How do ya like dem apples?



Ok, it's now day 2 of the post-blackout blitz in Brooklyn. We were the last to get our power yesterday, and I'm still recuperating. I lived through the unthinkable Thursday night.



We were told to leave the building at my job at 4:40 pm. My coworkers, Paula and Ro were the last ones out. We figured our routes. I then told 2 Australian tourists what happened and they headed back to their hotels. I started down 5th Ave. near 43rd st. I stopped in Bryant Park to eat some fruit for the energy I needed to face the buses/trains/walk I might do. Turns out, it was THE walk of my life. I started down 38th st. Buses were streaming by me. I figured one of them will eventually stop. WRONG.



Soon, I found myself near Victoria's Secret in Soho. I stopped to get an ice cream cone since I damn well earned it. I had now passed through mid-town, downtown, and approached Chambers Street at City Hall. I met 2 former students from my former job, and they wished me luck. I said to Jorge, a very sweet Argentinian, "I have faith God will get me home safe." Jorge squeezed my hand and said, "Yiss, Annie. You are good person." I faced the bridge, stuck in a sea of Jamaicans, my favorite absolute favorite people. We made our way up to the entry. Jokes and songs, not complaints, were all I heard.



"Whyya gotta be rushin like dat??" the woman on the left of me said. "People dey looozin dey minds, yah know?" I smiled and took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. At 7:25, I hit the half-way point on the Brooklyn Bridge. Easily thousands of us were marching forward over a 200+ year old structure. We swayed slightly, but the downward curve was in sight. I turned off, in sync with a purple and coral sky, towards Jay St. college. Buses were packed, left and right. None of these were my routes, though. I needed the b37 or the b63. I'd have to walk to Fulton Mall to get there. I soldiered onward, acutely aware of my achilles tendon starting to twist under in my sandals. I was NOT wearing walking shoes.



I continued down past Schermerhorn to 3rd Ave. No bus in sight. I had two options: either pick 3rd Ave, run into all the strip clubs and prostitutes, or 5th Ave, and run into the Latin Kings and the Netas near Sunset Park. Another option? 4th Ave. all the way down. I now faced 4 more miles of nothing but concrete and blackness. My feet were screaming, but I continued with the help of a kind woman in a botanica, and two dread-locked men handing out water and wet towels near St. Thomas Aquinas church on 9th St. I passed 36th st., 45th, 53rd, 59th, and 62nd. These are all my stops on both the N and R train, so I was right there. I could have gone to a car service, but I grit my teeth and thought, "No, this sonofabitch ain't gonna kill me." I reached my apartment and all my neighbors sitting in a sparsity of candles. Their daughter, Carol, handed me a flashlight as I made my way up the stairs. I promptly lit all the candles I had stored in my refrigerator, and my house was aglow in soft golden light. I promptly tried my mother, and miraculously got through. She had just been interviewed by a reported in Ocala, FL asking about word of NYC's blackout. She was thrilled that I got home, and tried my other friends. I had two cell phone numbers, which weren't working from my phone, so I got this "dead" stagnant air sound. I hung up and promptly fed my cats. They were thrilled to see me home.



I took a cold shower, soaked my swelling feet and my knee and fell into bed. At 3:45 everything popped on. It was like "Maximum Overdrive" or something. Weird. All the ice in my freezer collapsed, so I scooped it out. I didn't have to throw out my chicken or my eggs. We made it, though. New Yorkers can truly live through anything.