Manifest Destiny

What is there to be said about destiny?

Is it something unexplained, like a UFO, or another phenomenon that graces the cover of The National Enquirer. Are we tied up by it, and being pulled towards a place or person with knots too strong to sever. Is destiny something spiritual, the end of our journey in this life, and our final resting place? Or, is destiny a path that changes direction with our words and actions?

Can we determine our destiny?

November 5, 2010
Midnight
It's 12am in NYC, which means absolutely nothing in this nocturnal metropolis. Cab drivers are still buzzing around like angry worker bees, and the Chinese restaurant next door is full of people ordering kung pow chicken.

I'm sitting on the floor of our makeshift living area and primping my hair, which currently looks like it went through a lightning storm. Ashley is sitting on Jewlie's bed reading Marie Claire.

"Jess, your hair is out of control," Says Ashley

She's right. The humidity, combined with my post shower blow-dry has turned me into a white Jimi Hendrix. I have a fully functioning afro.

Blessed with curly locks, me and it, hair and I, have duked it out since I was old enough to hold a hairbrush. It is a war that hair generally wins.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Well Ash, You can't tame a lion, and you certainly can't tame this mane. It's going in a pony tail."

I am meeting a friend from Connecticut at a bar in half an hour. It's my third night out in a row, and since days, and my job, and bills still exist... sleeping is a work of fiction.

"By the way, Ashley, I just looked up tickets to Mumford and Sons. The show is sold out."

"What!?" Ashley shrieks, putting down her magazine. "You've got to be kidding?? That's awful news! I really wanted to go that concert!"
"I know," I say, licking my fingers and attempting to smooth down the flyaways in my bun.

"Huh? I'm confused. They're you're favorite! Why aren't you more disappointed?"
"Well, when i saw they were sold out I asked the universe to lend me a hand and help me get tickets. I'm pretty sure things will work themselves out."

Ashley and I are roommates and opposites in many ways. Ashley tends to be practical and responsible, while I'm more reckless and impulsive. You'd assume our differences in nature would cause quarrelling, but it's the contrary. I help her loosen up and she helps me keep it together.

"Okay Jess," Ashley says, rolling her eyes and flipping to the next page of her read.
Three months of being my roommate has left her unphased by my new-age antics.

 "I'm serious,"
I stand up and walk toward the kitchen table, grabbing my keys off the counter,
"I'll say it again. I am going to Mumford and sons. It's manifest destiny. Thank you Universe."


November 14
11:55 am

I don't condone passing judgement based on appearance, but, sometimes in NY it's necessary to discriminate for safety purposes, especially when it comes to riding public transportation.

As I board the greyhound back to manhattan, I note that everyone looks like an ex-convict. I scan the bus for someone that isn't on a wanted poster, and decide I have three viable options: row 3, row 10, or row 15.

The man on row 3 is already asleep and has started to snore. At the moment, it's only a low, easy hum, but I'm giving him 15 minutes before it turns buzz saw.
Row 10 has a pet carrier on their lap. I walk closer and see a cat. Absolutely not.
I approach row 15, where a doe eyed girl with dark hair is sitting and clutching a looney tunes duffel bag. She looks about my age.

"Can I sit here?" I ask with a smile.
"Uuuh yezz, ave a zeat," she replies in a lovely french accent.

I'm delighted at this. Unlike the masses of Americans who think the french are rude, despite never having met anyone from France, I happen to love the french. Their straightforward, honest nature intrigues me.

We ride in silence through the forest of upstate new york. The leaves are a fiery orange and yellow, and the sunlight is playing peek -a boo through the trees.
I'm becoming bored with my book, but am afraid to fall asleep. The view is too beautiful and I want to be conscious through the scenery. Instead, I begin conversation with my neighbor.

"You're from Quebec?"
"No France," she responds, but I study in Montreal."
I knew it.
"France." I repeat, "I've never been. I'm dying to go, though. Are you from Paris?"
"Non, I'm from zee souse of France. Izz nex to Espagna, where I live. I don't go to Pairee much. Only 5 times in my life maybe? Where I am from izz much nicer."
"Isn't it funny," I shake my head, "whenever we go somewhere we end up in the biggest city, but that never showcases what a place is all about."
She laughs at this then replies,
"Yezz, here I am on my way to New York City. It tiz my first time in zee States."

I tell her New York doesn't count, and that it's the greatest city in the world. I turn into a proud mother, and begin describing all of new yorks finest qualities as if it's my only child.

"....and then you have the flatiron building, which is personally one of my favorite architectural structures. And don't forget central park. It may be well known, but it's not overrated."

I can tell I am talking too much by the girls unanimated expression. I always talk too much.
I restitute by asking questions.

"I didn't even ask, what's your name?"
"Cecile. And yours?"
"Jessica," I outstretch my hand in greeting.
"And what brings you to New York, Cecile?"
"My flatmate has a childhood friend playing a conzert in zee city. We are going to zee show tomorrow."
"Oh that's nice." I respond, "Where are they playing?"

She says she isn't sure, but she thinks it's a pretty big venue.
I tell cecile that I'm jealous.
"Music is my oxygen."

We make our first pit stop in Albany. Its been 4 hours on the bus and my legs feel heavy and useless.
I enter the rest area which looks like a hospital lobby. The ceiling and walls are bleach white, and the florescent light makes me squint.

Cecile approaches me with a piece of paper and points to something scribbled in blue ink.

"Zis iz where I am meeting friends, but I don know how to get zer."
I can tell she is concerned, and rightfully so. Being tossed into New York city without direction might be compared to entering a battle zone without a weapon. The intensity is overwhelming.

An address is written on the paper, and I'm certain its a midtown one.
"27th street," I read outloud, "You're very close to my house."
I think for a minute.
"You know what, We can catch a cab together and I'll make sure you get there okay."
"Are you zertain zis is okay?"
"It's really no trouble at all. You're practically right down the street."
"Ah, you are zoo nice!" She says in relief.

We get back on the bus, where Cecile and I chat about travel and French food until we grow sleepy.
We awaken as we pull into Port Authority 3 hours later.


November 14,
9:00 pm

Ceciles face is pressed up against the cold window as the taxi wheels through times square. A myriad of bright electronic billboards contrast the night, and herds of pedestrians crowd the sidewalk. She is mesmerized.
We hit a traffic jam and are sitting stagnant on 39th street.
"Welcome to Manhattan Cecile," I mutter.

5 minutes pass and we still haven't budged.
"So," I turn to her,
      there is nothing like conversation to help the time pass,
"what is the name of the artist your roommate is friends with?"
Cecile puts her finger to her mouth.

"I can't remember zee name.., uh let me think. hmm... zons.. something. He has zons....? No, that's not it. Let me zink zome more..."

A few seconds go by, then suddenly I come to realization,

"Cecile, are you thinking of Mumford and Sons?!?
"Yez!! Zat tiz zee one!"


November 16
2am

The air is thick with music, and the stage lights reflect off the exposed brick in Rockwood Music Hall. I am standing two feet away from Marcus Mumford in my favorite Lower East Side lounge.

The band is playing "Rock me baby," and I hear Ashley singing in her best southern drawl. Cecile is on my right.

I turn and give her a hug,
"Oh my gosh, Cecile, this is amazing!!"
They begin the main chorus, and Ashley sings louder "Rock me baby like a wagon wheel,...!"
Cecile and I join in.

We walk to the bar and order two drinks.
While were waiting I make eye contact with Ashley and flash her an "I told you so," smile.

She smiles back.

All is right in the universe.