Q.

I didn’t tell anyone about this strange call. There was only one person I would share it with anyway. I’ve had plenty of awkward conversations – but in most cases I initiate them, and virtually all the time they are with telemarketers. I know it’s eccentric, but it’s part of my nature. Nothing brings me more joy than making a telemarketer laugh. You have no idea how difficult that is. It’s like chiseling two-inch thick ice off a windshield in sub-zero temperatures…without gloves. Pure frostbite to the soul. It is not easy – but when I get through to the windshield and see my beloved telemarketer, whether they are from Kansas or Jakarta – it feels damn good to know there is still joy inside.

On Sunday night I could barely sleep. 9am. Human connections. Thank you, Mr. Noble. Clearance. So many scenarios were running through my head. Even if Q was a secret agent from Russia, I wouldn’t care. I would tell her all my secrets. 

The next day, I arrived in the financial district way too early. I had hardly slept and I decided to walk the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a comfortable September morning and I grabbed myself a deli coffee with  a bacon, egg and cheese roll and watched the Manhattan morning roll by for about 30 minutes. Having not set foot downtown during the morning rush hour in at least 10 years, I loved every moment of it. The Grand Parade, how nothing has changed.

Around 8:45am I entered the soaring lobby of 245 Fulton Street and approached the security desk. I gave them my drivers license, retrieved my badge and shot up to the sky lobby where I was to wait for someone to retrieve me. 

I was staring out of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows looking north. It was like an observatory. An immense wave of concrete and monumental skyscrapers sprawled out in front of me like a complex motherboard of some massive computer. In my entire adult life I had never seen the city from this perspective. Perched on the 65th floor of the Freedom Tower, everything seemed, well, manageable. 

From behind me, a man's voice called my name and he instructed me to follow him towards a nearby bank of elevators. He swiped a badge and pressed a button that wasn’t even visible on the elevator dashboard. 

I thought for sure this guy in the finely pressed suit was going to break the awkward elevator silence, which I love. Oddly though, he seemed straight-neck stiff. Not even a hint of awkwardness emanated. The need for small talk was not in his genetics. So it shifted to me. 

“Going up?” I blurted without any thought. He turned his perfectly sculpted head and nodded with a smile. 

The doors opened and he ushered me towards the south side of the floor, passing dozens of offices. As we walked for what felt like half a city block, morning light flooded through the glass on either side of the hallway. People moved around here and there, not paying much mind to us. At the end of the hallway my nameless escort knocked on a wood paneled door. A young woman opened it with a bright smile. 

Her voice was unmistakable. “I’m so glad you decided to come,” said Q. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink – coffee, perhaps?” 

“Umm, coffee would be good,” I replied. She nodded towards the man at the door who left us alone.

I didn’t know where to look, or what at. Typically when I’m doing a routine, I pick out a handful of patrons in the dimly lit crowd. Here there was only one, sitting above the clouds in an angelic light. As I took my first glance at Q – my first glance at Q – I had to force myself to look away.

“Wow,” I said of the view outside, hardly realizing I spoke. Behind a wooden desk was a floor-to-ceiling, triple-pane window with an unobstructed view south. 

It really was a wow moment. All around. Q’s light-brown eyes, with a hint of emerald, were still shining in my vision. I stared out towards the lower end of Manhattan, where the tip of the island  edges itself into the harbor. I could see everything. There was nothing above us aside from clouds and helicopters. The tops of other buildings felt like they were miles below – further down still, sidewalk commuters looked like dots about to be devoured by Pac-Man. I lifted my gaze and could make out Staten Island. Eye-sore ferries shuttled their passengers back and forth in plumes of dark smoke. Q stood next to me, but I dared not avert my gaze toward her direction. 

“I love the Statue of Liberty,” she said in a serious tone that caught me off-guard again. “It represents so much for America, and the world.”

Jesus. Miss America. I stole a quick glance from the reflection of her face in the window. Her round, smooth cheeks and tight, red lips. She was pretty much my height, maybe a head shorter if she wasn’t wearing heels.

“Are you American?” I asked.

She continued to look out of the glass, touching it now with her slender pianist-like fingers. “It’s a complicated question,” she replied. “My father is Eastern European and my mother is Chinese.”

“Wow,” I said for the second time, noticing the Asian descent in her appearance. “Quite the combination.” 

She paused thoughtfully before replying. “I know. It’s an odd mix. My parents tell me that I was conceived in Dubai, born in California, and raised by the world.”

“Wow,” I said for the third time, not knowing what else to say. “I think the authorities at Ellis Island would have a difficult time processing this.” 

“Ellis island is also a place of great significance,” replied Q, without any acknowledgement of my poor attempt at humor. “I’ve heard many stories. Families arriving from all over the world with one shared vision. A dream of opportunity. A dream of a better life ahead.”

At this point I had to get a full glimpse of the royal specimen next to me. I couldn’t place her age – but she couldn’t have been older than 25. An innocence seeped through her pores. Her hair was black with streaks of subtle light brown, and fell straight as water. It meshed perfectly with her thinly manicured eyebrows and almond eyes. She was wearing a dark suit with a cream-colored shirt – very professional attire. I contrasted like the Guinness coaster to her business card.

There was a knock at the door and in walked my nameless escort, placing a tray of drinks on a nearby table. 

“Please,” said Q, “let’s sit down. I will tell you why I’ve asked you to come.”