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June 22nd, 2003 Midtown Manhattan
NYE swiveled her head in every direction to make sure she was getting it all, not just the buildings but the people as well. The more raw data she collected for analyzing, the better the results she would get—the problem with people was knowing what to look for. She was collecting plenty of information about these twenty-first century denizens, but Nye wasn’t sure where or how to start evaluating what she had. At least with the buildings, she knew what she wanted to know.
She barely had the time to do her proper work—she wouldn’t have the chance to organize a study of New Yorkers too. The city itself was already almost too much for her. The overview of the five boroughs and the city’s layout—the general information she’d collected at the start—it made her task seem gargantuan. All the days she’d spent in in-depth examination only made the work seem much more daunting. Studying this city’s dead remains now seemed simple in comparison.
Nye was still surveying Midtown after three and a half summers. She had tried to talk to Anya about staying there year-round, but the two times her leader had come to visit, ostensibly to see how Nye was doing, the woman had been far too busy with some business of her own to have a proper discussion. So Nye just kept on doing what she could, with her resolve hardening to tackle Anya at some point.
Crossing from block to block, Nye passed from a poor section to an upscale area and back to one less prosperous without any real demarcations between them. And all in the same so-called neighborhood. Shaking her head, she considered the lack of properly defined and labeled boundaries between these communities. Just in this one part of one borough, there were so many different and distinctive neighborhoods it was hard to keep track.
Nye could make dividing lines of her own when the time came, but she would worry about that after she’d finished documenting these areas. She ought to focus on doing that first.
Evaluating the run-down old apartment buildings around her, that dilapidated repair shop down the street, and the dingy auto garage beside it, Nye nodded to herself. She appreciated how these structures created and defined a certain atmosphere specific to this neighborhood. Then she fixed on one of the big waste receptacles sitting on the sidewalk. In addition to the buildings, Nye sometimes inspected the contents of these trash containers—which gave her further insight into the character of the community.
There was an analysis she knew she intended to run. She would see how closely the composition of a community’s garbage compared with the neighborhood itself. Were the distinctions between communities apparent in their trash?
Walking up to the container she had picked out, Nye reached into the opening and began pulling out one item after another to set on top of the lid.
She was engaged in this methodical work when an older woman wearing variegated layers of dress and pushing a packed shopping cart came trundling over. “Hey, that’s my can. Get away. Go find your own gold mine.”
Nye blinked until she realized what the woman was talking about. “You’re welcome to the contents of the container, mam. I was only looking inside to see what’s there. But I haven’t found any gold yet.”
Scratching the woolen cap on her head, the old woman scrutinized Nye for a long moment. “Never found gold myself, but I’ve gotten some real treasures from this one.” She laughed. “Maybe I’ll find gold someday, though.”
Nye stepped back from the can. “Since I’m just interested in knowing what’s in there, I’d appreciate it if you’d allow me to watch you search to see what you find.” That would give her the opportunity not only to document the container’s contents, but also the habits of the people in this community.
But the woman squinted at her. “You want me to do all the work? And then I suppose if I find anything really good, you’ll just take it from me?” She shook her head, then brushed aside the stringy gray hair falling across her eyes. “Hey, I know you.”
Blinking to activate the facial recognition function of her glasses, Nye was soon watching a video playback of the time this woman had come into her field of vision. Back in the summer of two thousand, when Nye had spent a short time being evaluated at a behavioral health hospital, this old lady had been on the same ward.
Nye nodded at her. “You’ve got a good memory. I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”
The woman smiled to reveal a mouth missing a lot of teeth. “I don’t suppose we were. I’m Jeannie, by the way, and I’m surprised they let you go.”
“My name is Nye. But they released you—” Obviously, because here the woman was, searching the trash cans just like Nye. “So I’m not sure why you’d be surprised to see me.”
Jeannie just shook her head. “You looked like a crazy person to me, but then I’m no doctor. Every now and then these nice cops take me to the hospital, but only ‘cause they want me to get some good grub and a roof over my head for a while. Of course, the drugs are horrible, but you get to meet new people. Like you.”
“They take you to a mental hospital to feed you and give you drugs you don’t need or want? It certainly doesn’t sound very efficient. Why not a shelter or something?”
“It’s ‘cause of the voices I hear. The doctors try to prove I’m crazy, but they can’t, so then they have to let me go. Sometimes I’ll string them along for a while—if I’m not ready to leave.”
“But you’re not crazy?”
“If I was crazy, the voices wouldn’t be telling me things that are true. Like where I’d seen you before. I’m the only one who can hear them, though, so the doctors have a difficult time believing.”
Nye nodded. “I see. I get information through my glasses, but no one else can see it.” She doubted it would do any good to try explaining their isomorphic graphics display technology to Jeannie. “Don’t you think it would be better to keep the voices all to yourself, though? If people wouldn’t believe?” That was what Nye did. That was why it was still inexplicable to her why the cops had taken her in for a psychiatric evaluation.
Jeannie laughed. “That’s their problem. And if it wasn’t the voices, they’d find something else they wanted to shrink inside my head.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. As long as they let us go, and they did.” Although they apparently kept reeling Jeannie back in.
With a snort, Jeannie returned to her trash can, taking its lid off entirely and sorting quickly and efficiently through the contents. Nye was impressed. She had moved close enough to lean over and watch the entire process, and since it was all being recorded she could study the video later, at her leisure.
Jeannie took a couple items and stuffed them in her cart before throwing the trash back in and turning to smile at Nye. “I bet you’re hungry. There’s a good place for lunch just a couple of blocks away. It attracts a good crowd, too.”
“Alright. I am getting hungry.” She’d have been taking a lunch break about now anyway. She would likely learn more by accompanying Jeannie and observing her interactions with the locals than by just sitting inside some pizza parlor watching people as they ate. “Lead the way.”
Following her new friend, Nye herself became a subject of observation by the natives. They must’ve known there was a question about Jeannie’s mental health, and Nye’s connection with the woman likely was a topic of speculation for them.
Looking at the various signs on the buildings as they strolled down the street, Nye ventured a question. “I like the way you know where you are here—‘Kips Bay this, and Kips Bay that’—but why doesn’t someone just put up signs at the boundaries?”
“What would be the point of that?”
Soon Jeannie had brought them both to the entrance to a dull, nondescript building with a faded, illegible sign. Next door to it stood a modern high-rise apartment building.
“This must be a really exclusive place.”
Jeannie laughed. “Sure is. We’re the only kind of people who can eat here.” She pushed on in, and Nye followed.
Inside, rows of plastic-topped tables lined with rusting, gray, metal folding chairs ran across a vast space. A startling array of people sat at those tables, eating and chatting. Along the back wall, a few folks wearing white aprons stood behind a table draped with a heavy white cloth and served their customers soup out of giant pots, slices of bread, and even cups of coffee. Of course there was a very long line. “This looks good, Jeannie.”
They joined the back of the queue, and Jeannie patted the shoulder of a bald man standing with his back to her. “Hey, Bernie. I brought someone new. Meet Nye.”
Bernie turned and smiled wide at both of them. Then he cast a critical eye over Nye. “You don’t look like you belong here. You homeless?”
Nye smiled back. “I suppose that depends how you look at it. I feel at home wherever I am.”
He scratched his cheek and considered this. “I like to think that way myself.”
When they got to the head of the line, they took bright plastic trays from a huge pile and stopped in front of the person ladling out generous portions of cabbage soup into wide, shallow bowls before placing them onto people’s trays.
Nye grinned at the woman. “Cabbage soup is a favorite of mine. Delicious and nutritious.”
Another woman placed a couple slices of bread onto Nye’s tray, and a man farther down poured her coffee into a Styrofoam cup. Then Nye joined Jeannie and Bernie at an empty table in the middle of the room.
Jeannie spoke low. “Those volunteers are nice, aren’t they?”
“They’re volunteers? Do you suppose they’d let me do that?”
“Why would you want to?”
Nye cocked her head at her new friend. “Well, if I’m going to be coming here to eat anyway...” And it was conveniently located for the zone she was currently researching. “Then why wouldn’t I help out?” She thought it might also help her understand these people better.
Bernie shook his head and turned to the man on his other side. “You should hear this, George. New girl wants to volunteer here herself.”
But the young man who was apparently named George quickly turned away from them, keeping his face down close to his bowl as he ate.
Bernie blushed and turned back to the women. “I guess George is shy. He’s new too. You’re a good looking girl, Nye. But he’s a handsome young man, so I don’t know why he should be so shy.”
Nye began blinking furiously. She reviewed the video her glasses had been recording since she had entered and isolated George’s face, then started the multilayered analysis for finding various patterns. When the results displayed on her lenses a few moments later, Nye understood why young George was acting so shy around her.