That's all there is. There isn't any more ...

Day 47: Tuesday, April 4

This is the first of these entries I’ve written while the day is still ongoing, but it’s a travel day, so I’m assuming not a lot will happen. I’m currently on the plane, 38067 feet in the air, somewhere over the Great Lakes from the looks of it. (The map in front of me is not at all helpful.)

The day began early. Once again, I wanted to get up and get out of Beth’s way so we could both be out of the bathroom in time, so I was up out of bed at about 8:40. I got out around 9:15 and started the real process of packing: getting stuff out of the closet, shoving things in my suitcases, and stripping the bed and getting the towels ready to wash. Part of the agreement for the place was that it be returned as clean as we got it, including all the linens. 

That was a fair deal, but it meant I had to be ready to spend a good part of morning downstairs at the laundromat watching clothes spin around, and I’m not Zippy the Pinhead.

The cleaner arrived almost exactly on time, so I let her in, explained/apologized for what needed to be done, then gathered up everything that needed to be washed. As I left, she was plunging in with both elbows into the kitchen (which didn’t seem that bad, but apparently was) and I told her that if she needed me for anything, she should just text or call. She needed a new spray bottle of Lysol, which I was more than happy to get, if only to ease some of my guilt.

I went downstairs, loaded a machine, started the wash, then headed down to one of the bodegas to get the Lysol, which I happily took back to her. From then on, it was back to the laundromat to watch the Slowest Man in the World Who Also Doesn’t Quite Get How This All Works go up to the Big Dryer (the one marked for blankets and other heavy-duty drying) and place one thing in it, then one quarter, which would buy him five minutes of heat, not enough to dry a moist saltine. (I noticed later he also had a full load of Stuff That Should Never Be Dried on High in another machine; hope he likes small clothes.) Eventually, he put in more quarters, but never quite enough to get the job done.

My job was done, though, so I collected my wares and headed back upstairs to put things back in order. To my surprise, the cleaner was still working on the lower floor (where we almost never were, other than the kitchen). Beth told me she was going to the bagel place and 7-11 and asked if I needed anything. I said no, since I’d be going out later myself. She left and I went upstairs to figure out how the mattress would be best placed on the pallets it sits on and got everything back to normal. Beth eventually came back and I took that as my cue to head to the post office to mail home the inflatable bed I’d bought on the second day of the trip.

I was a little wary going to this particular post office because of, yes, Yelp, but the people there couldn’t have been faster or friendlier, despite their online reputation, so I got out with much more ease that it had been to get there. (Suffice it to say, small, poorly-balanced box on a poorly-balanced luggage carrier. It was not fun.) I was a little worried that the cleaner might not be done by the time the car was due to pick me up (2:00) and my flight had been delayed, so I called and arranged for a later pickup. I stopped at Tompkins Square Bagels for a final visit, bought a dozen, then went home.

To my renewed surprise, the cleaner was almost done (I guess upstairs was easier than down) and Beth had given her the payment I’d left in just such a case. I wrote Olga an email that detailed all the things we had done (the cleaner, washing the sheets, the wifi going out [it never did return], where I’d left the keys and mail), The cleaner left and Beth and I were left to sit and chat while she waited for her Lyft and I for my ride. We were both stunned at how quickly the whole thing had gone; when we started, it seemed like it was going to be endless, but now felt like it had all happened in a week. (And yet, so many of the events feel like they happened years ago.) We talked about all of it, then her ride came, and I was left alone.

 Shot taken Tuesday morning from inside the living room, 

looking south on Avenue B

Taken a couple of weeks ago, looking west on 11th.

My bedroom is the top floor on the corner, Beth's is just to the right

I almost immediately burst into tears (I’m a little misty-eyed now, writing this) since so much had happened. Well, I mean, if you’ve read this far, you know … I called Pidge, who talked me down, and while I was on the phone, I got a text that my driver was there (he was early, which was fine, since there was really nothing left to be done), so I took a last look around, hauled my suitcases down to the front door (no easy feat), then outside and down to the sidewalk. The driver met me, put the luggage in the rear of his Suburban, and it was all over.

We took off and got to Newark Airport in pretty good time. My flight was still late, so I wanted to use my free pass and get into the United Club, but they were so full they weren’t allowing one-time users in, so I trudged to (of course!) the last gate and waited. After about an hour, I went back to ask if there was any room at the inn, but there wasn’t, so back I went.

I was hungry, so I stopped at a restaurant and got an overpriced chicken parm sandwich, then headed back to the gate. When I bought my ticket all those months ago, I had put in for an upgrade to first or business class using miles. I didn’t get it on the trip out (and probably would not have gotten a refund had I not insisted on one), but this time I was number two on this list. I kept checking the app to see if I was going to get it. There are 16 business-class seats on this flight (no first class), and the number occupied kept going up and down from 13 to 15 and back. The first guy got an upgrade, but there I was in limbo. My only hope was that only 15 people had checked in and my current seat—4F, interestingly—kept being unoccupied. When I got back to the gate, it was almost time to board, so I went up to the lectern (not a podium) and politely told the gate attendant that I was next on the list and if she knew when they’d be releasing the seat. She asked my name, looked up my info, and said “The seat is yours,” and it’s where I’m sitting now. (Oddly, even though it’s a beautiful day out, I’m the only person in this section with his window shades up.)

 

The sun sinks slowly in the west as I make my way home

It’s been a good flight so far. Mostly quiet as I’ve spent most of it writing this. I plan on going online as soon as I finish it to upload it. I got a chance to use the restroom, and while I was waiting, was speaking to the flight attendant: 

“Going home?” 

“Yeah. I just spent seven weeks in New York and am ready to go home.” 

“What do you do?” 

“I was in a show off-Broadway … “

I described the show, talking it up pretty well, then just now gave her one of the postcards. (“Always. Be. Closing.”) She came back and said how interesting it sounded and that she’d keep an eye out for it in case it has any further life.

I can only hope it does. I’m not quite done with Sam yet.

Beth wrote a note of thanks on Facebook, which inspired me to write my own valedictory. I’m going to cut and paste it here and figure that’ll be the last word.

Thanks to any and all of you who suffered through any and all of this. It was all mainly for me to keep the memories of just what happened (which is why I sometimes—sometimes!—went into tedious detail). I want to remember all of it.

Fortysome years ago, I started acting. I always harbored the dream of being on Broadway, but (as with so many dreams) it eventually became a pipe dream with no chance of happening.

Two years ago, I auditioned for a show. To tell the truth, I wasn't crazy about the play, but the part seemed good. I got the show and the ride began.

As I've related many times, that ride was more roller coaster than anything. Four people playing the other role, an impossible rehearsal process, and what felt like never-ending work.

But it all paid off. I quickly came to love the script. The show was a hit beyond my wildest expectations, and whispers soon circulated about a possible transfer to New York.

Last May, those whispers became shouts. We were going off-Broadway. I made travel plans, booked an Airbnb, and waited for February to finally come. (The wait seemed endless.)

Finally, the day came and, terrified, I left home for the biggest adventure of my career. Somehow, we pulled it off again, I made my off-Broadway debut while living as a New Yorker, and all was right with the world.

In a manner unquantifiable by science, the seven weeks I was going to be here went by in something like ten minutes, and I'm now in the airport, somehow ready to head home (for one night, at least).

How is this possible? I had that rare trip where almost nothing goes wrong, and almost everything goes right--well beyond my capacity to have earned it.

I'll take it, though.

My deepest thanks to Gino DiIorio for writing the play, Leah Abrams and Brian Katz (and the Isenbergs! Always the Isenbergs!) for getting us here, Brendan Averett for being such a swell guy to act with, Beth Hall and Daniel Dixon for being great roommates, and (above all) Pidge Meade for giving me the support to do it.

Dare I say it?

"It was ... a unique experience."