Day 60 - City Story

City Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

God, I hated the city.  There were always too many people there.  Too many cars.  Too many noises.

But I had made a promise and I intended to deliver it.

Dutch had been my best friend.  He had always wanted to see the city.  He never had that honor before his death.  I had his ashes though, and they were going to see the city and have the day of their life doing it, so to speak.

The city the city the city.  That’s all you ever hear about.  On TV on the radio in magazines in books.  It’s like the rest of the country doesn’t exist or matter.  Only the city, because, well, after all, it is a city.  And we all know cities matter and normal regular everyday life doesn’t.  There’s magic in the city.  There’s love and sex and stories to be told and adventures to be had.  In the country there’s just work.  People and routine and work.  We do work hard though.  Politicians love to give us credit for that.  They love to remind us that we are the hardest working workers there ever were and ever will be.  And applaud and we cheer and we act like they mean it and they act like they mean it.  And then they go back to the city and we go back to work.

When I get home, people will ask me what I thought of the city.  Not everybody ever gets to go.  I’ve heard about Europe, read about the Orient.  But those are all just fantasies.  We can make those into whatever we want them to be.  Amazing stories.  In our mind.  We may never get there, but we can imagine.

Back home the city used to seem just like all those other countries and continents.  It was a fantasy.  A miraculous place of merriment.  Or so we all thought.  Or so we all dreamed.  Now I was there.  And when I got home, people would want to know.  Did it live up to the dream?  What was I supposed to tell them?  It was just tall buildings with too many people walking the streets and too many cars driving on the roads?  It smelled of shit and piss and carbon monoxide and people wouldn’t look you in the eye on the street and they pushed right past you as if you didn’t matter?  No body wants to hear that.

They are just people, I suppose.  In both places.  Here and there.  We’re all just people.  We have lives, problems, bills to pay, love to be had, love to be lost.  In that way I bet those cities all across the globe are the same way.  Overcrowded and underjoyed.

I had a good meal.  Why not?  Dutch would have wanted to, so why shouldn’t I?  It was expensive, but one of the best prepared steaks I had had – blackened and crisp on the outside, tender, red and bloody on the inside. 

Saké?  Sure, why not?  I had heard of it, but never tried it before.  When would I again?  So I indulged.  When asked whether I preferred it hot or chilled I didn’t know the difference so I tried it both ways.  Apparently from the waiter's reaction that was not the right answer, but what did I care?  I’d never see this waiter again.  And as it turned out, it was surprisingly good both ways.

I stopped in at a local pub. 

The bartender set the pint down and named his price.  My face must have shown my surprise.  I knew prices in the city could be steep, I had heard of high priced fancy clubs that could charge whatever they wanted to charge, but this was not one of those establishments and the price seemed a bit ridiculous.  The bartender just smirked and stared at me, waiting.

Maybe he saw me as a country fool and thought he could play a trick with me.  Maybe.  How was I to know?  Arguing over a thing like that wasn’t going to get you very far.  You either wanted the drink or you didn’t.  I produced the appropriate payment including tip, but I wasn’t happy about it.

Either way, my best friend had his farewell toast in drunkenly fitting style.

Two hours later I stood on the water’s edge saying my final farewells.  I’m sure I was about to break the law and that dumping into the river, especially ashes, was highly frowned upon.  Sadness came over me and I looked longingly at the city skyline and the lights in the night sky.  Dutch should never have waited.  He was too fast and always had expensive tastes and high life dreams.  He would have loved it here.  He was never meant for the country.  It was too bad he never had the chance to try. 

Soon my friend was gone and the world was a slightly sadder place. It was time to find my hotel for the night and tomorrow it would be time to find my way back home. 

I still hated the city, but a tear formed as I thought about having to leave it behind.