I moved to NYC in September of 2009 because I didn’t know where else to go. I had graduated from college and spent the summer living out of a duffel bag. I fell in love with the city instantly. I stayed for three years, and loved every minute of it.
My second Christmas in NYC was in Bed-Stuy, in Brooklyn. I had finally gotten that awesome apartment I had dreamed of – 3 bedrooms for a mere 1500 a month! Magical! We had little to no furniture. One day my roommate came home with her boyfriend dragging a tree. The tree was the only thing in our barren living room. Its scent permeated the house. We wrapped knick knacks and put them under the tree. Slowly the room filled with furniture as we acquired it from Goodwill, but the tree remained the centerpiece. On Christmas eve, I came home to an impromptu party in my living room. My roommates’ work was having a training week, and many of the people who came from out of town needed a place to stay. She had assumed that no one would mind them at our house.
So I spent that Christmas eve (I left for New Orleans to visit a friend the next morning) with a dozen strangers, drinking egg nog and singing carols. We stayed up all night and talked, laughed, and drank.
The next morning was icy, freezing cold as I stood on the platform waiting for the J train to take me to JFK. It was snowing lightly. The moon still hung in the sky. My face was numb, and it was beautiful.
