Big City vs. Small Town Part 3 of 5
Many things surprised me during that time in the city - New Yorkers came alive in ways they were never destined to, and many began to embrace the pandemic’s unrelenting force in creating a new normal. Most surprising was my thinking about returning to a small town I had left over 20 years ago. But before fully embracing that decision, it was time for a visit.
In the fall of 2020, flying was still horrifying, and I was undecided on how long I wanted my trip to Little Rock, AR, to last. So, with the fantastic help of my mother, who was FINALLY back in New York after having been in Arkansas for months, I decided to buy a car for the trip south. After weeks of looking, I found a 1998 VW Jetta through a friend, and the purchase was made.
I had never even considered driving in the city; being a passenger in taxis and Ubers was enough to abruptly dismiss the smallest daydream of getting into a car and getting out of the city for a long weekend. But, if I were to do this, I would have to find my way to Brooklyn from Harlem - riding the subway after many months of going without - to pick up my new old car.
I arrived in Brooklyn unceremoniously, meeting George, the previous owner, at a garage on a tiny sidestreet near Barclays Center. He encouraged me to take it for a test drive, adding that he would let me have the CDs in the CD changer in the trunk as the cartridge would no longer eject to sweeten the deal. I turned on the car - it started immediately - the smell of crayons known to old Jetta owners wafting through my nose. As old memories flooded me, the melodies of Bob Marley came through the factory speakers. My nerves settled. I was returning to Harlem to deal with parking in a city that forces its residents to circle ever-expanding laps to find a spot, only to have to move it one day later for street cleaning.
The purchase and acquisition of the car now finished, I faced dealing with the dreaded and notorious NYC DMV system to get all of my papers secured for a tag and new license plate. Even with an ‘appointment,’ droves lined the sidewalks outside the DMV, each waiting for their turn to shout at overly tired DMV workers doing their best to weather their own storms. After spending a whole day there and completing this task, I was off to Staten Island to get the car the necessary repairs (new brakes and tires) required for a safe journey from New York to Arkansas.
