It feels obvious that all the uptown trains also go downtown. Almost in a what goes up, must come down kind of way. But, when I first moved here I was utterly oblivious. The city was such a mysterious maze to me that I thought the trains had to be, too. And yes, while they weave and contort, taking right angles and running along the hypotenuse, they aren’t shy. Their signs tell their complete story. This one equals up. The one across the street? That’s down.
Since being here, the rest of the city’s puzzle hasn’t been cracked. I walk and walk (and walk) as much as I can. Racking up miles and collecting storefronts like snowglobes. Testing the limits of how long I can mosey around in a shop, pulling spines off bookshelves, and glancing at trinkets before leaving with empty hands. When I catch the cashier’s three-second glance, I know it’s time to go.
Last week, I was a genuine customer. I burned the first part of my Sunday by getting burned myself. Sitting in an outdoor art class, I brushed my hands on charcoal, brushed shoulders with millennials in the crowded table. Small talk loitered over the table. Where’s home? Oh, on the corner of Xth and Nth. Where’s work? Uptown on the downtown, take the R to the F, then the XYZ. I felt like a child in a math class. Equations around, feet dangling above the floor.
I challenged myself. Which way was east? West? I pointed under the table, again like a child using my finger for basic addition. Mid-way through my test, I remembered something I had read in a psych class, a classic gendered difference in how boys and girls conceptualize and know their space.
At a young age, boys are given the space and license to roam. They bike the neighborhood, testing speed and bounds, knock on doors blocks away, and just plain explore. The vastness of this space gives them an internal compass. A development that’s crucial early, like language or exposure to allergens.
Girls, on the other hand, aren’t given this privilege. In fact, they’re explicitly denied this. Playing on a single block, or backyard, or bedroom. With a smaller space, they know places not by their direction, but by landmarks. Clare’s house is next to the church, and the best bagel place is near the train.
While I slowly figure out New York, I know I must do it both ways. The masculinity of the cardinal directions, the rectangular blocks, the rigid train lines. The femininity of the floating food stall smells, the stooped furniture, the routine restaurant. I will learn this, and I will know this. Meeting The City like a person, who often follows rules of logic, but not always. Who has weakness and failures, but also tender moments and soft spots. Something alive. And fallible.
I will know The City like a person, knowing I can know its tendencies. But never everything.
Illustrated by Lara Schaberg
