“Someone’s hungry.” I gave him a piece of the jerky before eating a piece of the salty meat myself. Dark clouds were rolling in as we walked back towards the truck, and it looked like rain was due any minute. I looked to the sky and for a moment worried I would see that silver ship again, but there was nothing but dark clouds looming above us now.
“Come on, Carey. Let’s get moving.” He listened and ran ahead of me but never too far away. I found it hard to believe this was the same whining dog from back home, since he seemed so confident and self-assured out here in the wilds of New York City. We headed toward the front entrance and I grabbed a Yankees ball cap and umbrella to stave off the impending rain. As we left the front doors, I whistled “Sunday in New York,” for a second forgetting the fact that I was all alone in the world.
Once the truck door was open, Carey hopped in and soon we were heading deep into the city. I hoped we would be at the Toronto Dominion Bank in an hour or so, but I was wrong. Once we passed through the Bronx, I headed to Willis Avenue Bridge, the southernmost entrance into Harlem. I’d driven by the other bridges and they were all jammed with cars, so I had high hopes that I could cross this one. I was sadly disappointed when we arrived there to see it fully clogged with vehicles. The sidewalks were on the right side, and with the dividers, they weren’t wide enough to get a vehicle through. I slumped forward, letting my head rest on the steering wheel, as heavy rain pelted my windshield.
For a moment, I thought I would just sit there and wait out the rain, but if I was truly humanity’s last hope, I knew I’d better find a way to get across. I decided to walk and find another truck, then haul all of my supplies there. Once I was over, I wouldn’t have to worry about a bridge until after whatever I found in Manhattan. With the plan settled, Carey and I started making the trek across with my groceries and clothing. I hadn’t realized how long the bridge was until I had to walk to the end and back four times to get it all. The last trip, I borrowed an appliance dolly from a moving truck and moved the generator. I figured I had just walked almost five miles in total and it had taken me over two hours, making it close to four by the time I had my new truck loaded up. Carey was soaked and the front end of the GMC lost its new car smell as it was very quickly replaced with the classic, wet dog de toilette.
Before starting my journey again, I saw a semi-truck sitting there like a behemoth amongst cars, and I recalled the CB radio I wanted to get. I jumped into the cab of the Mack and tried to slide the CB off its mount. After a few minutes, a couple of swear words and a screwdriver, I was the proud owner of a radio. I moved it to scan, looking for any local frequency that might be transmitted, glad that truck driver had a quality unit. When it didn’t find anything, we started to move, slowly dodging cars and heading through the streets of Harlem.
One of my favorite things about living in the state of New York was the sheer number of trees. They were everywhere. I remember the first time I’d flown in from Ohio and saw the green from above. Growing up in the country, we had our share of trees, but they usually lined a farmer’s crop. This was different to me. I’d always thought New York would just be a huge city with nothing but concrete and criminals. Instead, it was a lovely state, with flowers, trees, and parks everywhere, with the Mecca of everything you could want in the big city at your fingertips. It was the perfect balance for me. When I’d first moved here, I’d spent the first couple years in a Battery Park condo. It was the size of a shoebox, but it was close to the subway, which made commuting to work so easy. It was also a twenty-minute ride to Central Park.
I loved Central Park. It was the most magical place I’d ever seen; ever since the first time I walked onto the grass, it felt special. The paths, the trees, and the people – it was just amazing. As Carey and I neared the huge park in the middle of the high-rises, I fondly remembered the first time I’d seen my wife, nine years ago in this very park. I was meeting a client for my firm in the Boathouse, a wonderful dinner and drinks spot in the middle of Central Park. It’s an iconic place where many “meet cutes,” as they said in the movies, happened in classic films. It was fitting that this was where I would first lay eyes on Janine. My meeting was just finishing, and as I stood to leave, she walked in. There was something that just drew me in instantly; she smiled at the hostess and my heart melted. I saw a man rise from the bar, leaving his stool empty, and start walking towards her.
My shoulders slumped as she turned to him. It was like she moved in slow motion, and as her head turned, our eyes locked. Hers widened slightly, and my heart pounded in my chest. No woman had ever looked at me like that before, and I doubted any ever would again. I stepped forward, all rational thoughts pushed to the side for the moment. I forgot about the man coming to meet her and I reached her first. Her eyebrows rose as I took her hand and said hello.
“Hello,” she replied quietly, a slight blush in her smooth cheek.
“I don’t know who that guy is, but how about we have dinner?” I asked in a way so unlike myself.
The man had arrived by this point, and I suddenly felt inadequate. He was one of those classic manly guys with the square jaw, shirt tight against his chest. I also noticed a military tattoo where his dress shirt sleeve was rolled up.
“Janine, I presume?” he asked, trying to step in front of me.
She glanced at me. “Sorry, no. Must be mistaken,” she said, taking my hand in hers. We went to a table in the back corner of the lounge, leaving behind a bewildered military man. We talked for hours and had a great dinner. I remember her ordering a portabella mushroom panini, and we started with a glass of red wine, and by the end of the night, we were sipping scotch outside; white string lights hung above us by the pond while midnight lovers paddled by in rented canoes. It was the best night of my life.
When I asked about the guy, she said it was just a blind date, and I didn’t prod past that.
Carey looked out the window and gave a low growl. It knocked me out of my daydreaming, but I couldn’t see any reason for him to bark, except the usual dog things: fire hydrants, mailboxes, a garbage bag flying in the wind. We headed down Central Park West at Eighty-First Street, one of the most beautiful in the entire city. There were a lot of cars out, but it wasn’t in a jam: more like everyone had just made straight east or west from where they were and not north-south. It made sense. The best way out was to head west inland from here. I tried to imagine what the lines at the Lincoln Tunnel must look like right now and shuddered at the thought. I’d never been much for traffic, hence moving into a small community. I liked the slower pace much better, and so had Janine.
We weaved through the cars that were on the street and soon the buildings got larger and cleaner, and more expensive. I couldn’t fathom the sheer wealth that sat in the area, with each park view condo being well in excess of five million dollars for a two-bedroom. We came up to the Museum of Natural History, and I slowed to a stop. Here was where I’d proposed to Janine almost eight years ago. She was fascinated by the place, and instead of something outrageous, I asked her to marry me outside while we snacked on a bagel and coffee. I hit the gas and noticed something out the corner of my eye.
A large black man ran towards my truck at full speed, a sheer look of panic in his face. Carey barked incessantly through the window. I didn’t know what to do. I stepped out of the truck and slid a rifle out from behind the seat. I walked back a couple steps, Carey following and barking as the man approached, obviously out of breath.