May 24, 2002
I am so squished in the crowd, backed up
against a wobbly railing, breathing into someone's backpack, that
I almost can't breathe.
My friend Jodi and I have become honest-to-goodness tourists. We
are smushed into the Friday morning crowd outside of the
"Today" show studio. At least we don't have a sign. We
are actually here to see Bryan Adams, one of the loves of Jodi's
life. The problem is, I can't see a thing except the people in
front of me. They are speaking French and it's not their fault I'm
short.
Matt Lauer and Ann Curry come outside and stand
on a platform just in front of us. A camera swings overhead.
Everyone waves. People wave even when the camera isn't on; when
commercials are playing on the TV monitors. I watch Matt and Ann
peruse their scripts, check microphones, and search for which
monitor to gaze into.
The top news story of the day is yet another terror threat. Now
we're supposed to be especially cautious on trains and subways.
As if we weren't already. Or at least I have been. Jodi and I
look at each other. We're going to be riding subways all day, and
taking the train home. Well, what can you do?
From somewhere, I hear the guitar. Music
transforms this sweaty place. People are singing along and
swaying and laughing. Even the security guards behind me
sheepishly bop to the music. There are people on the second and
third floors of the NBC Studios, looking down at us and singing
too. And of course, because this is Bryan Adams, we are all
shouting:
Standing on your mother's porch, you told me that you'd wait
forever,
And when I held your hand, I knew that it was now or never,
Those were the best days of my life.
So we're screaming "Summer of '69"
and the sun is making everything warm and I look up at the
buildings dwarfing me and the perfect sky above it and for a
moment I almost burst, because it's the first weekend of summer,
and we're all here and we're just having fun.
Later, in Central Park, there are what has to be hundreds of
schoolchildren picnicking and running rampant on the playground.
The kids have taken over. There are about 25 of them on one
seesaw alone. To me, this is a disaster in-waiting. I cringe
every time one side of the seesaw bangs to the pavement. More
kids bounce basketballs, clamor over the rocks, squeak on the
swings, and splash water on each other at a fountain.
As Jodi and I are walking somewhere outside of the park, on one of those streets near the subway, a school bus inches by, bunched in by the traffic. It seems out of place here. All of the kids inside are bouncing around in a way that can only mean a Friday afternoon near the end of the school year. But this one girl, maybe seven or eight, is staring silently out the window, watching the people. I look up at her and wave. A smile transforms her, and she waves back.