what memories are for, part two

although our real purpose for being in the city for the day was to ride as many forms of transportation as we could, we needed a destination to keep us from riding in circles, literally.  a quick online search and i had the name and location of an indoor play center designed specifically for the pre-k set and their caretakers and a restaurant with a cowgirl theme, which i admit to telling him was a cowboy theme. 

we climbed the stairs up out of the subway found our selves, like magic, not on the bustling loud chaotic 42nd street but on a treelined lower manhattan neighborhood street where children in strollers were being pushed toward a small storefront.  His eyes wide, his hand gripping mine.  upon opening the front door we encountered the typical pile up of strollers you find in new york at any place that allows children.  there was a room to the left where we could hear a toddler music class going on and then beyond that a wide open loft-like space.  in the middle of the space children raced back and forth on small wheeled thingies.  running down the left was a miniture town, houses, one and two stories tall, with small second floor terraces.  of course the houses were just right to fit the average three year old and the top of the second story rose to just above my head.  in the back was a bouncy room full of balls one could throw in and out and to the right was a small counter where you could order a grilled cheese or pb&j and a juice box then some tables and chairs to sit and relax.

he walked back to check out the balls in the jumpy room but decided against joining in at that moment and went instead to the little village along the wall.  in and out of every building he wandered.  thrilled to be able to reach every door knob and look out every window.  he delivered mail to the mail box, sat on the terrace and looked out from an upper window and laughed at me being shorter than him.  eventually he tried the jumpy house and got into a game of throwing all the balls that  landed outside back into the house.  it was a sublime adventure.  most of the time he talked very little, a rarity that allowed me just to watch him.  he seemed to be sizing up the situation, which was similar in many ways to some of the places we would hang out in at home; the library with the play area for children, the cafe with a corner for board books, stuffed animals and board games.  but here was different.  at home there was always constant conversation.  living in a small town of 10,000 with a horde of expatriate brooklynites who all seemed to move up with one or two toddlers in tow, we went to the cafes and the parks and libraries to meet each other.  and soon after moving there ever trip out of the house had us bumping into someone we knew.  there are times living in our town feels like being at one large family reunion, the kind where there are cousins of cousins and no one looks, talks or acts alike but still you know somehow you were meant to be there.  here at the city indoor playground there were one or two people who had arranged to meet up and have a playdate but other than that there was little conversation.  children played and caregivers watched in silence or talked on their cell phones.  he must have wondered at that, all those adults and so little talking.

after a while we had a snack played a bit more and then when he began to fade we gathered our things  and went back out into the cold air.  now, it was time for the taxi.  it was yellow, as it should be.  he was surprised a bit that i was climbing into the back seat with him and that there was no car seat. before  i buckeled him in i told him the name of the cross streets and told him to ask the driver to take us there.  he put his face up to the window in the partition and with a seriousness of military assignment he asked the driver to take us to our destination, please.  we sat in the cab hindered a bit by the fact that he was too short to see out the windows when he was buckeled in.  we looked at the tops of the buildings, all the different cornices and windows.  i showed him the taxi drivers picture and that he had a special id number.  his name was from a culture that was not ours and i asked him where his name was from.  we spoke to him for the rest of our car trip and again the look on Q’s face is etched in my memory; taxi cabs have drivers!  and they tell stories and call you my friend!  we left the taxi with a sincere thank-you and got out on yet another type of new york street, this crowded again but with art hounds and the people that wanted to look like them.  everyone in their twenties and thirties in groups of 2′s and 4′s mostly.  we entered the restaurant gave our name, were told we’d have a wait and then began to look around.  in amongst the other people crowded into the small little waiting area there was all the tchokies a fake city cowboy or girl might need.  lasso’s and lighters, old fashioned toys, packs of cards and of course cowboy hats, in bright crayon colors  and made of straw.  eventually we were seated and i do not remember what he ordered but i do remember the harried waitresses stopping to comment on how much he ate.  Q can eat.  afterwards i bought him a straw cowboy hat, he chose green and out on the street we were again ready for our next transportation adventure; the city bus.  this was for him, the hightlight of his day.  while it had been a day of firsts, first train, subway and taxi, something about the size of the buses and the number of them just overwhelmed his imagination.  we climbed the stairs, huge for him, and the driver calls him little man, the driver said to my three foot boy with the one foot green straw cowboy hat, and we took the first seat on the bus directly across from the driver, so that Q could look out the front window.  the driver closed the doors of the bus and began to pull away from the curb, Q looked at me in surprise and a bit of panic “mommy, he didn’t give the announcement!”  “what announcement sweet heart?”  “the door announcement!”  as i tried to figure out what he was saying the driver stopped the bus to pick up more passengers, they boarded, paid and the driver shut the door.  Q’s panic mounted.  he was no longer trying to explain it to me he just stared at the driver and then when we stopped at the next stop at the passengers getting in.  as the last passenger stepped on board an up to the metal box to pay, Q stood up and yelled “please stand clear of the closing doors!”

the older woman who had just paid her fare gave a little jerk as if someone had poked her in the back, turned, stared at Q and then frowning, took her startled little self to the back of the bus.  The driver however, gave Q a grin, and a nod of his head  and then with great flare shut the door.  for the next 15 blocks or so the scene was repeated, the doors opened, the passengers entered, Q watched for the last one and at the right moment jumped from his seat and shouted ‘please stand clear of the closing doors!’ just as he had so delightedly had heard on the subway that morning.  the driver and he had become a team and each time the diver nodded his head toward Q as if to say ‘good job – nice to be working with you.’  some of the passengers stopped to say how cute he was, to which he responded with a snub, the way any decent city worker might “just doing my job m’am’ was his look, some looked at him with a sour face, some ignored it as if three year old, green straw cowboy hatted boys were employed by the mta and manned every bus screaming ‘please stand clear of the closing doors!’ at every stop.  we were one block away from our own stop when i began to button his coat.  the driver and i along the way had shared some pleasantries; yes, this was are first trip on a bus, yes, he’s always been this talkative, yes, he’s wonderful.  as the bus was slowing down Q spotted a small store front with a large plywood ice cream cone sign hanging outside of it “mommy!!!” he shouted “look! there’s my favorite restaurant!”

the driver laughed out loud and the bus came to a stop but the door didn’t open right away “little man,”  the driver said holding out his big gloved hand to shake Q’s “little man, thank-you for coming on my bus today.  this was the safest ride my passengers have ever had!”  Q greated the bus drivers broad 50 plus year smile with his own three year old turned down serious grin, “you’re welcome” he nodded and then we turned to leave.  “Good bye Mama”  he said to me “and good job!” i turned and smiled back to say to him “you too, and thanks!” and the bus door closed this time to a quiet but much less sweet bus.