City in Sepia

New York breeds novelty. In my time on the streets, the gasp for creation, the churn of progress, and the sounds of hands shuffling cash for the latest product infect my soul and mind with a desire to be a part of the innovative life the city incubates. At times though, if you're receptive to it, the city environment can throw you back a century to a previous life: a New York City just as novel and growth-centered, but now antiquated.

It was Halloween, and Abby and I donned our costumes (I, a Marcel Marceau tribute, she, a lovely Regina Spektor) and walked to 6th Ave for the Halloween parade. The crazies had already come out. If you think the Village is superbly strange on normal nights, you should see it on Halloween. We made it to the corner of 6th and 14th and joined the throng. Bodies packed tightly, lining the street for miles. People, young, old, speaking languages ranging from Mandarin to accents from Long Island, pinned in by the walls of Urban Outfitters and the barricades installed by the NYC Police Dept. We held hands, and waited, listening to those around us.

Before the parade began, the rain fell. Umbrellas shot up, limiting vision, and the streetlights diffused amber through the shower. The spectators on roofs and fire escapes retreated below eaves, but leaned over their banisters as the music of the parade was welcomed in on the cold breeze.

Dia de los Muertos skeletons led the undead procession. Towering over the crowd, juggling their jaws and reaching to touch the onlookers, they found no fourth wall. Their innards were painted, moving faces of white and black eyes and teeth. The puppetry was stunning, and told a story of entertainment, ritual, and the beginnings of memory.

The parade was on! Costumes, some creative, some standard, most revealing, were a spectacle showing the different roles and stories from which we play and learn. It seemed as if the rain only fell on the onlookers. These sprites, passing down the city streets, stopped only for cars; they were untouched by rain.

The crowds responded in a discordant chorus. Middle-aged men and women laughed at the costumes and smiled over memories of shared celebrations passed. Young children slept in carriages as people stepped over them, trying to make it to the subway. Young adults, tripping or rolling on some form of substance, shouted at the people in front to put down their umbrellas. How was it possible for a group of people to be so happy and miserable at once?

Listening to the drums roll the parade by, I looked up through the falling rain at the tops of the buildings framing the sky. The crowds in my periphery faded, and I felt like I was in the city in the 20's. A parade streaming by, citizens cheering from windows as a throng beat the streets and rain poured down. Generations may have changed, but in that moment, the ritual of men and women, children and elders, gathering to watch a spectacle in the rain, spouted a timelessness into the air. This city is alive with the vibrant life of people struggling in the present, just as it always has been. If I focus on the people I pass on the streets, on the storefronts and on the billboards, I am encapsulated in our current time. But if I take the time as I walk hand in hand with my love to glance up at the tops of buildings, remembering when men used to wear hats and suits, I feel the progress of a nation, and I marvel at the novelty and repetition that time brings.