Tomorrow morning, David and I make our way back to New York. I'm leaving insurmountable piles at work, and in the play, and that's ok. On Thursday, we see Tori at Radio City. There's rumor of snow. I feel a choking sensation in my chest when I think of New York. There's an undiluted sadness and unfulfilled potential that I cannot extract. I go to feel alive, to remember myself, to remind myself that I am not lost. I go knowing it is not the Same now, nor will it ever be. David has not been back since the towers fell. I want to take his hand when he sees. I need someone to take my hand too. We'll probably make our stop at the Marriott Marquis, too, to remember Jonathan.

On Jonathan's first birthday after his death, I stood at the Marquis viewing area and looked over Times Square at the giant Rent billboard and just cried. I sang my friend goodnight, and just then a guided tour group came by and the guide spoke about Rent and Jonathan Larson's story, how he died the night before his opening. Before I slipped away, I mentioned, "and today is his birthday, so wish him Happy Birthday." They all did. A year later, I was there at the Marquis with David, looking out over the Square when another guided tour came by. I listened quietly as the very same tour guide described a weeping woman who, in this very spot, had wished Jonathan a Happy Birthday so beautifully.

I had become part of the Legend, one tiny footnote in a Broadway myth. That's what New York does to you. She keeps you, a small part of you, always.


I hear "Give My Regards to Broadway" when I read this.

"Give my regards to Broadway
Remember me to Herald Square
Tell all the gang at Forty Second Street
That I will soon be there
Whisper of how I'm yearning
To mingle with the old time throng
Give my regards to Old Broadway
And say that I'll be there, 'ere long"

Have a good trip, A.
William F. House | 03.04.03 - 6:19 pm

By Blogger adriana, at Tuesday, October 02, 2007 5:03:00 PM  

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Tuesday, March 04, 2003 : 10:36 AM     1 Comments  


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