boundless

big jet plane

Seven years after I had left for California, I found myself on a plane heading back to New York City. I wasn't on best terms with the city when I left, so it was daunting to be going back. I left New York as a lost, unemployed man, and I was coming back as an accomplished screenwriter and director, having written and directed two critically acclaimed movies, and one that was coming out in just two weeks that had been in the works for a very long time. I had a big press conference with the actors of the movie the next day, along with a few other appearances on talk shows in the following week.

Once the plane landed, the drive from the JFK airport was tedious. I was nervous for absolutely no reason other than the fact that I was returning to a city that I once loved living in. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I knew that I wouldn't just be able to sit up in my hotel room. I might have been afraid that the city had changed since I left it; that I wouldn't be able to recognize it. I was foolish in thinking that that would happen in a lifetime. Sure, the city had changed, but it was no different to me.

Once I had settled into my hotel, I decided to go to my favorite pizza place in the entire city for lunch. It was pleasant, but time had worn the people who made it, and the product of their work was less than what I expected. I then found myself in Central Park, sitting on a bench quietly, watching all of Manhattan pass before my eyes, (as I used to call it).

I came to the realization that I had never visited the top of the rock in all the years of living in New York. It was considered a tourist attraction, and I never considered myself a tourist, so I never went even though I heard many people claim that it was the best view in the entire city. I figured that I should go see it if I wasn't coming back after that visit.

It was a relatively short walk from the park to 30 Rock. I bought a ticket to go to the top just as the sun had started to set. The sky was a canvas of orange, red, and pink, all mixed together and splattered everywhere.

Once through security and the elevator ride to the top, I wasted no time in going to the highest level I could, where there were no plastic walls, covered in hand and finger prints, obscuring the view.

I stood with my hands on the railing for a long time. The Empire State Building seemed like it was at arms length. It was arguably the most distinguishable building in the city, and I was standing across from it, looking it right in the face. The Freedom Tower stood silently in the background as the sun sank slowly into the clouds behind it. People could say what they wanted about New York, but, to me, it was beautiful.

I stood there long past the time it became dark. It was like the city was a nightlight, everything lit up like a Christmas tree once the sun had disappeared. More and more people started to leave, but I remained still.

When I finally turned, from the position I had been standing in, to leave, there were only a few people standing around with me. There was a guy who looked about twenty-something standing to my left, a young couple across from me, and a photographer to my right.

The young man looked as though it was the only place he had to go to on a Wednesday night, and I felt bad for him. The couple looked very happy together, and I think they would've been sorry for me. The photographer looked like he didn't care much about what he was seeing because he was only looking at it through his screen, and I felt bad for him, too.

I went to walk down the stairs to the lowest level of the observation deck. I looked around at the people who were on that level until I found a pair of eyes that were looking at me.

I wouldn't forget those eyes if I lived to be one hundred years old. Those were the eyes of Kate Foster. And they were locked on me for the first time in seven years.