A letter to Brenna

I've been thinking a lot about you. The impact you had on me, what your last moments were like, what your last year was like, all the drama, all the suffering, what did it all mean?

I remember when I first met you. I was a boy, far from a man, far from my own person, a child playing at adulthood. You were a rave girl deity who knew everyone in the electronica scene, you'd go out to Limelight and whatever other clubs were hip at the time and was still in hs with us! Here I was pushing to extend my curfew to 10, 11, meanwhile you were partying it up harder than most twenty-somethings. Your brother Leo was a reflection of you, in many ways, the coolness, the self-assured swag, it was that assertion that drew me and held me captivated.

I remember the first time I went to a club, you got me and Leo into Pyramid for Konkrete Jungle. I was 17 and green, amazed that you knew the bouncer, the promoter, the bartender, the dj and several regulars in attendance. On one of those occasions  I asked you to hold my glasses for me while I jumped in the cipher to do some breakin'. When I came back and asked for them back, you gave me a blank stare and began looking through the pile of jackets next to you. It wasn't til we reached the bottom of the pile and pulled out two pieces, that were my glasses, that I began to cry, right then and there in the middle of Pyramid. (Any one that's had to wear glasses, with very poor sight, and poor would understand my sentiment, it meant I wouldn't be able to see properly for at least 4 days, would have a headache for the duration and my folks would tear out my hide, quite possibly.) Bren, you were indifferent. That's just what you were like, sometimes just not giving a fuck, but it makes me smile thinking back on it (and cringe at the crying part).

If you had an exalted status then, you became mortal one night as I was laying in the living room of your parents home in SI, watching HBO, trying to drift off to bed. Leo had long gone to sleep, but you came down in your boy shorts and tank top and we just talked, you confided in me that night and I felt honored that you did. After that, I'd see you from time to time, somehow Leo was always cutting my hair in your apt, or we were visiting your loft to see this rabbit or your new dog, that poor rabbit .... haha. (You weren't the best with pets, I think we all know that.) Hell, remember that time I ran into you at that Adidas SoHo party? I met Harold Hunter because of you, not a big deal to you but to me, I was a little starstruck, for sure.

When Leo gave me the news that you were diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, I was in disbelief. His tears, his sobs were real enough, though, and I knew by the way he described it in his car that he too knew that it meant a likely end. That was about a year ago ... we were only a year apart and yet you were already standing on the precipice of death, how do you accept that? Did you? What does that feel like, knowing you might die... I can't fathom that. My father has skirted perilously, my friend Asif was taken suddenly at the tender age of 25 and still, I can't begin to imagine what that's like.

I wish I was 20 minutes earlier. I arrived to the hospital ten minutes too late, I saw you for the last time, laying pristinely on your bed, surrounded by a small group of your loved ones. Sometimes I wonder why you didn't let me see you that time I was with Leo and Jess outside the hospital. Sometimes I wonder what might've been had you pulled through. Other times, I think about Mikela and what life will be like for her, without her caring mother doting on her. Who's gonna give me a second opinion on haircuts or outfits or get me into swanky clubs, who's gonna shun me one day and seek me out the next, who's gonna keep Leo's ego in check, haha. I wish I was 20 minutes earlier... but I gave you a kiss on the brow and let you rest.

Bren, you were no saint, but that's what I liked most about you.

The City That Slept (a stroll through downtown NYC)

Last night my plan was to finish my workout, eat my sister's shrimp scampi, which was delicious from the few bites I had, and relax with Book 4 of Game of Thrones (the Iron Islands await.) Suddenly I get a call from my cousin Uli telling me that him and Miguel, another cousin, are going to the Squarepusher concert and need me to ride in the car with them, since the police are only allowing cars with 3 people or more onto the bridge. Begrudgingly, I decided to get some air and join them, initially thinking that I'd ride with them over the bridge and take the F back home at 63rd and Lex.

Once in the car, after a few tokes, I decided that I'd go for a walk. The Squarepusher concert was at Terminal 5, formerly Exit (that's my generation), over on 56th between 10th and 11th, so I figured I'd walk up the West Side Highway and figure it out from there. With a Phillips in my pocket and a Bud forty in my fanny pack, I set off downtown, dropping off my cuzzos at their electronic escapade. By the time I reached the piers, I was cursing myself for not bring my foldable bike or my camera Or the portable battery I use to charge my phone on the go (I was at 15 percent in the car, so Instagram would have to wait).

I walked down West Side Piers until I passed 34th and saw the darkness stretch in front of me like a curtain wall. Have you ever watched that episode when the Bundys go to the UK? It was like I was stepping into Lower Umpton, it hit me that walking down the West Side Piers seemed like a bad idea, especially considering that the only people I did see were cyclists and bums on cycles (I felt sadly inadequate by both demographics.) I decided to start making my way east, my destination was Union Sq. At 30th I crossed the West Side Highway, I chose that street because there were large floodlights focused on a fenced off parking lot. As a city boy, my first instinct is to seek luminescence, like a moth to a patio light. Instead, I realized I needed to remain in the shadows, avoiding the piercing lights of passing cars. I clutched my screwdriver as I passed canyons of Chelsea buildings, slowly settling into the drear. Chelsea, where I would normally carouse with friends on Thursday nights at art gallery openings, was deserted. I thought that 23rd might be more populated so I trekked on...

... and found the children's park, Chelsea Piers and the rest of that end of 23rd street pitch black. There wasn't a soul as I made my way east on that once buzzing thoroughfare and though I imagined New York the way it was during the blackout of '03, it was nothing like it on this third day of darkness. I passed luxury condo receptions lit by candles, yuppies with flashlights in hand or headlights wrapped around their brows and tourists strolling by, curiously people-watching, speaking in their strange tongues. At 23rd and 8th I finally saw some semblance of civilization, cops were managing traffic in neon vests, using orange batons. I also noticed buses running this far downtown, so I figured I should make a mental note of it (I wasn't looking forward to walking 42 blocks back to the Terminal 5 area.) I continued down 23rd, passing skeavy types, wary while passing underneath scaffolding, the cold, the gusts an afterthought. Is this what New York was like in the 70's and 80's?

I made my way down 5th ave, there were def some cars rolling by, so I figured it might be better if I went down Broadway, only to find it deserted. The only light emanating came from the floodlights ahead that were showering Union Sq with a clinical glare. I thought I might find some hippie types lounging about but no such luck, there were work crews taking girders off trailers, the reflector tape on their vests flashing brilliantly as cranes hovered overhead. I continued down University Place, past Bowlmor and University Diner, past Reservoir and onto 8th st, past groups of NYU kids giggling along the sidewalk. I cracked open my forty finally, guzzling it down amid the shade. Washington Sq was dead, I was half-expecting Will Smith to come out out his brownstone opposite the Arch. B & N, Pieces, Greenwich Ave was a ghost town, the bohemians had evacuated the Village. By this point I was quite accustomed to the atmosphere, my thoughts drifting off to what it might be like with company when a woman, with presumably her bf, walked by, commenting how crazy this is. It was, the city that never sleeps became the city that slept.