The weather couldn’t be more perfect. A wonderful seventy-six degrees with no humidity and the bluest of skies. Above me were some big fluffy clouds that my mother always referred to as “mash pa-de-da’s”. All around me, the scent in the air is unmistakable, the first day of spring in New York City. Like the smell of morning the day after it rains.
There are people everywhere. A woman picks up after her little Yorkshire Terrier as a delivery boy whizzes by on his bike. The UPS guy is whistling to himself loading the day’s deliveries as a Taxi screeches to a halt to fetch a very handsome man in an expensive suit who announces in a British accent, “JFK please” and shuts the door behind him.
As my navy blue Mary Jane’s reach the curb, I sense something familiar. I do a three-sixty on my heels sending my skirt into a Frisbee like Marilyn Monroe. Scanning all around me, aside from the guy that thinks I am checking him out and winks at me, nothing is out of the ordinary.
Taking the last bite of my Carvel soft vanilla ice cream cone, I wipe my mouth, throw out the napkin and look up as the UPS truck pulls away and I see my father across the street. My stomach flips, my heart soars and I break out into a run through on coming traffic. With my hand flaying in the air calling out to him, “Dad wait. Dad”. A car comes too close to hitting me.
He slams on his breaks and I slam my hands onto the front of the car, apologizing profusely. I look up, regaining my composure, past the driver to see my father disappear around the corner and away from me as the alarm sounds and it's time to get up and start my day.