Edwin Jones

Its 3:35pm so it means its time. The yellow that hovered across the sky through summer has landed on the leaves. The leaves landed on the wet road and met the other leaves who kissed many colors of orange. Some people think its cold enough to wear sleeping bag jackets while some wear a long sleeved shirt. The cats sit in the window getting the sun, their world hasn’t really changed yet.

I wish I had a tool that let me seek out the brightest and most colorful tree. But then that tool wouldn’t allow me to discover the others while I search for that tree. I do proudly say the one outside my house may be the most vivid orange and red I have ever seen. A woman sheepishly snapped a photo on her way to work. She saw me see her take the photo and we had an unspoken exchange. “It’s beautiful huh”. The next morning the rain carried the leaves down to the ground and they look like a messy artist who had been painting the trees left splatters everywhere. An artist so carefree and generous that they didn’t care where this color pallet landed. As long as it was for everyone to see. It was their duty to make sure people looked up from their walks with their heads in phones and just stop and look at the color. Even if it was to take said photos on their phones and continue on their way, boosting the saturation and adding filters for everyone to click “like”. The next hour or two will be a sporadic collection of likes of those around the world who have never seen such hue.

These leaves are then carried inside, onto the worn apartment corridor carpet. Not as social in here, as the leaves can barely make out the next, one or two steps higher than them. “Hey, its warmer in here huh”. “Yes, even more so up here on the third step”. “Oh you are new, you just come in?” “Yes, on a boot with this yellow fella”.

I wonder how many leaves go into the ocean. Cause that is an adventure, from a still quiet yard. A blast of air and rain took them over the roof and into the front garden. Then the next day another gust carried into the gutter. From there it was very dark and lots of pauses. Meeting many interesting and not so nice characters until a gush pushed them out underwater into the salty cool.

I remember a photo where my dear friend heather and I had a leaf fight. June 2003 and my friend Rachel who was a budding photographer snapped it. We were I want to find it, maybe she has a copy?

I loved how traces of leaf would stick to woolen sweaters after an adventure as a kid. It really was the mark of fun that had been had.

My possum Peter used to like touching the leaves on the front grass. Gently treading on them, one footstep at a time. Then a car would drive nearby and he wouldn’t be as gentle and crunch across the rest and up the bare tree. Hiding in the sticks and branches. He looked below him from up above and the car drove away leaving the quiet in its place.

They shouted out “Megatron” and a burly dude walked up and took his Venti pumpkin spice latte. I’m now sitting down and watching the morning pedestrian traffic on 54th and 3rd. The line for coffee goes out the door. Everyone holding their side bag while looking at their phone. All just came from beds scattered across the five boroughs and beyond. And now I am part of this. My latte is a little too hot as it warms my throat in the Fall air, I have a pass that gets me into my building. I sit at a desk all day, answer questions about health insurance and laugh with my colleagues. A few days a week I see the man I fell in love with and ponder what is next. My evenings are filled up most nights with the new friends I have made. I spent a Friday night at a friend of a friends place knitting. I went to a broadway show on Thursday night and felt cynical about it and it shows how spoilt I have been. That distant myth that I will write something to satisfy my ache of creativity disappears around the next block. The next block after has another hot dog stand. I keep getting notifications of bands I have always wanted to see live, are performing in concert. But then I cannot afford to go, and then I am more honest and admit I really can’t sit through live music events too often. I need a chair and no one bumping against me in their own glee of seeing the band they have always wanted to see and saved up for. People walk by me asking each other “where are we? Is that the subway entrance?” in many languages. Every store is selling pumpkins and five dollar scarecrows. I can already see them face down in the trash. I rely too much on spell check. People are polite in NYC, always opening doors for each other. Movies tell us they aren’t. I am avoiding going up the elevator to my floor. I don’t like sitting down so long. This pumpkin spice latte does OK.

I have been in in the city of New York for five months now.

In that time, I spent three months seeking my next role, obtaining that role and then slowly setting up life here.

Two days ago I got my own apartment in Brooklyn, a walk-up. This is the term used for no elevator but flights of stairs. I love my little new home. I have a mattress on the floor and an old bed side cabinet I found on the side of the road from the 1930s. There was a pack of condoms in the drawer when I found it. I jumped on Amazon and bought with same day delivery a Dr Who shower curtain because my old house mate and best buddy refused to let me have one in my home in Melbourne. Priorities hey. Now to find a couch (not from the street though).

It is warm and humid. I have always raved about how I could live in this sort of weather everyday. Not in NYC, it is like walking around the mouth of a homeless person. Dripping by the time I get to work after travelling the subway.

I now work in an office cubicle on 10th floor in Midtown Manhattan. 18 months ago, if you told me this I would not have believed you. It is like I am living some dude’s life In a film before some giant wave hits the building. I have no idea what this city may bring, but as a wise woman told me last week , “if you are open to NYC, NYC will open to you.”

Well NYC, I am open.

I did this. And it felt right to do this in my gut, and it made sense to do this in my brain. And my friends and family supported me to do this.

Now I walk through the warm air, the honking of traffic and the chirping of so many foreign sounding birds fills my ears and the bright green of spring leaves is everywhere. NYC is wonderful.

Take pride when you take steps to do something that is scary. It may help someone do the same. It WILL help someone do the same.

“If I could be anything other than what I am, I’d want it tomorrow.

If I could be what my father wants me to be,

maybe I could stay for that too.

If I could be what you want me to be,

I’d want to stay.

But I am what I am,

and all I want is freedom.”

–

John Barton“Looking for Alibrandi”

This quote has always hit me hard. From one of my favourite films, a deeply tough part of the protagonist’s story line. It reminds me to never be who others want you to be. But to continually seek our who you want to be, for yourself, so you can then be much more for others. And I now sound like I am writing an essay for school.

That in itself, is a never ending journey. Full of mostly frustration, when you look on the outside, down at yourself. Craving to express, to be heard. To be understood. And then you wake up when you no longer are scared and push out. Let people know how much you like muffins, or the sky at 4pm. Pull a face at a stranger so they smile.