Lady Liberty and Love

Victor Kerlow

Dear Diary:

“Do you know the way to the lady, with the liberty?” he asked.

He was 20-something, Asian, with a camera lassoed around his neck. We were both crossing the Brooklyn Bridge alone, on one of those overcrowded, overheated August days when tourists and locals collide.

“I think so,” I said. “She’s right over there.”

Pointing to the Statue of Liberty in the distance, I explained the ease of taking the R train to the ferry while he looked up at me with a smile, whisking the sweat from his forehead.

“I’ve just moved here from China,” he said. “Arrived yesterday. I’m Aero.”

As we strolled closer to Manhattan, the East River beneath our feet, Aero explained how he was starting school here soon, and would eventually get a job, his own apartment, and make a good deal of friends.

Then, suddenly, he stopped â€" and brushed his hand against my shoulder.

“Do you feel that?” Aero whispered, bridging the gap between our faces.

“Do you feel the … electric?”

Locking eyes, I quickly realized that beside a job, an apartment, and a good deal of friends, Aero was also eager for a girlfriend.

“I feel the sweat,” I said.

He laughed, and asked if I would accompany him to “the lady with the liberty,” but I was en route to lunch and uninterested, so I did what any good local would do: I dropped him off at the train.

Underground at the R, we hugged and waved goodbye from opposite sides of the platform. I waited for his train to arrive, and when it did, he hopped on and disappeared.

Walking up the subway stairs, I recalled the “electric” and laughed. I hope he found his lady.

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