The handful of times I have crossed the Brooklyn Bridge it has either rained, snowed and/or been freezing cold. There was that one time I got sunshine, but I barely remember it. In my mind I see the towers of the bridge against the grey clouds. If I look towards the city, I see the skyline shrouded in fog.
I recall the first time I walked across the bridge, it was before they put up all the scaffolding. I hadn’t moved to New York yet, I was still in the process of putting together my pro and con list. I started in Brooklyn and headed towards Manhattan. The city was quiet in the early morning. Walking across that bridge I remember one lone jogger wearing a saturated white cotton t-shirt and two cyclists passing by me. By the time I’d crossed the bridge I was completely drenched. I remember buying an umbrella from the guy outside the subway, $5 for an umbrella that did not work. But from there I walked towards the site of the WTC. They were still in the process of building the memorial at that point. I remember walking around inside Century 21 waiting for the rain to subside and for my clothes to dry. Eventually I had to give up and make a run for the subway.
In my mind this image of all that grey and that cold feels vivid to me, yet I have no idea why this moment stands out so clearly.