Stoop Kid's Afraid to Leave the Stoop
The Samantha Cooper Alternate Universe
Maybe 72 hours?
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My sense of direction isssss bad. Nearly non-existent in fact. There are times I’ll come out of the subway, at a stop I’ve gotten off a million times before, and start walking confidently in the wrong direction, certain I will just know the right way to go.
And that’s where my dear friend Google Maps comes in handy. As soon as I’ve realized that I am not going the way I thought I was, I pull out my phone, and check where my little dot is on the map. Then I’ll pretend I’ve received a text message, turn my little dot around, and head confidently in the right direction.
I have gotten very good at pretending to receive a text message, shaking my head like I’ve received a new piece of information, and turning the opposite direction without slowing down.
Reflecting on a decade in New York, this is something that remains true: my sense of direction has not improved very much. A little, okay? Okay?? But not by much. I would love to be able to tell you I picked up a stronger sense of direction on one of my many walks, but I would get lost on the way back to prove it to you.
I’ve often said that if I had moved to New York before the existence of Google Maps, I would have gotten lost one day in the West Village and never found my way home. You might say, “Well, Samantha, there have been regular paper maps for a long time. Compasses too.” And to you I would say, “Who knows how to read a paper map? Or use a compass?? I’m not young Jim Hawkins and I don’t have a sexy pirate Tim Curry teaching me how to use one!”
Google Maps has guided me through parts of the city, new and old. It has saved my companions from me being much too late. And it creepily knows just how much I am in my house in any given month.
But what if I had moved to the city without Google Maps? Or a smartphone even? What if I ventured into the city, sure of my ability to make it to my destination and then home again? What does that Samantha Cooper Alternate Universe look like?
Well, here’s what I think this other dimension past would look like:
*
There isn’t much sun in the room I sublet, so on any given day, I wake up when my body and the August heat tells me too. On this Saturday, I roll over to look at my alarm clock. It’s already 1030a. I’m supposed to be at brunch by noon. New York will wait for no one! Least of all me!
I go through my morning routine as quickly as possible. Teeth, face, clothes, in that order. By the time I get to the clothes portion of the morning, I realize that time is moving way too fast so I try and to put on pieces of clothing two at a time. My shorts rest around my ankles while I pull my shirt over my head. I thought I had buttoned them and I don’t realize they are down there so when I move, I trip a little. Thank goodness no one else is in the apartment. The ruckus of me trying not to fall flat on my face sounds like someone is robbing us. Still, I open my door and shout “Sorry” to the empty hallway. When my own echo reaches back to me, I say, “Oh, it’s okay.” and shut my door again.
My purse is hanging on the desk chair. It’s one of those crossbody ones and as I put it on, I notice my wall calendar. A whole week. I’ve been in New York a whole week. I think, “Way to go me.” Then I look at the clock again, realize I’ll have to celebrate later, and walk quickly out of my bedroom, increasing to a jog as I exit the apartment and the building.
A whole week, huh? This time last week, I was in a cab on the way to an apartment in Harlem with roommates I had only met once on a video call. I am starting grad school soon and knowing I would not be in the apartment very much, I thought, “Why the hell not?”
The last week has been filled with close-by errands, nothing that takes me far from my apartment, nor anywhere in the city that is not on the grid. I pick up school supplies. I trace my route to school. I take the subway to Central Park. I walk by Lincoln Center. I go to the Natural History Museum. And every day, I am home by 8pm, partially convinced that my directional abilities only work in the daylight.
But this brunch is in the West Village, farther downtown than I have yet traveled. The friend who I am meeting, someone who has lived in the city for a couple of years already, tells me the restaurant is on the edge of the neighborhood. She gives me very specific directions from the West 4th subway stop. Her directions cover any exit I might emerge from. The directions are easy to follow so, anyway you slice it, it would be hard to get lost. This is why we’re friends. She knows me well.
The journey to the restaurant is quick and easy, actually, which surprises me a little. I make it there in plenty of time. My friend and I have a leisurely meal together, ordering a variety of things to try and share. Yes, there are drinks too. Yes, they might be bottomless drinks. We talk about my first week in the city and what my school schedule will be like. I thank her for introducing me to a new restaurant and directing me so thoroughly. Then she pays for the meal, and I thank her for that too.
My friend is about to walk me to my subway station and send me in the direction of my apartment when I decide that I’m going to wander through the neighborhood. Her eyebrows shoot up but I assure her, just a little wander. She says, “Okayyyyy,” reluctantly. I promise to be in touch when I have a break from school as she walks away.
The sun is bright but, for August, it’s not too hot. A perfect day for a little walk.
I walk along 6th Avenue for a while, determined to stay in sight of a green subway light at all times. It’s a busy street though and I can’t hear myself think. Eventually, I turn to my right.
It is quieter the further from the avenues I get. I know they are only a couple of blocks over but the vibe is totally different. I wander by shops and restaurants and houses I am sure the rich and/or the famous live in. I make mental notes of places I want to return to. Well, the shops and the restaurants. Not the famous people’s houses. …at least not yet. Before I know it, it has been a couple of hours and it’s time to head back uptown.
As I stand on a corner to take stock of where I was, I realize, I have no idea. Sure, I can see street signs but, at this early stage in my New York life, I have no idea where that puts me in relation to where I need to go. I completely stopped paying attention to my route as I wandered aimlessly. It should have been less aimless!
I’m not one to like to ask for directions but I know if I don’t, I won’t even start in the right direction. Really quickly, I ask a nice couple to point me towards West 4th. They point to one turn. And then another. They keep making points. I’m trying to commit it all to my memory but it is going in one ear and out the other. Still, I smile and nod and say, “I’ve got it, thank you.” I know better than to keep someone too long. I wait for the couple to mosey on their way before I try to remember and follow the points. One of the people looks familiar, like an actor or something. I put that in my brain bank for later and start walking in the direction of the first point.
Maybe some of the directions did get into my brain. I take the first two turns with confidence and walk straight for a while. Then it feels like there is another turn I missed somewhere. Instead of retracing my steps to try and get my bearings, I take the first right. This…does not look familiar. Did I ever walk down this street? I decide to go back to before the turn and try again.
This time, I retrace my steps and take the first left I see. Here it is! …wait, no. I’ve never seen this street either. I’m starting to feel really silly. My gut tells me that my subway stop must be no more than six blocks away. But my brain can’t place that stop on a map. In fact, my brain can’t conjure a map at all. It’s only been a week!
Here’s where I could ask for directions again. Here is where I should ask for directions again. I don’t. I don’t because I’m an adult and I can take care of myself and I don’t want to look like a tourist! I’m not a tourist! THIS IS MY NEW HOME. I can do this.
So I wander. I take more lefts and a few more rights. I hear a higher volume of cars somewhere nearby. I end up in a triangle section of the neighborhood. I get there by walking in a circle. My shapes are all confused.
Night starts to fall. It’s a cool night, which I am thankful for. I decide it is time for a little rest and sit on the stoop of a townhouse that looks like it’s prepped for a whole gut renovation. On my tiptoes, I peek into the windows to both build my aspirations of a fancy house and to make sure I won’t be in anyone’s way if I sit out front. The sky gets darker and darker and I get sleepier and sleepier. Before I know it, I fall asleep on the steps. Surprisingly, the night passes without much notice.
In the morning, I jolt awake realizing I never made it home last night. School starts on Tuesday so there are only a few more days to actually find my way out of this neighborhood. But…honestly, this stoop is pretty comfortable. And lord knows, it won’t matter how many times I ask for directions, my brain will never hold onto them. So, it seems just as smart to stay put. To hang out on the stoop, at least until construction crews or a homeowner comes home or something. I weigh the pros and cons of this decision. For now, stoop it is.
Days pass by and I don’t really notice. People pass by and they don’t really notice me. It’s something I grow to really appreciate about the city; people mind their business and let you mind yours. Occasionally a tourist might snap a picture of, what I assume is, the building. And I stay on the stoop.
Before garbage days, furniture and other junk ends up on the curb. I grab what I can, careful to never be out of eye sight of my stoop. It’s a pretty nice set up in the end. A good chair, a coat rack, some books. At first, I worry about food but somehow, it always appears. People start to leave their restaurant leftovers on the stoop. I don’t know why but, as you can already tell, I don’t ask questions.
No homeowners ever come home. No construction crews ever start. The seasons change. The years pass. And the stoop is a more comfortable place day by day.
I live on this stoop.
And I never worry about my sense of direction ever again.
*
Well, if there is one thing I’ve learned from this story, it’s that even Alternate Universe Samantha doesn’t like to ask too many questions in fear of looking stupid. You’d think I’d learn some lessons in another dimension but, guess not.
Hope you enjoyed this (mostly) fictional look of what my last decade in New York would have looked like without Google Maps and smartphones.
Good news is, I have found my way out of the West Village many times. And know exactly at which subway stop to get off at that will spit me out right at home.
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