Behind Curtain #1

I am sitting in my office, staring out my window at the Bryant Park Hotel. The clouds are thick over Manhattan today, but the air is warm--almost soupy.

Somewhere far below, a jackhammer runs repeatedly, the sounds ricocheting off of the buildings and floating up, up, up to my window, setting my already frayed nerves on end.

Somewhere uptown, in my tiny apartment, my tiny daughter is napping in her tiny crib. I imagine there on her belly, her arms thrown out to the sides, her hair sticking up from the top of her head, her breath sweet and quiet against the sheets, one sock slipping down over her heel. I imagine Spiceboy going in to check on her, leaning over and resting his hand on her coarse hair for a moment, then slipping out through the bright red curtains that separate our bedroom from our living room, the loose floorboards creaking under his bare feet.

I hit "refresh" on my inbox again and again whilst thinking of my little family. I’m waiting for a very specific message, and thinking about how, sometimes, you can change your entire life simply by hitting the “send” button and not looking back.