Quiet Place to Sit

Newark airport at 4:10AM.  And quickly enough, too quickly, alas, I am out of my Lyft and into Port Authority at 5:15AM.  This would be great except none of the busses the online Trailways schedule suggested would be leaving at 5:30AM or 6:00AM or 6:30AM appear to exist.   A seen-it-all middle-aged lady at the Greyhound ticket office confirmed: she did sell Trailways tickets, but there weren’t no busses before 7:00AM.  I reluctantly suspected she knew what she was talking about.  I could take a train up, but that would mean to schlepp to Grand Central and a schlepp that someone else would been to make if they came to meet me in Poughkeepsie.  Comparing it all there wasn’t really any difference.  So, I went to find a place to sit and finish my book. 

I’d been enjoying “Pain” on the plane.  The novel by Zeruya Shalev, was past the midway point.  Unhappily married Iris, the protagonist was getting calls from Eitan, her long-lost lover, but her daughter was spending time with a rather plausible and vile cult figure.  I had superimposed a family I’d visited in Jerusalem a few days back on to the characters in the story and found myself unwittingly concerned about my own daughters.   All I needed was a quiet place to sit and finish this . . . at 5:30AM, in freezing Port Authority.  

The Starbucks in the station wasn’t open, so I lugged my back up to Eighth Avenue and over to Forty Second Street.  Still dark, I had it in mind to find a place to change the three hundred shekels in my pocket back to dollars.  It’s worth about one hundred U.S. Why hadn’t I thought to do this at the airport where money changers are legion?  The place the Greyhound lady had spoken of was fifty yards up on the right, but it was closed.  I didn’t see anything else amid the garish neon of 42^nd St and so, I plodded across the to a Starbucks that was there on the uptown side of the street and warmly welcomed by an uncharacteristically friendly barista, I took my seat with my espresso and my banana and my green juice drink and a box of cheese and crackers and ate up the next ninety minutes of time, reading. 

Second guy up on the Trailways bus.  That meant I could take one of the front seats.  It was the same Chinese American bus driver I’ve had before on this route.  Iris was trying and failing at the intervention with her daughter.  She wasn’t returning Eitan’s calls.  And, by the time we were on Route 17, heading through Paramus, I was similarly failing in my efforts to stay awake.  It rained and rained but by the time we reached New Paltz I could see we’d had some snow while I was gone.  My wife was waiting for me there at the bus stop and I could truly say that I was very glad to be home.  But before I could unpack and throw my clothes in the laundry and find the silly Israeli wine-themed gift I’d gotten her I camped out in the bathroom and finally finished the last twenty pages of “Pain.”  Recommended.  Among the seven or so Israeli novels I’d read in prep for this trip, this was among the most memorable.  I couldn’t wait to give my younger one a big hug.

Tuesday 02/11/20