Rachel Kolman

9.26.2020

Mom,

How ironic that you called me yesterday afternoon at the same moment I was thinking of calling you, as I was walking around downtown Philadelphia for the first time in months, wondering what it would be like to show you around the city.

I have been meaning to call you for a few weeks now. I get so swept away in the day to day that I forget about our weekly check-ins. Sometimes it almost feels as if there is too much to get into, all the ways in which my life is evolving and changing – where could I possibly start?

I guess I start with today, with my need to go exploring again. I haven’t been in downtown Philadelphia since…February? Since before our governor locked our state down in mid-March. I haven’t told you much about these last six long months in which I went whole weeks without venturing any farther than the sidewalk outside my apartment, about how my days felt pointless.

Since the weather in Philly will be turning cold again soon, and since my calendar was blissfully empty, I woke up deciding I needed to take a train ride into the city. You would like the train, I think; it reminds me of the trains we took from the suburbs to Chicago when we visited last. And if you saw for yourself the safety and ease of the trip, I think you’d scold me less for “taking the trains alone.” It’s tiresome to remind you that I’m a woman in my thirties, that I’ve lived in many cities alone, even abroad for a semester, that I’m doing just fine here. But I also don’t know the fear a mother has for her daughter, so I suppose all I can do is just remind you, again, that I’m safe.

Anyway, the train ride enters Center City right around Reading Terminal Market. The market has lots of options for cheesesteaks and bagels and seafood, for the shops filled with chocolates and breads and cheese that we could indulge in. But you’d hate how crowded it is, I think. I don’t know, actually – it’s been so long since we’ve been in a city together, I also have no idea how you’d react. What would you notice first?

Anyway, I grabbed a coffee at Reading Terminal Market and left because it was indeed crowded, and even though we all wore our masks diligently, I still felt anxious being around so many people. So I walked over to City Hall. As I walked, I imagined myself pointing out the spot by the Convention Center where I met Nick on my first visit, the Ritz Carlton with the gorgeous lobby and decent happy hour, the café where I’d stop and get a coffee in the mornings after the train. I feel this would put you at ease, too, to see how routine this place is for me, like when you used to come visit me during undergrad. You were so impressed with how well I knew my way around my college town. I don’t know why my capabilities are constantly a surprise. Is the person I am so different from what you expect?

On the way to City Hall, I walked past the huge Macy’s and remembered how we both worked at a Macy’s in our twenties, in our two separate decades, and I’d have liked to take you there. Shopping is the one thing we can agree on, for sure. I miss our shopping trips, how we can both lose track of time browsing sales racks, filling our carts with too many outfits we’ll only try on and never purchase, but that was half the fun.

As I passed a subway station entrance, the familiar stench of piss and weed hit like a crashing wave. It’s dirty, mom, sure. It’s also a splendid city, filled with diversity and culture, but I’m afraid you’d only keep your nose on the ground, noticing the imperfections.

Nick does that, too. That’s probably why I left him behind today, why I wanted to do this walk alone, though I imagine you with me. He doesn’t quite relate to my need for adventure and independence. He is perfectly content to work from home every day, curled up in blankets and playing games and listening to podcasts and chatting online with friends. Lockdown life has suited him well.

So, that’s why Nick didn’t come with me, though on the phone you scolded him for not doing so, for not coming to “protect me.” I don’t like the idea that you think I need a male chaperone. I know for certain I could kick any man’s ass more than Nick could.

I try to understand where this fear comes from, but while you tssked on the phone about my aloneness, I sat by the fountains in front of City Hall, admiring the warm day, feeling a sense of peace with being both alone and in a public space, trying to explain to you this moment as vividly as I felt it, and I imagined writing you this letter.

If a scenario like this makes you weary, then it is a relief that I don’t tell you about how I used to take the trains home late my first year here, walking quickly through back alleys and dark corners to catch the connecting subway. It is a relief that I don’t tell you of how I was grabbed once by a man who was trying to get my attention as I rushed past. It is a relief that I don’t tell you about the man who broke into our apartment complex last year, forced his way into our neighbor’s apartment. It is a relief then that I don’t tell you about the nineteen bullets shot at the park one block from us, a park I used to walk to often, about how I simply could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No, I am glad I keep these from you, as your worry is too much for me to bear. Let’s just keep our chats focused on this warm day in the safety of a sunny, socially distant patch of the city, talking about the places I would have shown you today. And I promise I won’t be out too late, and I promise I’ll call more. But I’m going to keep riding the trains by myself, hoping that with every phone call and update, that you see the capable person I’ve become, too. Love you.

About our phone call yesterday afternoon

Rachel Kolman