to the medical imaging facility, a good thirty minutes early.
“You’re sure you have no metal anywhere on you?” the technician asks when it’s finally time for the procedure and I’m sporting a medical gown. I sense I look checked-out to him.
“Yes, I’m certain,” I inform him.
I’ve never had an MRI before, but I’ve seen pictures and basically know what to expect: a huge white machine shaped like a donut, people behind a window speaking to me over an intercom as my body slides into the donut on what looks like a long tray. The noise is worse than I’d expected, but I don’t care. Somehow all the honking, thumping, knocking, blaring, buzzing, and foghorning force my brain to stop working.
Everything comes rushing back, though, once I’m on the street again later. I check my phone, which I’d had to store in a locker during the exam, and see there’s still no call from Mulroney. I do my best to tamp down my growing irritation. Maybe an urgent issue arose with another case, or he could be chasing down a lead for me. Still, I leave him another voice mail.
My phone pings with a text. It’s Hugh inquiring about the MRI. I almost sense he wishes there was something physically wrong with me, like he’d prefer “brain tumor” to “unbalanced” any day. I respond, saying thanks, the experience was uneventful and that I’ll know the results once the neurologist has had time to review the images.
You headed home now? he replies.
Gonna run some errands. Back in a couple of hours.
I do have errands to run. It’s been days since I bought toiletries or hit the gym or had my nails done. But there’s something even more important on my list. I need to finally retrace my steps in the East Village, explore those streets in the hope that something I see will jog a memory, the way the rain on my trench coat did last night.
I shoot my hand up for a passing taxi and give the driver the address for Eastside Eats on Seventh Street.
After zigzagging east, the cabdriver hops on the FDR Drive at Seventy-First Street and zooms south. To my left the East River sparkles in the sun. On any other day, I’d stare out, mesmerized by the comings and goings of the tugs and barges, but I’m too wired to pay any attention.
When I exit the taxi outside Eastside Eats, I see through the glass window that the space inside is sparely decorated, but at the same time inviting. The tables have been constructed from planks of wood and are topped with glass jars full of herbs.
I step inside but don’t bother going to the counter, where half a dozen people are milling around. Nothing about this place feels familiar, and sitting with a coffee at one of the tables probably isn’t going to alter that.
Next, I wander farther east in the direction of Tompkins Square Park, which I apparently walked along last week. Years ago, the East Village was known for its counterculture, bohemian vibe, and it still gives off a hint of that, but less so now than when I roamed around here before or after my class at NYU. I pass a hip-looking shop selling clothes on consignment, a gallery, a patisserie, and several well-kept brownstone town houses. A group of art students saunters in front of me, carrying portfolios, the scent of their cigarettes wafting back toward me. Ahead of them is a cluster of Asian tourists snapping photos.
Why did I stop my sojourns down here? I can’t seem to remember. Just because my course ended didn’t mean I couldn’t come back. Maybe once I met Hugh, there seemed no reason to visit here. Hugh’s hardly a boho kind of guy.
When I reach the park, I make my way to the northern end at Tenth Street and flop onto a bench near two men playing chess. Did I come to this bench last week? Did I sit for a while as I’m doing now, with the warmth of the sun on my face? I have no clue.
Finally, I rise and retrace my steps south, but this time I go two blocks farther, turning on Fifth Street in search of Pairings, the other restaurant that showed up on my credit card statement.
It turns out to be a vegetarian place, rustic and charming, with brick walls painted white. There are about twenty wooden tables all nestled very close to one another and a bar/counter running