From Bowling Green to New York by Bus (Cont.)
Screen 4 of 6When we passed Independence Hall on the way out of the city, we began talking about the beginnings of this country -- the Declaration of Independence and the dramatic developments that followed. Caroline was a good student of history, better than I. She was not only knowledgeable about its facts, but more important, she was also appreciative of the broad sweep, significance, and relevance of events. But she was neither arrogant nor egotistical about her knowledge. She just knew interesting things about the early history of the United States and brought them into our conversation from time to time in natural and appropriate ways.
Not long before we entered the long, dimly lighted Holland Tunnel, I brought up again the subject of where I was to stay in New York, saying to Carol (by this time I had dropped the "Caroline") I thought it would be better for us both if I spent the first night at the branch Y.M.C.A. located near Washington Square and then found a permanent room for myself the next day. I told her I had read about this branch in some brochure and that I assumed it would not be too far from her apartment.
Carol listened attentively and apparently with some quiet amusement, because she sensed I wanted to stay with her but that I was hesitant to do so because such an arrangement was so strange to me.
She was right. I did want to stay with her, but I did not accept her invitation, a decision probably made not so much for moral reasons as it was because I felt sure I would not know how to handle the situation. At the end of an exhausting cross-country bus trip and on the eve of so many uncertainties of the next few days in the big city, I needed time by myself to think things over -- many things I had never even contemplated before leaving Bowling Green.
Carol seemed to understand. At least, she did not push the matter. She knew -- and so did I -- this was not the end of our developing affection for each other; but in the meantime she had her own agenda and certainly could live without me, just as I could live without her -- at least for the time being.
From the bus station near the Battery in lower Manhattan, we took the subway -- my first experience with underground transportation -- to the Washington Square stop, and from there went by taxi -- suitcases and all -- to her apartment, located just two blocks east of New York University. I paid the taxi fare (45 ¢, I remember plus a nickel tip) and we carried our luggage and various packages up the stairs to the second-floor apartment.
Weighted down with our two heavy bags, which I had insisted on carrying if she would carry all the cumbersome bundles, my upward progress was slow. But that was helpful, for it gave me another opportunity to think about Carol's invitation. I began to realize how convenient and pleasant it would be to spend the first night with her and not have to look for that branch Y.M.C.A. I wondered as I set the suitcases down to catch my breath why I had even mentioned that possibility in the first place.
Now very tired and weary, I continued to argue with myself silently. What were those compelling reasons for not staying with her which I had thought of earlier? For a moment, I could not remember any of them. Then, when I recalled the principal one, I began to rationalize by saying to myself that perhaps it would be all right for me to stay if her apartment had two beds. Surely she would not have asked me if there were not two beds -- and yet she probably did not know, since she had not yet seen the apartment. I would just wait and see yes, that's what I would do, just wait and see.
I was now at the top of the stairs. Carol was ahead of me and already at the apartment door. For the last few minutes she had realized I was deeply preoccupied, and neither of us broke the silence until she took a key from her purse and tried it in the lock, at the same time telling me her father ("Daddy" she affectionately called him) had sent the key to her before she left Cincinnati.
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