You were the end result to my journey today. I came at you,
this time, straight on from the Hill District, via Centre Avenue. I never get
to come down from the hill straight into your divided-highway lanes. I feel
like a Queen every once in a while when I do. When I had a car I used to drive
by myself at night when I couldn’t sleep. I made sure to go down Centre to
Kirkpatrick to you.
I was in the car, navigating for my Minnesotan friend, Alex,
short for Alexandra. My red-headed friend is not a firebomb like some may think
of red heads, she is a soft spoken one, mid-twenties, with a soft spot for
anything that allows her to seep into caring. Today, it was gentrification. “I
know where we are. We’re in the Hill District,” she said. Mm, was my only response. Alex sighed. She said something about the
ghetto, as a joke, and then changed the subject. I stopped listening as we
approached the fast-turning down-slope of the hill on Kirkpatrick. It was still
light out, coming down into the early winter afternoon, approaching 3pm.
What
happens in Pittsburgh this time of year is that gloominess turns to early
evening. Sometimes it only seems to be daylight in this East Coast, almost
Midwestern town for the first few hours of dawn.
The clouds weren’t rushing at all. They slow-walked the
afternoon over the soft, light green of the bridge: I felt saved. I felt like I
was coming down from a place that seemed much darker without the illumination
of the bridge. I felt almost as if I was sailing on the Monongahela. The river
was huge as I could have an objective look this time, without running, without
the chill on my face, closed off from the rest of the affects of the city. The
car muzzled the rest of the noise; only my door chattered with the wind. Is
this what it’s like when you die and are lifted through the light in the
clouds?
I’m not sure why I felt like this: like this was a
Christopher Columbus discovery. Much like that one, this bridge was here before
me. This town was here before me. Uptown existed and re-existed, as with the
bridge. This bridge was built and then reconstructed in the mid 2000’s to
include a bike lane and a sign for the bikers to yield to the traffic coming up
from Forbes Avenue onto the bridge, sneaking in the shadows from underneath.
This was a moment of trying to put my finger on what I loved
about the bridge at that moment, flying across the intersection of Fifth Avenue
and Kirkpatrick Street, continuing onto the thick asphalt, car bumping onto the
change of physical matter, wheels peddling its 30mph onto the legs of you.
Does it feel the same to you, when any living or non-living
thing pounces onto the home of your physical being? My friend, do you feel a
thing?
What I find striking about this entry is how profoundly your emotional connection to this city comes through. Although you're seeing this place go by through a window, there's a sense that you're truly seeing so much more than the landscape can reveal, things that can only come from a deep and lasting relationship to this place.
ReplyDeleteI've liked your blog and the relationship you're exploring. Along with Mel, i read and sense deep observation and connection. As an example among many, I especially connected with one observation: "What happens in Pittsburgh this time of year is that gloominess turns to early evening. Sometimes it only seems to be daylight in this East Coast, almost Midwestern town for the first few hours of dawn." For me, your sense of the city is dead-on. The weather and light of day are beautiful from, say, 6 or 7 to 10 or 11, but after that, it's grey, white Pittsburgh light.
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