empty upper roadway 59th St Bridge
I wish I had a dollar for each time my father asked me, “What were you thinking?” I spent more time in silence after this question than the collective moments of quiet I grudgingly accumulated in church. Answering your father’s “What were you thinking?” inquiry, well, you may as well throw a live grenade straight up in the air and stand still to see what happens next.
This thought came to mind yesterday as I ran away from a speeding Police Emergency Vehicle down 58th Street towards First Avenue. Some background.
Fifteen minutes earlier, I spied construction in the street bed towards Second Avenue and saw horses blocking the 59th Street Bridge’s Upper Roadway entrance at 58th Street. Having my camera in my pocket, looking both ways for a cop, I saw nobody who might stop me, sidestepped the barricade and flew up the entrance ramp of the bridge thinking, “what a wonderful opportunity to take pictures from the mid point of the 59th Street bridge off the empty roadway.” Taking a few shots on the way up, I hit the quarter point of the bridge and a guy in a panel truck said, “Hey, you’re gonna get killed, cars are coming!” I waved him off, he was busting my balls, right? Walking towards the middle of the bridge in awe I kept taking pictures. Manhattan bound cars kept yelling at me and I ignored them, until, I saw a tiny red light starting to come over the curved roadway on the Queens side. Instantly a series of thoughts came through my head, “that’s an emergency vehicle,” “this side of the bridge isn’t closed for construction, they’re turning traffic around and here come the cars,” and my last thought, “I’m gonna die.” During that last thought I turned and began running off the bridge like Matthew Broderick’s character did in the last scene of the film “Election” when he throws a soda at a limo and the limo stops. It was the kind of run you’d expect from a 60 year old with two fake hips who still thinks of himself as someone who could play ball but chooses not to.
Making a left off the ramp I ran down to First Avenue and caught an uptown bus at 59th Street. Catching my breath, sweat rolling, pulling out my Metro Card I looked up and the portly bus driver with a hat on yet had a screwed up look on his face. I’m sure my long dead father was channeling the guy because Ralph Kramden was sending me a silent telegram, “What were you thinking?”
Thomas Pryor’s blog is Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts
