Autumn in New York
Why does it seem so inviting?
Jack handed his last paper of the afternoon to a tall gentleman in a top hat. He had taken only half of his usual amount that day, knowing that not many people would be out and about on Thanksgiving. Shoving his nearly-numb hands into his pockets, he turned a corner and began the familiar route into the heart of the city. Every year, the boys ate together that evening: Tibby's was closed, but they saved to buy a small turkey, and Kloppman provided the firewood for them to cook it in the stove.
Autumn in New York
It spells the thrill of first-nighting
He'd spent more time with Sarah these last few months, helping her carry her sewing to the Woolworth's five blocks from her tenement. She was pretty, sure, and sweet, and kind. He liked to be around her, plain and simple, and he liked to think she liked to be around him. She must, to do what she'd done last week.
Glimmering crowds and shimmering clouds
In canyons of steel
They're making me feel I'm home
The Jacobses were the kind of family he wished he had: all the people neatly in place, everyone kind and caring and welcoming. Even without Sarah, he felt like a member, a perfect addition. But—he shuffled and kicked a pile of leaves—they were—so predictable. Like a math equation. How many papers to sell to buy a soda? Two parents and three kids. Sarah would grow up to be the perfect wife and the perfect mother, just like Esther. Davey and Les would be perfect career men, smart, doing what they did exactly right, once someone showed them how. Much easier and simpler to blend into this family than the precarious life of a would-be cowboy/newsboy.
It's autumn in New York
That brings the promise of new love
He was walking with her along Main when she said, "You know, Mama would like it if you ate Thanksgiving dinner with us." She didn't say whether she'd like it.
"I'll see what I can do," he said. She laughed cheerily, almost assuredly, as if he'd already made up his mind. Maybe he had.
Autumn in New York
Is often mingled with pain
He saw himself, ten years ahead, married to Sarah, with three kids of their own. Jacob, David, and Esther. Their last name was Sullivan. She was making dinner, he came home from his job as a minor World editor, and the kids ran up and jumped on him, and he ruffled David's hair and picked up Esther and whirled her around, and gave Jacob a firm, fatherly handshake.
When he tried to picture himself in ten years without her, nothing came.
Dreamers with empty hands
All sigh for exotic lands
He wondered what Thanksgiving in Santa Fe was like. The colors must be much more vibrant than the dull grays and browns of the city. The leaves would be splashed with yellow and red, like a picture he saw in a magazine once. There would be turkeys running around wild, and all he'd have to do would be to scoop one up, cut off its head with his Bowie knife, and roast it on a spit. That'd be a real Thanksgiving, a natural one, not a store-bought, family meal.
This autumn in New York
Transforms the slums into Mayfair
He was two streets away from the corner of fifth and State. To the right, and two and a half blocks down, was the lodging house; to the left, and a block up, was the Jacobs' tenement. Two minutes from turning. Racetrack and Blink would be disappointed if he didn't show up. He'd started the tradition, after all. Before he collected enough funds from the boys to but a turkey, all they'd done was play an extra hand of poker that night. Now, he was expected to cut the meat, pass the plates, and preside over the evening. Race could wield the knife, and Mush pass out the flimsy silverware, but somehow he knew it wouldn't be the same for the boys.
Autumn in New York
You'll need no castles in Spain
But Sarah and Esther, and Davey and Les, were expecting him to eat with them. Sarah, without saying as much, had made it obvious that she would be gravely offended if he took his Thanksgiving anywhere else. And poor Les would be so disappointed, and Davey and Esther would worry.
It's autumn in New York
He made his decision, turned the corner, and walked on.
He entered the room without knocking. The people looked up, and his heart nearly broke to see the joy on each one's face. There was a moment of silence, then everyone began talking at once.
"Hey, Jack, you're late, didn't think you'd make it!" Racetrack stood up and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Here, here's the knife, cut it up quick, I'm starving!" He took the knife from Blink, who'd been waving it around wildly.
"Get those plates up here, come on, we're all hungry!" Mush fidgeted impatiently.
It's good to live it again