Dear Diary:
Did you ever have one of those dreams where you’re naked in church or a public place?
At 8:30 a.m. it was already 85 degrees, going up to a sweltering 95, so I decided to go out early for my daily run-walk with hand weights. My route is always the same. This morning I decided I’d go topless because of the heat. I’d done this before, even though an unfeeling young woman in a passing car once yelled out, “Put your shirt on!†It’s New York, and hot, and no one is shocked by seeing a few gray chest hairs pass by.
I started out, down 102nd Street, toward Riverside. There’s a little path at Riverside and 101st that I take down to the Firemen’s Memorial Monument, and from there I always head down the stairs to Riverside Drive.
Already so hot that my eyeballs felt as if they were melting in the sockets.
As I entered the path in the upper park, I heard horses’ hooves and saw a couple of mounted policemen clopping down Riverside Drive below. I didn’t think anything of it. But then I saw American flags up and down the stairs that lead from the Firemen’s Monument down to the Drive.
And then I realized that it was Sept. 11.
The Firemen’s Monument is one of the sacred spots where firefighters, their families and other first responders all gather, in uniform, to remember the lives that were lost. I’d attended the ceremony last year.
It was still early and the ceremony hadn’t yet begun. People were gathering. Everyone was dressed for the occasion except me: uniforms, dresses, suits. Voices were low and reverential, as they are at a funeral. Chairs and a lectern had been set up in the top plaza of the monument. I thought I would be able to quickly dart through and out of the way before anyone saw me. But suddenly I was in the thick of the setup, half-naked, and couldn’t find a way out. It was impossible to get through the rows of tightly packed chairs. The only way out was by the stairs themselves.
Do I say anything? I wondered. Do I apologize? It was strangely dreamlike, since, really, there was no one to apologize to, or even to talk to, in my half-naked state.
People looked at me but no one looked outraged as I threaded my shirtless way through the chairs, around the flags, past the lectern and down the stairs, dodging units of men in uniform posing for photos. I hope I’m not in any of them.
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