Sounds of New York City

01 Dec Sounds of New York City

When I first moved into my apartment, I was worried that I made a mistake.

My last apartment was on the fourth floor and in a relatively quiet neighborhood.

There’s a lot going on in my new ‘hood. I have Second Avenue Subway construction going on at the nearest corner and FDR traffic at the further one.

And in between, Bobby Schmurda   .

Shorty like the way that I ball out

I be gettin’ money ‘till it fall out

You talking’ cash, fog, I goes all out

Over the summer, I actually enjoyed the sound of New York. I would sit on my fire escape and take it all in. And then one day back inside the apartment, I heard one thing no New Yorker wants to hear.

I knew what it was the moment I heard it.

Still, I tried to reason with myself. I share a vent with my next door neighbor. I’ve not met this particular one, but because of the vent, I can hear her in her “kitchen” when I’m in mine.

You’re literally going to drive yourself crazy, I told myself. You need to get out of this apartment and get some fresh air. Put some actual clothes on and go somewhere.

The next morning I had an interview with a pretty big news leader (this is another post but I could cry thinking of the people I’ve managed to get in front of in the past month), so I cranked up the TV and the air conditioner to drown out the faint scratching.

I woke up the next day bright and early for the the interview. Afterward, I cleaned my apartment: doing last night’s dishes, running the DustBuster along my faux fur rug, loveseat and bathmat. I hang the bag of trash on my top lock as a reminder to walk it to the trash shoot.

I sat down on the rug to cut out a few aspirational quotes to add to my door when I heard–and saw– a mouse jump down from my sink. I screamed and dove on the bed. Shaking, I called the one New York City kid who would have all the answers.

“I was right! There is a mouse in here,” I scream-whispered despite the fact that earlier in the day when I told him my suspicions he told me mice actually can’t hear. They only can feel vibrations under them–hence why those huge rats will be completely #unbothered on the subway platform, running only when the train comes.

“You have to go stomp in the direction you saw it to scare it,” he said patiently. Nope. “What else, not getting off the bed.”

“Call the super.”

“Well, he claims he can’t come until 8 the next morning. Will you come sit with me, I ask,” forgetting his Giants are about to play. The mouse comes out from somewhere circling under the glass table I thought I would have dinner later. I scream. “Okay, I’ll be on my way. We have to get off the phone though, okay?” he says, again, very patiently.

I call my mom. “ _____ is on his way. Will you keep me company until he gets here?” “Sure, are you okay? You probably need some steel wool,” my mom starts rattling off a list of preventative measures.

A little backstory here.

I live on the Upper East Side–the last untouched neighborhood in the city, apparently—at one of projected stops along the phantom 2nd Avenue subway line. The night before, construction workers moved the barricades, housing all the trucks and equipment to the other side of the street in front of my building disrupting the natural order of things. Stuart Little here, may have been lost.

“Wait, shhh, I think I see it,” _____ said over an hour (!!!) later when he arrived. “Channing… That’s a baby. I thought we were dealing with…” He shuts up when he sees my face.

“We should get some traps.” (It’s going downnnnnn   )

12 traps later, I hear a faint knocking again.

“Wait, what is that?”

“Nothing,” he says, a truck is unloading something.

“No, it’s definitely in here.”

He gets up to go look. Little Stuart is stuck on the trap trying to squeeze under my coat closet door.

“Aw, he’s screaming!” _____ is amused.

I’m not.

[inlinetweet prefix=”” tweeter=”” suffix=””]“… But is he on the trap? Can he get off?”[/inlinetweet]

“He’s so little and cute.”

“…Will you get that thing out of here?!”

After scooping the trap with the mouse in a plastic bag, he ties it up, taking it to the trash shoot.

“I just don’t understand how you heard that,” he said when he came back in.

That’s the thing.

Wearing: Zara Moto Jacket// J.Crew Floral Sweatshirt//  A Gold E Chloe Jeans c/o Piperlime// Reenvy Pumps// Chanel Bag// Revlon Colorburst Balm in Shameless

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I’m sure there is a lesson in here about how New York is teaching me to listen to my gut and all that, but for now,[inlinetweet prefix=”” tweeter=”” suffix=””] I’d rather crack a window and listen to the other sounds of New York.[/inlinetweet]

Bobby Schmurda, included.