“Okay, Whimsical Winona, what would you do with a suddenly freed-up Saturday night?” And how pathetic is it that I have no ideas of my own?
“I tell you what. We’re both going to come up with some ideas, then we’ll chose at random. You could use a little chaos in your life.” The way I clench up at the sound of the word ‘chaos’ probably proves she’s right.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small memo pad. She tears off three sheets of paper and hands them to me, then she tears off three more sheets for herself.
“We’re each going to write out three things we’d do with some unexpected downtime on a Saturday night. Then we’ll toss them in my purse, mix them up, and you’ll pick one.”
I’m embarrassed at how hard it is for me to come up with something that isn’t related to work or the gym. New York is a city of wonders, with so many amazing things to do, and I can’t think of a thing to do on a Saturday night. I feel like a stranger in my own city. I can hear Alice’s voice gently chiding me. You never let yourself have fun.
I mean, I could put down Norfolk’s, but I go there all the time. Nico’s restaurant isn’t open yet. Sooo….hell. How can it be this hard? Frowning, I write down “trivia game at my house” and “make pizza at my house” and “watch a movie at my house”. Lame, lamer, lamest.
Please let me pick one of her suggestions, I pray silently.
We drop our sheets of paper into her purse, then I stick my hand in, fish around, and pull one out. I laugh when I read it.
“Seriously? At this time of night?” The scrap of paper says “ice cream sundaes at I Scream on Sullivan Street”.
“Won’t they be closed? We’ve still got at least ninety minutes until we get there. Maybe more if we run into traffic.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s open twenty-four hours. I’ve had a hot fudge sundae at four in the morning before.”
“Well, I’m a man who keeps my promises. So I’m in.”
Traffic into the city is hell on a Saturday night. It takes us two hours and fifteen minutes to get there. She rests her head on my shoulder, dozing for most of it, and I’m not bored for a minute. I’m enjoying a kind of quiet contentment that I haven’t felt since…possibly ever.
Joseph drops us off in front of the shop. The night is warm and the street is still crowded. Soho, shortened from “South of Houston street”, is one of the older and more picturesque parts of the city, with blocks and blocks of nineteenth-century buildings in the Italianate and Renaissance revival style.
I Scream is on one of the very oldest streets. Our limo bumps over old, rounded cobblestones known as Belgian blocks, and comes to rest in front of a three-story red brick building with ornate iron scrollwork on the tiny balconies. I Scream is located on the first floor. Winona and I scramble out, and I follow her into the shop, getting in line behind a cluster of blond twenty-something tourists who are chattering happily to each other in Dutch.
“This is what I love about New York. There’s always something new, and crazy, and frequently wonderful, around every corner.” Winona glows with enthusiasm, and it’s contagious. “I mean, sometimes you turn the corner and it’s a lunatic talking to his invisible llama while peeing on a streetlamp, but most of the time it’s a Jamaican restaurant next to a palm reader next to a vintage record shop underneath a henna salon, with a guy selling hand-made necklaces from a folding table out front. Or this place. See! They have a build-your-own sundae bar!” Winona gestures happily. “Or we can just have them made for us.”
Winona bubbles with an innocent enthusiasm that has stayed with her even after years of living in the city. It opens her eyes up to wonder and possibility. As for me, my eyes are glued to my iPad planner and my watch for so much of my day that I can barely remember the color of the sky. That all changes when I’m with her. I look around me and see that New York is brimming with miracles.
I grab her hand in mine and squeeze it as we move up in the line, reaching the counter.
“Do they have peach sundaes?” I wonder. “With fresh peaches and peach