Despite the unseasonable warmth, New York felt cold and clammy. It was raining.
We ran, without umbrellas, and dragging too much luggage: a lot of it his, thank you very much. The uncomfortable realization that I was also self conscious about leading him around crept up and caught me in it's claws. It was the same feeling that I had when going out with my now deceased mother who was in a wheelchair due to MS: stupid family dynamics and old hang-ups.
He had sighed repeatedly at the Airport security measures. Everyone was, understandably, slightly on edge since 9/11. Not only was this his first time throughout security since the extra measures were instated, but this was the first time he had to go through as a disabled person. We tried to discreetly go through with the rest of the crowd. However, a sharp eyed security employee noticed his sunglasses and his hand on my elbow. We were ushered through which was nice, but mortifying. He didn't say as much. He didn't have to.
I looked at him. He seemed tired and with his long, now disheveled,, hair resembled a dog that has just shaken itself after a bath. Still, he gave me his magnetic smile and said "Ah, 'The City that Never Sleeps,' 'The Big Apple,' 'Gotham,' 'Empire City,' 'The City So Nice, They Named it Twice' 'The City.' I missed our big messy country with it's big messy cities."
"Me too." And I was not lying. I had been homesick, and it may sound weird to some, but, to me, New York felt like home. "I could tell, though, that the crowded sidewalks and the ridiculous traffic were unsettling and disorienting for him. He had a hesitation and an uncertainty in his step that he didn't have in the quiet Mexican town.
It's always fun to hail a cab in the rain during rush hour. But eventually we found one and ran through a disgusting city puddle to beat any other potential passengers to the punch.
Sands started conversing with the cabbie in Punjabi. He was not completely fluent, I don't think, but he was able to impress the cabbie who gave us his card and told us that he would get us from anywhere in manhattan if we called him.
We got out of the cab with our luggage. We were tired and hungry and in a downpour. We were both, incredibly, unfazed and our mood, at least, was un- dampened. The grey sky was gradually turning black. Street lights started glowing.
"You definitely have the gift of gab, on a global level." "You could sell anything."
"What do you think I was doing in Cuilican?" He grabbed my shoulders, "I was influencing political outcomes by selling ideas," "I have another idea."
My makeup had probably dripped down to my ankles and my clothing clung to me, His hair was saturated and his sunglasses appeared to need mini windsheild wipers.
We stood in the rain drenched and dripping without umbrellas, holding each other and kissing as if the gray/black sky was mistletoe. He lifted me up and did a 180. He put me back down and held my back. We kept our lips together as if the contact was oxygen. And we didn't stop