MY NEW YORK DREAM

It was winter and the day was very cold January 17 of 1965; that year I lived in New York in a small apartment in Brooklyn. Every morning I went to Amanda's coffee. It's the closest cafeteria to my work, located in the Upper East Side, to have breakfast and read the newspaper. I thought it would be a typical day in my life—just drinking a coffee and reading—when suddenly a beautiful, tall, blond woman with very luxurious clothes took a seat in front of me. I was impressed by her beauty and the way she treated people. She reminded me of an actress. She spoke to the waiter with a smile and kindly asked him for a coffee and a croissant, turned her gaze to mine, and we made eye contact; she smiled at me and said: “Bon appetit.” She drank her coffee, then got up and left the restaurant. As soon as she left I noticed that she had forgotten a book of notes on the table, so I took it and left the restaurant.

I started to think this was not okay, as I paged her book, I wanted to see if there was a little information about her to give her book back. Inside the book were pictures of her with friends, some notes, and, at the top of the page, was her address. She lived on Upper East Side 59th street, so I decided to go and find her.

Before heading her way, I went home, fed my cat Marcus, and got dressed in my classiest clothes. It was a very long distance and I wanted to make a good impression. I arrived at her apartment and asked the doorman how he was doing. He was nice, so I lied and asked if I could return a book back to a friend. The doorman didn't want to call her room because he did't want to bother the lady. I clearly insisted, and he yelled at me and finally called to her room. I was nervous. A few moments later, she appeared coming down the stairs very well groomed with her dazzling hair. She smiled and said: “Oh thank god, I just thought for a moment I’d lost it.'' I said it was no problem. She asked my name .“I’m James, and what’s your name?” She smiled and said: “Nice to meet you, James. My name is Sharon.''

I invited her to a restaurant, and she accepted. We went outside and walked together, looking for a place to eat. I was too excited. We arrived at an Italian restaurant, where we talked about ourselves. I tried to keep my favorite things to myself [for example, my cat Marcus and my books] because I was scared that she would think I was a freak. She told me her favorite band was The Mamas and The Papas. I was shocked she actually listened to them as I did! Then she said her favorite food was pizza and pasta, and well, my favorite food was a hotdog, but I didn't say that. I decided to say my favorite food was caviar. She started to laugh at me and said: “Really? What's your favorite food? That's disgusting!” I just casually laughed. Once we were over, I decided to pay and then we ended-up walking on the street at night. The winter was groovy like her.
We finally reached her apartment, and she said: “I'm going to see you again right?” I said: “Of course.” She then came close to me. I thought something might happen, but she just gave me a hug and said goodbye. I was very happy about it. I arrived at my apartment and fed my cat.

The next day came, and, as always, I arrived at Amanda's coffee. In the depth of my heart, I was hoping to see her again. Some minutes later, she arrived with a wonderful smile and an elegant dress. I was very excited to finally see her again. For a moment, I thought this would never happen. She said hello, and I said hello back awkwardly. She began to ask me many questions. She asked me in what part of the city I lived in. The truth was, I didn't live in such a luxurious place, so I told her that I lived in an apartment like hers. She asked me what my job was. I was a writer, working for a mid-level magazine and using my free time to finish a crime novel, but I wanted to impress her more, so I told her I was a lawyer.

We left the coffee shop, and she said she was a little tired. She asked if we could go to my house, I told her her house was closer to the cafe, but she didn't care. I told her it was being remodeled, but she said it didn't matter. Anxiously, I agreed. I knew I couldn’t take her to my real place. She was rich and beautiful and would not love me if she knew the truth about me. So with great hope, I took her to one of the most luxurious apartments in the city. We arrived and entered the elevator. She looked confused but tried to see me super calm. I chose the first button I saw and took us to the apartment upstairs. Luckily the apartment was open, and I walked in as if nothing was the matter. She applauded and asked, in a sarcastic tone, "Wow, you really live here?"  I told her yes, but she laughed and said: "I'm an architect, but I designed these apartments recently and they are not open to the public yet." I tried to explain, but she left. I tried to look for her many times, but I never saw her again. I felt terrible that day, and all ofmy life I was ashamed of that situation.