IV
NEW YORK CITY
IT WAS DUSK WHEN I got my first glimpse of it off in the distance,
beyond a ridge. All I could see were the spires and blocky tops of
buildings. And then we reached the crest of the ridge, and there, across a
wide river, was a huge island jammed tip to tip with skyscrapers, their
glass glowing like fire in the setting sun.
My heart started to race, and my palms grew damp. I walked down the
bus aisle to the tiny restroom in the rear and washed up in the metal
basin. I studied my face in the mirror and wondered what New Yorkers
would think when they looked at me. Would they see an Appalachian
hick, a tall, gawky girl, still all elbows and knees and jutting teeth? For
years Dad had been telling me I had an inner beauty. Most people didn't
see it. I had trouble seeing it myself, but Dad was always saying he could
damn well see it and that was what mattered. I hoped when New Yorkers
looked at me, they would see whatever it was that Dad saw. When the
bus pulled into the terminal, I collected my suitcase and walked to the
middle of the station. A blur of hurrying bodies streamed past me,
leaving me feeling like a stone in a creek, and then I heard someone
calling my name. He was a pale guy with thick, black-framed glasses
that made his eyes look tiny. His name was Evan, and he was a friend of
Lori's. She was at work and had asked him to come meet me. Evan
offered to carry my suitcase and led me out to the street, a noisy place