THE WALL

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it was a rainy, desolate weekend.

there was a break from the frigid temps and sporadic snow flurries. friday saw record high temps for early March (almost 70) but the wind was outrageous. i embarked on a 3+ mile walk around the city and was blown (literally) across the sidewalks. the wind felt nice for a change; it didn't sting against my face.

at one point, i stopped and watched as trash swirled up into the streets, then settled to the ground again. a storm was coming.

on saturday, the rain came...more often a downpour than a drizzle. i woke in a somber mood and never snapped out of it. i left early morning for my personal assistant position, only to realize halfway there, after checking e-mail on my phone, that she canceled for the day.

at 2pm, when i climbed into bed for a nap before my night shift, i heard thunder in the distance. it was then i realized that it would have been my dad's 59th birthday that day. i set my phone to silent, pulled the covers over my head and slept.

my shift at the restaurant that night was slow. my somber mood still lingered. a little before closing time, a father and daughter came in for dessert. he was in his late 40's, tall and thin, his dark hair framed with gray. she was around 11 years old, with long, unruly, wavy dark blond hair. they looked eerily familiar.

they ordered - one cheesecake for his birthday; two forks. as they ate the dessert, he brought his daughters attention to the radio.

"ok...rock-n-roll history for the last bite of cheesecake. name the artist," he said, poking her in the arm with his fork.

"Daaad," she said, rolling her eyes.

"just give it a shot. this album, The Wall, spent time on the charts in my day."

she struggled with it for a few minutes, sighed and rolled her eyes again. "i don't know, Dad. just tell me."

"two words...first word starts with a P..."

"pink floyd!" she yelled. he smiled and pushed the cheesecake in her direction.

as he left to use the restroom, i watched the little girl. she could have been me. i pictured myself 11 years old again, tapping her on the shoulder and giving her all my life lessons. i would tell her that the last time i saw my father, i rolled my eyes at him. i would tell her that i still wondered if it hurt his feelings. i would tell her that i don't know if i will ever stop wondering.

my plans after work that night were canceled, and i was happy to go straight home. i didn't feel like looking at people, or the rain.

most of all, i didn't feel like seeing the trash in the street, now soaking wet and helplessly plastered to all of the concrete walls of the city.




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