Welcome to Brooklyn

Last night, Ben and I took a wrong turn. Isn’t that how every scary movie begins? We turned right instead of walking straight toward the Dunkin’ Donuts in Brooklyn.

We walked ten, twelve, maybe fifteen blocks. Who really counted? Apparently, we didn’t because we walked and walked and walked. We walked until I finally commented on the change of scenery. At first, the apartment buildings and storefronts cast a welcoming glow on the night street, but the neighborhoods became darker and looked less inhabited the deeper into Brooklyn we strolled. Eventually, apartments gave way to deserted storage buildings, abandoned semi trucks, and rental buildings with boarded up windows and heavy padlocked doors. Cars sped by us with no other human in sight.

I held Ben’s hand as we pressed on noting all the objects that, amidst the garbage scattered on the street and sidewalk, could be used as lethal weapons… a four foot lead pipe, a frying pan, a broken bottle, and a three foot wooden beam with nails that jutted out from one end. Not the sort of place that rolls out the welcome mat for visitors.

Finally, in the distance, rested a gas station well lit by God’s Heavenly light. We reached the station and stood, bathed in fluorescent light. Ben pointed to the outline of a grey bridge and asked me if it looked like an overpass. Overpass, my left arm! The only structure that bridge resembled was the one I was going to jump off if anyone attacked us.

We called our friend for new directions. We retraced our steps back to the subway to start again, but this time in a different direction, of course. (The new route was, by the way, very nice and safe.)

So, my first trip to Brooklyn started out a little rocky, a little rough. But, it ended well (with husband and all body parts intact). We arrived safely at our party. Needless to say, I don’t think I’ll be going back until the days get longer and the night get shorter, or at least until we learn how to follow directions.