Bridge over Troubled Water
I feel more excitement about today than I can remember feeling in a very long time. The idea came quickly and Keith was quicker to agree which is one of the things I love about him. He’s a good friend and I am glad to have a good friend with me for this day. Cold Spring was about the thirteenth result on Google, and the first place I’ve been upstate. We left at the time we planned to leave, 6 a.m, which would’ve surprised me if I was less excited. I’ve been sick for almost a week and half but besides a lingering cough, I feel much better than before. The commute to Grand Central was an easy one, and I’ve said perhaps 4 sentences since waking up this morning. I’m in my head yet entirely conscious. I was nervous we would miss the train but the kind lady let us on just before it departed and I took that as a good omen for the rest of our trip.
I could write a million love letters to riding a train and I probably already have. So I won’t waste time on it again but I will take the liberty of reiterating my love for it once more, here and now, before I continue. I was hoping for a sunny day, but seeing the misty grays and blues through the window somehow feels even better. I think it’s more in line with what I have been feeling, so it is almost a comfort to me as I attempt to rein in my excitement. I feel good and grounded. I’m drinking a Celsius which I’m not sure will do me any good but I am confident today cannot go badly and my anxiety has no place here. I’ve got another one in my backpack, along with a ziplock bag of rainbow Goldfish, a plastic water bottle, cigarettes, and five peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which I wrapped the same way my mom used to when I was in elementary school. Safe to say, Keith and I will be indulging in the finest today.
I have the whole row to myself, yet I’m curled up against the wall with my knees up and my feet hanging above the ground. I took my headphones out three stops ago, but I must’ve forgotten that because they’re laying tangled in the seat next to me and probably will stay there until we reach our stop and I put them away once more. I’m thinking I might’ve forgotten something but I am not worried because it could be more fun that way. I haven’t thought about the way I look or how my hair is sitting once since I’ve left the house.
With a few stops left, I can see the water on Keith’s side of the train and I’m a little bit jealous that I chose this seat. The thing about the water is that it reminds me of home and I never miss it until I do. I hope I can swim today, even if it’s freezing, and I know Keith doesn’t know how to. If Mom were here, she would tell me not to do it, but it’s sort of awesome knowing I can do what I want. Keith will get high and scared, and I will go swimming. I am happy to be considered grown up and still allowed to be stupid. My headphones are plugged in now and I’m listening to Simon & Garfunkel’s rendition of Bridge over Troubled Water. There’s water on my side now too. All is well on the Metro North.
We got off the train at 8:03. The sun has cleared away some of those morning blues and it feels good to breathe in air outside the city. Some of the trees up here have begun to turn golden, which makes me think I haven’t seen that in Brooklyn, but perhaps I just don’t see trees like these in Brooklyn at all. I am thinking of my mom again, and hoping her backyard is a beautiful gold and she is happy.
Cold Spring is a small town. Porch lined houses with olive green shutters, antique stores, a Catholic Church. The hiking trails were just outside the towns perimeter and we walked along the edge of the wide main road to get there. Maybe three cars passed by the entirety of our walk. Once we got to the park, we headed for the water and then looped our way towards the mountains.
The earth is louder here and gives way to you. We walked for around three hours, making our way up the hill following the river upstream before turning around and retracing our steps back down. Halfway through, we stopped by a lightning shelter next to the water for lunch. I took my shoes and socks off and waded in the shallow water, which was as much swimming as the environment allowed. It was cold, but not painful, and the force of the stream kept me in touch with my weight on the slippery surface. I sat on a flat rock and let the water pull past me as I outstretched my hands against its current. I was so happy to be there.
We walked around 12 miles all around Cold Spring before making our way back into town. The town consisted mainly of a single street lined with antique shops and cafes and bookstores. I couldn’t stop remarking how it felt like we were in a fake town, like a coming of age movie set, or one of those fairytale villages in Disneyland. It reminded me of when I got too high in Boston and convinced myself I was in an uncomfortable alternate version of New York. Keith found our friend Kyle an old Beatles record from Hamburg, a very young John and George smiling on its worn cover. Afterwards, we settled down at a tavern by the train station for lunch. I had French onion soup and two gin and tonics. Before boarding a 4:20 train back, we stopped by the river once more, where I stripped off my outer layers and took a swim while Keith sat and heckled me from the rocks. When I resurfaced and sat to dry, there was a cut on my knee, freshly wet and searingly red. It seemed so inconsequential in the moment, even as the blood mixed with the lake water and trickled down my calf in crimson trails, staining the boulder I occupied.
The train seemed to take its time in arriving, and while I soaked in my last moments before heading home, I kept thinking, “this has been the best day in a very long time.”
Though I ought to have been uncomfortable, with my still damp clothes and aching joints, I found sleep quickly once boarded. As pulled back into Grand Central, I let myself shift into autopilot and made my way home in a drowsy stupor. All the while, I remained in Cold Spring, where I continue to breathe deeply and find more gratitude and kindness in my approach to the world.
