The apartment from which we dangled our legs looked very much like this one. We couldn't help but see into the windows of our neighbors across the street when we were out on the fire escape. Their worlds cropped like live paintings, windows of glowing light. It was interesting to see how many beat the summer heat by hanging out naked in their apartments, and then there was the Ukrainian guy who waved his ladle from his window, always trying to invite us over for borscht.
The first time I visited Manhattan was with my dad, after I was accepted to Parson's School of Design. My dad tells me he was horrified when I came down the stairs in a white skirt, granny boots, pink sweater, extra wide belt, and a long strand of pearls. Then we got to the city and he realized I was dressed like everyone else.
We only went for the day, long enough to visit Parson's and walk around the corner to have a pastrami on rye, its six inches of meat a contrast to the flat bologna sandwiches I'd always known. We only went for the day, but when I returned to high school on Monday, I could feel that I'd grown taller somehow.
The second time I visited Manhattan, I saw Madonna.
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