New Yorkian Adventure

Grabbing my messenger bag, I flew down the porch stairs and hopped into my mom's car. She was letting me drive that morning because we were a bit early. When we got to the bus station, we bought our tickets and stood in line. I noticed an Italian couple standing a few feet away from us. Ethnic diversity is something that is not prevalent in the town we live in, but is the standard in New York City. 

I was born in the Big Apple, on Lenox Hill. I lived on Riverside Dr. for the first four years of my life, with frequent trips to Europe. I can't remember much from that time except going to preschool. The playground was on the roof and I didn't want to climb the monkeybars in fear of falling off.  
On the bus I tried to do my physics homework. No use, I couldn't concentrate. After an hour I could make out the enormous shapes that formed in the distance. The New York skyline. The tall gray skyscrapers reaching into the clouds. Another twenty minutes and I will be home.
When I finally arrived at Port Authority, I could sense the change in the atmosphere. There was an urgency to move: the buzz of the city streets below, the people flocking to Times Square. My mom and I descended to the underground. I swiped my metro card and entered the long mosaic hallway to the uptown station. The Mardi Gras characters on the wall were happy to see me return, and so were the signs on the ceiling.
Next stop, Columbia University. Both on the subway and in my life. 

We took the express to 116th and walked out of the dark tunnel. The college gate welcomed all the students to enter. The hum of intellectual conversation whizzed through my head and I felt at home. I also blended in since I was sporting a Columbia t-shirt.
My mom, her friend Karina, and I took a tour of the campus together. I saw the buildings in which I will be spending a lot of time in, just two more years. I immediately recognized La Maison Française, and Hamilton Hall of course. I remember running in the hallway on the fifth floor by my mom's office, writing on the chalkboards and sitting in the wooden seats pretending to be a student. Once I even answered a question while listening in on one of her Lit Hum classes. I was immensely proud of myself until I realized, years later, that the question was rhetorical. 
After the tour I went with Karina to Sezz Medi', an Italian brick oven pizza restaurant. The margherita pizza con pancetta was delicious. We talked about Eurpean films and she invited me to visit her in Switzerland this summer.
On my way out, I went to look for the owl hidden in the Alma Mater, Minerva. The legend is that the first person to find it will become valedictorian of their class. I found it in about ten seconds, but I won't say where it is. It was then that my glasses broke. In my resident town, I would have to drive for fifteen minutes before I could get them fixed. In NY, I walked for a block to an optitrition where they repaired my glasses in about two minutes.
Karina went to the library and I was left on my own. The first thing I did, which my mother later reprimanded me for, was to walk down the steps in Morningside Park. The lovely view was somewhat ruined by the two gangsters peeing in the grass. I walked through Harlem until I reached Central Park.
Central Park is the most inspiring place to write poetry. The sounds are so lovely: childrens' laughter, birds fluttering, creek water trickling... It's an oasis to escape the busy roar of the city cars. I took a solitary path that ventured into the higher rocks and dodged around bushes and trees. A set of typical Harlem teenagers were standing on the path. Oh no, I'm going to get mugged.
"Hi," one of the guys said suddenly, "How are you today?"
"Hi," I replied suspiciously.
The other one looked at me, "Have a nice day, now." Who said New Yorkers were unfriendly??
After that I climbed down the rocks into Stranger's Gate and I decided to take the metro on 103 st. Of course, I got on the wrong train and I went uptown instead of downtown. When I got on the correct train, I looked at my map so I wouldn't get lost again. A creepy man was staring at me across the row. I moved. By then it was time for me to get off. I walked to the east side of Central Park, seeing the Alice in Wonderland statue and the Belvedere Castle on my way there. My legs were growing weary so I rested for a minute in the Shakespear Garden. The roses were so lovely, and the seclusiveness of the benches was quite romantic. I passed the dome where my mother's Orlando in Love play had been performed a few years ago and I watched the people roller blading up and down the pathway.
Next, I was headed to the Strand, my favorite bookstore with almost every type of book for great prices. I bought a book on Hitchcock for $5. I used my Spanish credit card for the first time in a store, which made me feel very adult-like. Across the street I found a little shop which sold old LP records. They didn't have Claude François, but I did find Françoise Hardy, Lucio Battisti, and Michele Torr.
I went on a mission for my father and tried to find apartment 460 on 24th st. Naturally, being as inexperienced as I was in finding streets, I went east instead of west. That meant I had to do triple the walking: there, back, and to the correct house. I left a message and the nice doorman helped me to the metro station. It was almost 7:00 by the time I reached Port Authority, the buses were about to depart. I tripped while running up the escalator and punctured my toe, which immediately started bleeding. After taking care of that little incident, I was able to catch up on the gossip with the pigeons that live on the 3rd floor of the station.
When I went home, I fell asleep right away from the fatigue of walking for five straight hours. I had the pleasantest of dreams... me as a college student of Columbia, walking the city streets of New York, my hometown.