Myna

There are ten thousand plays being performed in New York City today, right now, between the corners of Lex and 3rd Ave on 23rd Street. See other streets for more listings. Thing is, you don’t get to see the whole production, just a scene or a mini-scene- the woman in the jeans holding her tears- the guy in his car yelling into his cell phone “Listen??! No, no, no, YOU listen!!.” -the guy in front of the deli on his cell phone speaking Hebrew into the phone, Spanish to the guy he watching unload a truck and English to everyone as they go in for a sandwich-
Today let’s have a longer look at Myna, that’s not her real name, I don’t know her real name, she just looks like a Myna,
A myna bird. She’s little, about five foot tall and like millions of other New York women, she dresses entirely in black. Black hat, scarf, coat, dress, stockings and, then there are those shoes. They are men’s Rockports, black,of course, and while I am not a shoe expert, I would guess she is about a size seven shoe and these are about size twelve. Hugh, floating on her feet as she drifts from the edge of the street out into the lanes of traffic. Myna, I should have mentioned, does not ever walk on the sidewalk, she stands just off the curb, in the right turn lane, not in traffic exactly but not out of it either. She is placid as the bikes and motorcycles invade her space and should a car venture near she walks out in between the car and the left lane, clip-clopping those giant shoes in slo-mo, then turns to smile at the driver. She has a vacant smile for those who are just passing, then resumes her station near the curb.
I first thought that she stood there waiting for the Nepalese guy at the newsstand to bring her a paper which he does everyday. He gets up from behind his counter, gets a Daily News and brings it to the curb where she is ready and pays for it and then she tucks it up inside her coat and he goes back inside. They must have been doing this a long time, they do not greet each other, it’s just here’s the paper- here’s the two quarters.
She does beg, but not from passersby. She only hits on cabbies. Anytime a taxi is stopped at the 3rd ave light, she wanders out into traffic and over to the driver’s window. She flashes a wonderful smile at this point and says something to the cabbie. Most times the cab just rolls on, but I have seen a driver give her a dollar. She took it with graceful charm and put it in one of her coat pockets.
Last Sunday, she was at her station, perched, when a sudden rainshower caught everyone on the street by surprise. Great drops of rain followed very quickly by huge sheets of water poured from the sky. I was caught at Starbucks without a umbrella but looking out the window I saw Myna had one. A little black parasol that she held tightly against the wind, the rain poured down around her and rushed past her in the gutter, but there she was, enduring.