"No way," I said.
"Yeah, and nobody has even seen it or touched it since it was first built."
I laughed, "I doubt that's true."
"Well," she said, recovering, "well they have never stopped the water, I mean. I was watching the History channel and they were saying that they're afraid that if they stop it to check it, they won't be able to start it again. And all of the water for the entire city is in this old water system underground."
I believed her. She was totally enamored by this water system. In fact, she even seemed afraid for the good of New Yorkers, that this decrepit rusted water system would give way and leave everyone thirsty and desperate for a shower. I wasn't as interested in the potential water cessation as I was in her genuine interest in the problem. When I said then that I thought it'd be fun to live in the Big Apple for a few years, she was adamantly opposed because of the possibility that I'd run out of water. This seemed to me like such a far-off adult problem, yet eleven year old Tess was confounded.
We drove along the parkway for a few minutes listening to her choice radio station, which is typical. She tends to scan the radio and sing along, generally content in casual conversation and singing along. After a while she looked at me and, with the resolute chin dig, said, "If I was going to live in a city, it would have to be San Francisco. I mean, not forever, but for some time." She had been thinking about this. "Some people don't like how it's foggy. But you know it's just cause it's by the Bay. I think it's elegant."
I nodded, watching the road, electing to wait and listen rather than chime in.
"I love the cable cars," she bounced up from the seat and stuck her hands underneath of her to land, an effort to somehow harness a bit of her fizzing excitement. She spoke emphatically, but it wasn't enough. She wanted me to understand the regal eminence of San Francisco. "That is definitely my favorite part--the cable cars. But make sure, when you go, to pack warm stuff because it's cold there. I mean, we were there in the middle of August and it was so cold." She paused and looked out the window. "But it doesn't matter that it's cold. San Francisco is the best place on earth.
"You can just go and eat chinese whenever you want right in Chinatown. And there is this Mediterranean place... oh my gosh it is so good." She emphasized the words with her inflection and her sprawled fingers.
"There is a Mediterranean place in Chinatown?" I asked, smiling a little bit.
"No!" she exclaimed, appalled by my ignorance and distressed for me to understand. Looking out the window seemed to bring her back to earth a bit and she said softly, "it would be perfect to be an artist in San Francisco." She looked at me with crystal eyes and said, in complete sincerity, "Have you ever heard the song, I Left My Heart in San Francisco?"
I nodded.
"That song explains it perfectly."
"Tess," I laughed, "I have never seen you so passionate about anything."
She didn't say anything and I knew she was dreaming of her city esteemed. We turned onto the street where I would drop her off at girl scouts. When we got to the front of the church she opened the door and said, with stoic conviction, "Go to San Francisco. Do it." Then she got out of the car and ran inside.
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