Aloof

A typical street in Hells Kitchen held 500 families in the tenements on one side of the street.

I watched 1000 other young women walk down the aisle of St Pat’s on my graduation day

In elementary school I always had 49 classmates and 1 teacher

I am accustomed to crowds and cannot understand why I am having difficulties adjusting to life in a lovely residence with 125 other residents.

Is it because I am reminded daily of the oft quoted line “Footsteps marching to the grave.”

Or because I am reluctant to listen to daily reports of falls, ailments or upcoming medical procedures.

Or because I yearn for yesteryear when I was lithe of both spirit and dexterity.

Am I rude when reluctant to participate in a conversation about grandchildren, in laws and /or families other than my own.

Is it offensive to speak the truth and say I prefer other topics?

And then I recall walking only on the opposite of 58th Street where the red brick wall embraced Roosevelt Hospital and shielded me from curious neighbors.

I remember vividly watching my 999 classmates receive their diplomas and wishing I had found a friend in the three years we shared in the brick building directly across from the famed Waldorf Astoria.

And I have never forgotten the childhood trauma when Sister Andrea mandated our sixth grade class memorize the dire passage from Longfellow’s famed poem, “A Psalm of Life.”

Nor will Ellen, my sister, or I ever forget the daily routine of watching bodies being wheeled from the main wing of Roosevelt hospital to their adjacent morgue as the women in our family gathered at the window to pray for the deceased.

Perhaps only if I am honest and remember Vladimir Lenin’s words about youth,

“Give me four years to teach the children and the seed I have sown will never be uprooted.”

And that may be be when

I understand myself better.