Los Cinco Dólares Que Me Salvaron

Aquí va otra del archivo. Esto fue escrito en el año 2005, pocos tiempo después de mi última visita a Nueva York, ciudad donde viví por más de un año antes de venir a Buenos Aires.

I moved out from New York one hot summer day. As I crossed Queensboro Bridge for the last time in a big car with a Greek flag hanging on the back windshield, the driver with a very heavy accent (as if I didn’t have an accent myself!) talked about how the Greek football team had won a match the night before. But my attention was only half focused on his talk (“Oh, so you are Peruvian? Peru used to have a great football team but not anymore, dunno what happened”). My mind was flirting with Manhattan, now behind my back, as I promised her in silence that I would come back because my story with her wasn’t over yet. Even when I was about to begin a new one with a new city thousands kilometers south.

I couldn’t help thinking about my dream city every single day. Buenos Aires is a city so easy to love, but, for some strange reason, our relationship started in very rational terms. Maybe because it was difficult for me to find my own space here and, being the optimist I am, I decided we would get along well. There were even times when I thought Buenos Aires could well be a jealous and possessive city; that she was not going to show me her true charm unless I devoted myself to her and quit thinking about another place.

One year after, when I had already begun to feel more comfortable in my new home, I delivered on my promise. Although the visit wasn’t long, coming back to New York was like a homecoming reunion to a very intense time in my life; I needed to prove myself that all the energy I left in that city had evolved, that my home was now Buenos Aires and that there was nothing left but good memories.

It seemed my old love had been waiting for me. On my 28th birthday, the city gave me a present: a five-dollar bill. I found it, or rather, it found me, in the restroom of a movie theater. The scene may not have been romantic, but it was real, as if NYC were saying, “it’s so good that you’re back, I was waiting for you”, or, “come back whenever you want because you will always be welcome”. The girl who had used the stall before me was not far away and I could still have reached her to give the bill back to her, but fuck honesty, for me this was nothing but a sign that New York still loved me as much as I loved her. So I kept the bill and decided to keep it as a token that it was the place where I belonged and would be there for me with open arms anytime I decided to come back. Those five dollars tucked in my jeans made me feel the richest woman on earth and I promised I’d never forget that moment, that it would be my lucky charm and my ticket back to the city of my dreams.

I never believed in lucky charms, but under the conditions how I’d found it, that little bill could not be anything else. One week later, I understood that not only would it magically rescue me, but also bring a twist into my life.

Back in Buenos Aires, at Marks Café in Palermo, with a laptop and Internet connection as my only companions, I had no cash to pay the bill. “We’re sorry, we don’t take cards” (or rather, we’re sorry, we don’t want to pay commissions for taking cards). For a moment I thought about leaving my laptop there and finding an ATM; but as I searched my wallet for a miracle, my lucky charm sneaked out, as if saying, “use me! This is the time!”

Walking back to my apartment, as I waited for the train to pass and cross the tracks on Honduras Avenue, I realized that the bill I found in New York had served its purpose: it wasn’t that it paid the coffee at Marks, but it made me reconnect with the city where I now live. So much complaining that Buenos Aires is still not my city only happens because I haven’t opened my heart to her and let her be my city, and even more so if I was still holding on to a made up promise behind five dollars that someone dropped in a restroom.

A coffee shop that doesn’t take credit cards pulled me back to earth. It released me from an amulet that would keep me emotionally tied to a place I’m still in love with and to whom I want to come back, while stopping me from opening myself to a new love that promises to give me just as many, or maybe more, happy moments.

Thanks, New York, because your gift helped me open my heart to the city that is now my home. And thanks, Buenos Aires, because you know that my will alone is still not enough and you’re helping me love you a bit more day by day.

Buenos Aires, June 2005