The Big Apple: Sundays With Ingrid
“Grand Central Terminal.”
Despite everything, Ingrid felt some excitement when the conductor spoke those words, excitement to be all by herself in the Big Apple. She walked off the train with the other passengers, upstairs to the main concourse, huge and magnificent – the ceiling, all green and gold, so high above. A realization struck Ingrid at that moment, unrelated to the mess her family was in, or to Grampy’s case: she would live in this city one day.
Someone bumped into her, almost knocking her down. Ingrid took her eyes off the ceiling. Everyone else’s eyes were boring straight ahead and they were all moving so fast. Lesson one on how to be a New Yorker. Ingrid spotted an elegant old lady carrying a tiny, pointy-faced dog and followed her onto the street.
Cold outside, with steam rising from vents here and there. The hard-edged shadow of a tall building angled down, dividing everything neatly into sun and shadow. The elegant old lady stepped into the sunny part, raised her hand and called: “Taxi!”
A yellow taxi swerved over to the curb. The lady got in. She said, “Tiffany’s, driver.” The door closed and the taxi drove off, the dog gazing out the window, looking snobby. Lesson two.
Ingrid stepped into the sunlight, raised her hand and called: “Taxi!”
She barely got the word out before one screeched to a halt beside her. She was going to make a great old lady; although a dog like that was out of the question, no matter how elegant she ended up being.
“New York City Mercy Hospital, driver,” she said, getting in.
Uh-oh. It was fun saying, driver, like that, as though she practically lived in taxis, but there was no sign that this driver had actually heard her. He was talking on a cell phone – wedged between shoulder and chin – in a foreign language, at the same time thumbing buttons on a handheld device. With the heel of his other hand he spun the wheel, sped into traffic, so fast Ingrid felt g-forces, like an astronaut. He wheeled around a corner, then another, made a screaming stop followed by another lurching take-off, honked several times and almost hit a bike rider, two women with huge shopping bags and a bus. Ingrid fumbled with her seat belt. It didn’t work.
“Driver?” she said. “Sir?”
From Into the Dark.
Welcome two dudes in the kitchen, Samantha; Blackie, please try a reload.
Tags: Echo Falls Series
This entry was posted on Sunday, March 6th, 2011 at 9:16 am and is filed under Chet The Dog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.