, I feel as if I’ve finally climbed out of the proverbial pit. I’m no longer crying every night. I don’t have the feeling of being overwhelmed. Yes, I still think about Rusty, but my grief comes in ripples instead of waves. Am I on track in the stages of grieving, or is this another beguiling calm before a terrible storm?
Whichever it is, I decide, like every other New Yorker, to simply live in the moment. For now, to be drained physically - rather than emotionally - every night when I go to bed is preferable, and certainly a lot less confusing. I don’t want to keep processing. I want to be strong and accomplish things. I’ve always been a quick study, excelled others in my academic and professional lives; in my own grief management, I want to apply this same ethic and hold myself up to the same expectations.
But at the back of my mind, I keep thinking about last week when I spent five days in Virginia with Rusty’s mom. I see myself sitting out on Peggy’s front porch, cradling my knees and staring out into the woods. I see myself in Rusty’s bed, eyes to the ceiling trying to make his face out in the dark. I hear myself sniffling, my strength suddenly, mysteriously submerged in quiet weeping.
In the country, there is no agenda to distract you. Life is a list of chores and the great wide fields, impenetrable forests and swimming holes to dip in. Cities are different. To experience life here is to expect the provocative tease of single men, hip new restaurants and the latest clubs to be seen at.
And New York, is the capital of cities. The city of all cities, Manhattan is so electrically alive it jolts its inhabitants into action, to keep moving. The mating ritual is frenzied, compressed. There is always one more drink to down, one more bar still open. Of course, taking a bite of the Big Apple is no sin, but I can’t help but wonder: When I finally stand still, and the partying is over, will my grief come back in full force; will I have bitten off more than I can chew?
June 27th, 2007 at 7:41 pm
I wish I could help in some way. But only time will lessen your pain. Please know that I’m thinking of you.
June 29th, 2007 at 5:11 pm
My guess is that your grief will sneak up on you. But, you can obviously chew an awful lot.