Different Kind of New Year
Mike put on his dark grey overcoat, wrapped his light grey scarf around his collar and headed out. The door locked, he squeezed by me and out the dark hall. It was the day of the Chinese New Year parade and we were headed down to Chinatown. Mike had a bounce in his step, hurrying along because he sensed the parade was going to come to a close.
2005 is the year of the rooster, Mike explained as he paced along. When I asked him what animal last year was, he said he wasn’t sure… that he was more interested in Japanese culture.
Chinatown was abuzz. It was so filled with people, it was difficult to think about anything other than navigation. We got to the parade in time to see a couple of floats, music blaring from box speakers and someone singing chinese into a cordless microphone. Tiny confetti sprinkled the sky and a man dressed as a rooster jumped around. At one point, a dragon slithered by, many men beneath a multi-colored cloth. Five minutes later, the Falun Gong dressed in bright yellow costumes marched by, a man banging symbols toward the front. They were the last of the parade. Mike was clearly disappointed, wanting to have seen far more than 5 minutes of the celebration.
We headed out from the trash lined streets, looking for a restaurant. Mike had told me a few weeks earlier that every new year he treats himself to a sit down dinner. Intrigued, I asked him if I could join. He agreed. We zig zagged around before reaching the place he had wanted to go but when we arrived it was no longer there. Mike was frustrated. It had been a great place, and cheap. “Nothing lasts forever” he said as we waited to cross the street. Mike decided that instead of a meal, he would buy himself a gift. He told me that each Chinese new year he buys himself a little something. We stumbled upon a gift store. Mike found a bowl with a dome shaped lid. It had a picture of a bird painted in blue ink. It was simple. $2.95. Mike left the store feeling as if he had gotten a good deal. And he had.
Along the walk back to the White House, Mike stopped whenever he found a store awning that had chinese characters. He studied them as a fisherman studies fish swimming through a river. At one point we walked by a little boy throwing snap pops against the sidewalk. He was so small and bundled as he enjoyed the little explosions. He threw another and another, never tiring of the process.
Back at the White House, Mike unwrapped his gift. There were instructions with the bowl. He carefully lifted the paper to his eyes and read for close to 5 minutes. I had trouble imagining what directions could possibly come with a bowl. After finishing, he dismissed the directions as useless. He pulled a couple stalks of broccoli out of the small refrigerator, removed the pink rubberband and put them into the steamer. As the broccoli cooked, Mike pulled some lettuce, tomatoes and onions out of the fridge for what he called his “two minute salad”. He sliced the onion, taking care to keep the slices thin. By this time, the broccoli was done. Mike mixed the broccoli with some leftover pasta. Together with the salad and a quart of milk, he had quite a meal. I stood there, camera in hand, timecode rolling. In some ways, it was sad to watch. A man in his early 50’s, alone, celebrating a new year that no one else around him even knew existed. But Mike seemed fine, chewing his food, watching a japanese film and chuckling to himself.
After his meal, Mike walked to the end of the hall and into the bathroom where he washed the dishes. There was a massive crack in the mirror. Back in his room, Mike pulled out a piece of paper and a ruler.