New York Movie

The neighborhood where I take music lessons is a largely Puerto Rican section of Williamsburg, just outside the super-ultra-hipster section but still cool enough to snag a great apartment above some scrappy little bodega without paying $2000 a month. There are all sorts of colorful characters peppering the streets and I am always reminded of the obligatory New York Movie scenes where kids are sitting around on porch stoops hollaring at each other or playing handball in a deserted school playground. Tinny-sounding music wafts around from where ever and it smells like all manner of fried, crunchy things. It is, like so many things, very New York. Or maybe, it's very Brooklyn.

Yesterday I arrived at my music lesson early, so I stood outside of the building just soaking up some sunshine and watching time pass me by. The building is big, the kind where you have to be buzzed in, and there is always a steady stream of people going in and out who always offer to let me in without knowing who I am. I supposed they assume the big, black cello-shaped back pack that I have strapped to myself is indeed actually a cello and not some frightening torture device with which I will terrorize the residents. So, yeah, as I am waiting in the sun about four people asked if I needed to go inside and I declined. Continued sunning myself.

An older grandmotherly-type woman was crossing the street toward the front door of the building and stopped to talk to some guy in a car as he waited for the light to change. I saw her reach into the car and warmly grab his hand, and then when he took off and she walked toward the door, where I was standing. In a wonderfully thick accent, she asked if I needed to be let in. I told her no, thank you, but I needed to wait. She smiled and turned to the door, but then she turned back to me. "He is such a nice young man now." I realized she was talking about the guy in the car that she had just been talking to. She continued, "I was so worried about him for many years... I didn't think he could get it together. But now, when I see him, I see that he grew up all right." I smiled at her and muttered something lame, I can't remember what. "I guess you grow up and you smell the coffee," she said and grinned.

"Yeah, I know I did," I told her.

"Okay," she said. "It's good to see you. Take care."

I told her it was good to see her, too. Even though I had never seen her before. Because it was good to see her. It's nice when someone shares a pleasant thought with you for no reason, you know?

So the time had gone by and I buzzed and then plodded up the five flights of cracked, sloping marble stairs to my lesson.