The Seventh Day
text: molly holleran
photography: katie beth
Ah, Thursday. If pleasure were something graphable I would say
that we had an averagely pleasant time. Mostly it’s my memory choosing to
remember the best parts. It wasn't terrible, only that it was bitterly cold and windy. The deuce of Ks went to move Bruce from the sweepers again so HE and I
went out on our own. We did not have anywhere particular to go in the morning,
so I found a military surplus store on Yelp that looked excellent. It had a
five star review and very happy customers. There was a stationary store nearby
that would have the postcards that we wanted. Off we went, fighting the wind
which had dropped the 18 F degree weather to 3F due to windchill. I was all set
is a little chilled in my coat, but HE only had on one jacket and she was
miserable. We didn't notice how bad it would be until we were in Manhattan and
were trying to find the shop. Eventually, we turned the corner only to see that
the shop was closed! Disappointed and a little frustrated, we walked a block up
and over to the stationary store. There I found the perfect journal for the
best price that I have seen since. It’s small and green, takes fountain pen ink
beautifully, and is blank for sketching. Postcards abounded and were a little
nicer than the usual.
The shop itself was tiny. Think shipping container set into an alley.
On the left, all the way to the back was a wall covered in backpacks and duffel
bags, padded out so you could see their size and capacity. On the right hung
jackets and belts and at the front was a counter with buttons and pins. Every
nook and cranny was filled with examples of merchandise. An opening in the back
lead to storage. A large front window helped light the room, but the brightest
thing in the shop was the personality of the proprietor. He was a middle aged
or older Asian gentleman who was delighted to see us. He was in the middle of
receiving a shipment and told us not to mind him as he moved the boxes around.
While he fussed over the fact they they were very heavy, “Seventy pounds!” he didn't have that much trouble with them. Since he was busy with that we turned
to shopping. HE was cold and wanted to buy a jacket. Hanging from the ceiling
was a selection of bomber jackets which she admired until the proprietor
offered to bring one out for her. HE looked at her and said. “You’re a Small. I
know these things. I’m good at them.” She was dubious, but when he came back he
was right and it fit wonderfully. He brought out one of the backpacks for me
and spent great care showing me how to work the straps in the back so that they
would not slip even under tension. “Always go to two first. Two, then one, then
three!.” We eventually left, prepared for the wind, happy and his kind
words “You two are so sweet. So cute.” warming our ears.
Back on the train we hopped and traveled to 57th Street on the F
train. We wandered around for a bit looking for food but quickly realized that
any food on the lower end of Central Park was going to be decimal points out of
our budget. As we waited for K&K to arrive we explored various shops and
stores along the way. H had a perfect strategy for getting us out of shops
while avoiding any discomfort that comes of looking around and then leaving.
She would just look at her watch, exclaim something about being late and we
would hurry for the door before the salesman got too pushy. Eventually, K&K
found a Chipotle’s and we ate there. It was a busy hub of NYC black pea coats.
We ate and caught up with each other before making further plans for
exploration.
K&K had seen a tobacconist’s on the way there. H was delighted
at the prospect so we walked up a block to a delightful store. Despite being
four young women, the shopkeeper never looked at us strangely but chatted
nicely with us while the few of us who smoked considered merchandise. He was
smoking a cigar and the air was mixed with tendrils of smoke. While it was not
oppressive, I enjoyed stepping outside all the more for it. In the back of the
shop were seating areas and display cases full of polished pipes. After
admiring them for a while we left KJ and HE there to sit and smoke and talk. KR
and I went off in search of a bathroom but found Tiffany’s instead. We went in
and generally felt out of place. They gave us strange looks until we left. WE
continued on our way until we found 5th Ave Presbyterian Church. It took up a
large part of the block and I began to feel its size as we rounded each corner
looking for the door. It rose high above us in spires in a sort of Neo-Gothic
style in red sandstone. Inside was quiet. The man at the desk let us use the
restrooms without fuss and let us go into the sanctuary as well. IT was dark
and quiet while light gleamed in through the stained glass windows. Red
carpeting and dark wood gave a respectable background to the gilt organ that
rested behind the pulpit. In a moment of quiet K and I sang the doxology into
the muffled room. While we were in the church I felt at home in a way that I
would not anywhere else in our trip. There’s something wonderful about knowing
that you belong to a family that covers the globe.
We returned to the tobacconist and made our way to Central Park.
The bitter cold made it entirely unsuitable for lingering, but we walked up a
path to some sun and paused to let our feet feel the ground beneath us. Having
been to Central Park we turned and went back to the apartment where we spend
the rest of the night in, happily busying ourselves with food and words. I made
cake, and KJ made drinks, and we all built dinner together. That evening, our
hosts had a guest over and conversation grew lively as we took a moment to
share each other’s lives.
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