"Its not just about when you get there, it is also about how you got there."
Chioma Onwudiwe
So here we are, almost at the last lap and hopefully the last limp of my alphabetically riddled Big Apple/East Village tour. I would have easily called it a fun and intriguing experience, if it did not come laden with blisters and an in ability to do the 'hokey-pokey'. I mean how would I know which one was my left foot? And how shall I aspire to 'put it in', if I can't even feel it. Numbness has been greatly underestimated since Wordsworth wrote his first ballad. Stay with me for a second, I won't break into a romantic song. At least not now. I would just love to speak to those of you 'easy-life' comrades. You know, those who might be wondering why I would subject my dainty long toes, lovely feet and an oppression prone ankle to such endless and rigorous trudging. Why did I not invent a mode of movement? Or better still hijack one, you might even venture to ask further. At this point, I will randomly assume your first suggestion would be a scooter. Fine, but frankly and from the bottom of my heart. I strongly believe that I am too fancy and grown for that piece of equipment. I mean I could hardly imagine myself gliding down city side-walks and poised for a head on collision every time the traffic light changes. Next!
How about a bike, you still ask? Okay then, let's see. I could easily have biked myself right through a coffee shop. Ramming into innocent and unsuspecting citizens, as they skimmed milk and swapped sweeteners along with horror commuting stories. You see I can't pedal and think at the same time. Way too much effort and hard work. Plus, I might incite an excitable amount of brain cell activity and foster the unnecessary agitation of cranial nerves. We really do not want that happening in daylight. Besides also, I do feel quite fragile up there sometimes.
And if the other suggested option is to be chauffeur driven through winding and narrow lanes that emerge into imaginary cul-de-sacs. Then let me tell you straight up; that is so unbecoming and just not cool. I mean who drives around the East Village anyway? With all its already existing challenges, pulling over might land us in someone's pantry. Then we might all joyfully eat, pray and fight. All this commotion while I am still looking for a near extinct and quaint little item store. Oh please....
While we have in the past three weeks, veered of to talk about swollen and rotating toes, mysteriously multiplying shopping carts, capsizing boats, a young and angry generation and search engine non-optional mazes. I would like to remind you and my shaken self what inspired this blog in the first place. It was the truth! The whole, the half and the often fragmented versions. I am so thankful and appreciative of my pedestrian participants. They made this trek worthwhile and thereby even motivated a blog. If any of you happen to be reading this writing, my special gallivantors. I raise three toes in respectful greeting. At least I believe I did. Raise my toes i.e. Lifting my hand is out of the question today, lest someone else think I am dancing ballet or doing the cha-cha. What can I say? Some people's thought process are a huge menace to society.
As my lovely tourist couple participants (F) departed with my blessings and a short-cut guide to cheap schemes. I waved them good-bye. Only they did not leave right away. They wondered if I would mind going to lunch with them, their treat of course they interjected rather quickly. I feared I might had become a poster child for the hungry and aimless. You see as they began walking away, they looked back to see me still rooted in the same spot smiling at the sun. They would later explain that I looked kind of lost, tired and flushed. How ironic, that the word lost should be attributed to me. I who just bravely supervised a found-ing expedition with a map spread wide enough to conceal a skyscraper. So back to me they retreated, to find out why such a beauty was roasting mindlessly in the bright scorching heat.
I smiled at their question, as I looked down at my feet. Surely the rising evidence of bloated appendages would speak for me. Not so. For they faultlessly translated that furtive peek of mine as vanity and showing off my colorless soles. Oh these fashion forward NewYorkers and their constant quest to be the trending capital. They did however proceed kindly, to compliment my stylish pumps. They too liked the design and color they said. So to steer them away from gazing at numb and immovable heels, I told my own version of a half truth. I had some errands to run and I was running out of time. Two runs in one sentence, does not the absolute truth promote! And yet, I could only limp one square foot in any given three hours.
Sure they agreed and totally understood my declination. But I felt guilty for the perplexity that inflexibly plagued their faces, as I was still not moving an inch. To run all over town in search of nothing, you would first be required to take one first step. No? Wow, they must have thought. These people, sure are stranger than we first suspected and heard. My guilt trip was now wearing roller blades and rising uncontrollably, as I saw them still pondering the weird situation. So I prayed silently and started skipping away. SKIPPING?
Yes, skipping to the tune of:
"Sunny Day
Sweepin' the clouds away
On my way to where the air is sweet
Can you tell me how to get,
How to get to ___________ Street."
Y'all just witnessed a miracle. Yes, a skipping miracle on ______________ Street. Hallelujah! Peace and healing toes.