Miracle on 24th Street

While in New York do as New Yorkers do.

What do New Yorkers do? They use their hallways to store valuable things. Their buildings are locked. They don’t have much room. What else is a New Yorker to do?

By New York standards my Midwestern home is huge! We have space. We have room. We have a place for everything. Not my sister. Not her New York neighbors. Not her friends.

“It will be okay. We’ll have your bags out in the hall until you go to the hotel.” There were five of us visiting. Two would stay at Jennifer’s. The other three would be heading to the hotel after dinner.

While watching my bag being dragged out into the hallway, I fretted. “Are you sure it’s okay?” I said to my aunt. She had lived in New York before. Her suitcase was placed in the hall too. She seemed fine with it. I decided to be fine too.

We ordered take out. Our delivery boy arrived. Jennifer’s dog didn’t like him. We had to hold him back so Jennifer could pay and collect the food.

We closed the door and continued our merriment. While the others prepared the food, I visited with my twelve-year-old niece. Her gums were hurting. She had braces. The metal rubbed her gums.

I expected it to be noisy in New York. “I have wax ear plugs I haven’t used yet. We could take a pinch of the wax. I bet that would solve your problems.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I’ll get them. They are in my suitcase.”

I opened the door and looked out into the hallway. I didn’t see the bags. At first I didn’t understand. “Jennifer,” I turned back to the apartment, “where are the bags?”

“In the hall.”

“No they are not.”

“What?”

Jennifer and I stood in the hallway. We looked again. Our bags were gone.

I didn’t handle it well. I tried to be okay. But I couldn’t. I had my favorite clothes, shoes and accessories packed for my week in New York. “I don’t care that I have to wear the same outfit everyday all day, it’s what I’ve lost,” I said. “How will I re-coop all of it? I can’t. The reality is, I can’t.” Mentally, I listed every item in my bag. My aunt’s suitcase was missing too. She flipped out about her jewelry.

Jennifer, my newly converted New Yorker, took it like a pro. She was concerned. She was worried. She was MAD! She called the restaurant and demanded the delivery boy return our suitcases. “He is the only person that’s been in our building. I know it’s him. I will call the police. Something must be done. We want the bags returned. We will not ask questions.”

She put on her coat and stormed out the house. She prepared to do battle. She prepared to win. And I should never have doubted.

I used foul language. I tried to get over it. I couldn’t it.

Then we heard a strange buzzing noise. My niece said, “I think it’s coming from the wall. I think it’s the buzzer.” She hit the button and we heard the main door open. My niece ran towards the top of the stairway. “It’s him. He has your bags! It’s him!”

He told us he thought we’d left out trash. We didn’t care. As promised, we didn’t ask questions. We thanked him and took our bags. We called our fearless warrior back and gave her the good news.

“It’s all there,” I said.

“So is my jewelry,” my aunt added.

I stopped swearing. Life was good. We continued our merriment.

Miracles do happen...even on 24th Street.

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