i have known for a while that the day would come. it was always more a question of when than how, though. and the how, i have got to say, has me completely baffled.
when i imagined it happening, worried about it on the train ride home from work, it would always be gone. just gone. not on the post i locked it to. not on the fence around the tree on driggs. all of the other bikes would remain, but mine would be gone because mine, obviously, was the best. and my reaction, i always knew, would be a complete and utter meltdown. i would fall into a lump on the sidewalk and cry like a baby.
but it didn’t happen like that at all.
on saturday we moved a bunch of boxes of books, some bookshelves and our ikea “couch” over to the new apartment in bushwick. i won’t recount all of the disappointing details of that trip, but suffice it to say that we were slightly less enthused about our move that we had been and since then, i’ve been researching window gates and deadbolts, worrying about the recent wave of break-ins i’ve read about taking place one block over from our new home. i’ve woken up at 4:30 a few times and worried about these things until the alarm went off at 8.
see, i’ve never had anything of value taken from me before. a car stereo once, but as much as i enjoyed that, it didn’t have any real meaning to me. it wasn’t a part of who i am, you know? so the thought of anything being stolen, even so much as a book, was very painful and frightening. but! i am happy to report that i’m less worried than before.
last night my beloved bicycle, pictured above, was stolen from our greenpoint apartment building, most likely while we were up here enjoying our pizza and worrying about bushwick and security gates and deadbolts. i kept it in the downstairs hallway, right in front of our neighbor’s bike (also stolen) and completely safe and secure (or so i thought) behind two locked doors. there was no sign of forced entry. no broken locks. just two missing bikes and two closed and locked doors greeted us this morning.
i called the police and two sweet officers came and told me that they were very sorry (and even winced in sympathy when i told them what *kind* of bike it was, a 1977 schwinn stingray slik chik, green with a white and silver banana seat and green sparkly handles) but there was nothing to be done. i had no insurance on the bike and they don’t investigate stolen bicycles. it happens all the time, you see.
i thanked them for their time and walked to the train, calling my mom to rant about it on the way. she was sympathetic and calming and i felt better after hanging up. i waited on the platform, then got on the train, and then proceeded to cry like a little baby on the crowded train from bedford avenue to my transfer at union square.
one of the things i like best about new york city is the ability to cry in public without being bothered by “concerned” others. it’s like an understanding that we have: sometimes you just need to cry and somehow the easiest place to do that is on a crowded train on your way to work. it’s like hitting a reset button for your emotions, sort of. anyway, by the time i ended my journey at prince street, i was almost chipper. and very late.
i’m less concerned about having things taken from me now, because things are just things, no matter how much you love them. and i came home tonight to ian bubbling over with excitement for his show on saturday in dc (more details soon!) and some delicious-smelling pasta sauce bubbling away on the stove. there was a sweet email waiting for me from one of my best friends ever and last night i got a call all the way from bolivia from another best friend. i already have everything i really need and i’m the luckiest damned girl in the world.
but still, if i see the fucker who stole my bike, his ass is grass.