Pittsburgh

“Road trip!!!!” One month. One car. One woman. One dog. One spreadsheet of AirBnB reservations and destinations. Five hours to our first stop.

I want Pittsburgh to be my first stop on this month long United States road trip. I have so many happy memories and so much fondness for the city, that it seems fitting to kick off the tour. As I walk around the streets of Pittsburgh with Abby, I feel like I can see my old memories where they happened. Like watching transparent movies superimposed over the current time period, I can almost touch the characters in each vision.

At Point State Park, I see a version of me who is thinner than usual, both from training for the Great Race and from my marriage woes. My friend and I cross the finish line after running through all the best neighborhoods of Pittsburgh. It was a 10K race and the hardest physical feat I completed up to that point. I am sweaty and exhausted, but proud.

Later, I pass my favorite bakery. I see myself at 35, walking through the doors holding a boxed cake. The cake is for my associate’s 50th anniversary of practicing optometry. When I called to order the cake, I asked the woman to decorate the cake with “eyeballs”. When I uncover the cake at the party, I realize the “eyeballs” look like boobs with nipples. The baker created a ball of icing to be the eye, then added color to be the iris, then added a black dot to be the pupil. The good doctor handles it well. The innocently pornographic cake is delicious.

I hear the river flowing below and look down to see myself and some friends kayaking. We chose a Pirates fireworks night. The flashes light the sky, the water, and our faces as we lay back and float under the display. It is one of those fleeting, perfect moments.

I stroll past a bar near Heinz Field where I meet friends to watch Penguins games. I see myself through the window, staring at the overhead TV, mesmerized by the final three minutes of the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs.

It’s 2009 and the Penguins play the Detroit Red Wings. It is Detroit’s 24th appearance in the Final and Pittsburgh’s fourth. This is a rematch from the year before, when Detroit defeated Pittsburgh in six games.

I feel connected to this team. My office provides eye care for the players. For the last 25 years, my associate attended every game, waiting in the locker room for any ocular issues. My mom taught the son of the coach, Dan Bylsma, when he was coaching the Penguins’ farm team in Wilkes-Barre. 

The previous year, I watched the finals religiously and was crushed when the Penguins lost. It took a week of mental calming to feel normal again. One year later, Pittsburgh defeats Detroit four games to three and wins their third Stanley Cup in franchise history. The bar erupts in an explosive celebration and I jump up and down in the middle of it. My ears finally stop ringing two days later. I relish the thrill of that kind of victory, even though I did nothing but cheer.

Across the river is an old cork factory that was renovated into loft-type apartments. I lived here for a brief time when my house sold too quickly. I see myself tearfully petting my dog, Nala. Nala is a Gordon Setter, 65 pounds, with long black and tan hair and a gentle soul. We sit on one of the huge rocks on the river’s edge and watch the crew team below. We know that Nala has cancer. She dies a few weeks later leaving my heart shattered. In that same apartment, a puppy who I name Abby after Nala’s breeding line, Aberdeen, arrives in my life. I see us walk to the dog park where she plays for hours as the tiniest dog on the field. I see Kiara, our cat, watch us from the window.

As I cross the street, I see the corner where I sold my engagement ring. I watch the older man, who bought the ring from my Craigslist posting for his wife for Christmas, hug me and wish me well. I  wore that ring for 11 years. For nine of those years, it was adjacent to my wedding ring.

I stop to get some lunch at a favorite restaurant and spot myself standing outside on a first (and last) date. He is trying to persuade me that I owe him a kiss because he paid for my drink. I see myself shake my head no and walk away. My 46-year-old self swells with pride for my 36-year-old self’s tenacity.

As I walk past the Andy Warhol Museum, I watch myself and a friend burst out of the doors, laughing and holding a slew of photo booth pictures. The vintage booth in the basement flashed repeatedly, as we switch our glasses and signs and hats. Those photos adorned my fridge for many years.

Looking down, I spy a Toynbee tile in the asphalt. I see myself holding an umbrella, bending over it, taking a picture. Toynbee tiles are a cult phenomenon. An unknown artist crafted the tiles and set them in the streets of many US cities. They became embedded by the weight of the cars. I search for every single Pittsburgh tile one rainy Sunday morning.

The convention center is one block down. I watch myself being pulled by a puppy-sized Abby. I am trying not to stare at the Furries who have spilled into the city from their un-convention called Anthrocon.  Furries are people who dress up as animals. They hold a yearly meeting in Pittsburgh. Some people have tails peeking out from their coats and others have completely transformed into their favorite character. I see one person in a sherbet pursuit of green, peach and yellow with a smiling dinosaur face with large pointy ears and horns. Another man is carrying an orange furry tiger-like head and wearing the body of his striped costume. Most costumes are cuddly, but a few are menacing. 

I walk by the restaurant where members of my group of friends gather every Sunday morning to share stories about our lives. One person arrives 15 minutes early to save a table as our attendance was strong and the restaurant was popular. I observe this group through the window and remember how inclusive we were. If you didn’t have a friend and you met one of us, we all became your friends. That is why we labelled it the “misfit” group. We were diverse, varied and at different stages of life, but at that time, we fit together perfectly and met for support often.

Soon, Abby and I move on to the next stop on the road trip. As much as I love reliving these memories, I am happy to go to places that have no memories and no past characters to watch. Pittsburgh will always be with me. These images will be embedded in my mind forever. Clean spaces are waiting to be written upon. We need some blank places.