Her friend, Tim Tebow, appreciated these moments of shared silence.
After a while, Jamie spoke. "I love these evenings where Manhattan disappears into the clouds...when the city just fades into the mist. I mean, it's just so beautiful. The way the lights of the buildings just dissolve, like the city was just a dream in your mind. Then all the most enormous skyscrapers, all the traffic, all the plans and hopes of the city, it's all just a hint, a hint of light or noise in the clouds...like the enormous, powerful city was just a dream."
Tim stared at Jamie's eyes, even though she was still looking out the window. He couldn't help but notice that her eyes were rimmed with tears.
"And, and of course it is a dream, in so many ways. We all dreamed, one day, of being in this place...and here we are. Here we are. What are you thinking of, my friend?"
"Well," said Tim Tebow, "I was looking at the trucks...all those trucks rumbling down 10th Avenue. All the places they're going, and places they are going to. And this made me think of the Emperor Constantine...that moment on the bridge, when he won the battle on the Milvian Bridge, in 310 or 312, right, when he saw the cross, and knew he had to embrace Jesus. He travelled so far to reach that moment, that realization. I would like to honor that moment...with a parade up this avenue...perhaps a recreation of some sort, maybe on that bridge right outside the Javits center...or maybe I'll just construct a shoebox diorama."
"That's very good!" Jamie Shupak said, excitedly. "You know, I would love to make some shoebox dioramas. I used to make a lot, when I was in Philadelphia. I have some pictures on my iPhone. Here...here, here's one of General Grant dictating general order number 9, in the Civil War, you know, the order expelling all the Jews from Tennessee. Here's another, this is the hanging of Mary Surratt for conspiracy to kill President Lincoln. Here's another one, this is Jack Parr weeping while hosting the Tonight Show. And this one, this one here portrays the moment the owners of the Milwaukee Braves decided to move to Atlanta. I like this one, because I made a shoebox diorama within a shoebox diorama, you can see that the owner, William Bartholomay, is thinking of a Civil War scene, and you can actually see a little shoebox with a little diorama of the burning of Atlanta in a thought balloon by his head. "
"Wow," said Tim Tebow. "What dedication to craft."
"How about you, Timmy," Jamie Shupak said, brushing a flare of black hair off her forehead. "Surely you have some hobbies."
Wordlessly, Tim Tebow revealed something in his hand. It was a tiny figurine of television character Steve Urkel, fashioned entirely out of sugar. Tim had molded the character with sugar and water, using honey as a fixing agent.
"I make about five of these a day," Tebow said, proudly. "If I am depressed, sometimes I make ten or fifteen. And if I am in a really good mood, I make as many as 25. Usually, I have some sort of theme, but since you once mentioned to me how much you love Urkel, I made this for you. It'll last as long as you want it to, as long as you keep it away from water. Mind you, I don't usually keep mine. I usually photograph them, then feed them to my cat, Herr Speer."
"What themes do you do?"
"Oh, almost anything!" Tim replied. "Well, last week, I created a whole realization of William Blake's 'Jerusalem.' On June 14th, I did a series based on Joyce's 'Ulysees.' That was quite popular...in my mind, of course! I don't really share these with anyone, but, and I've never told anyone this, Jamie, there's a whole imaginary village I interact with on a daily basis. It's called DuMontville, and it's based entirely on the characters from series on the old DuMont Network. So I show them, usually, my work, and then I call out for Herr Speer, and tell him it's time for a treat."
"You know, I fractured my sternum this afternoon," Tebow said, suddenly changing the subject. "The film society of Lincoln Center was showing Abel Gance's Napoleon, and I was quite sure they had a reel out of order. It turns out that wasn't correct, ha ha, I was basing my assumption on my familiarity with the 1998 restoration of the film, whereas the Film Society was showing an entirely new restoration of Napoleon! How about that. Anyway, I thought that they had skipped a reel, so I lept out of my seat. Little did I know that Lauren Bacall's wheelchair was blocking the aisle! I went barreling into that thing like an Indian bus hitting a cow. It was ugly, Jamie, it was very ugly. Ms. Bacall was flattened like a funnel cake in a fat boy's mouth, and I went flying. I landed about five or six rows away, in Sandy Kenyon's lap. But that's not how I fractured my sternum."
At this point, Tim Tebow went completely silent. It was as if he had been distracted from the story he was telling. He seemed deep in thought.
"Tim?" Jamie Shupak said. "Tim? What's wrong?"
He still didn't respond. Jamie nudged his shoulder.
"Ah....sorry," Tim Tebow said. "I was thinking about when I was young...when I was face-to-face with Stan."
"Stan...don't you mean Satan?"
"Oh, no," answered Tim. "I mean Stan. He was my gym teacher in elementary school. He would tell me to do things. He would reward me by putting Matchbox cars in his wife's Lady Purse. I would have to find them while blindfolded."
"Tim," Jamie said, "You were telling me about how you fractured your sternum."
"Yes, of course! Okay, so I ran into Lauren Bacall's wheelchair, went flying, and landed in Sandy Kenyon's lap. But that's not how I broke my sternum. After that happened, I felt so ashamed, I ran to St. Patrick's Cathedral. I wanted to pray a little and get my head together. But on the way out of the church I tripped and fell down the steps and broke my sternum."
"You know, I fractured my sternum this afternoon," Tebow said, suddenly changing the subject. "The film society of Lincoln Center was showing Abel Gance's Napoleon, and I was quite sure they had a reel out of order. It turns out that wasn't correct, ha ha, I was basing my assumption on my familiarity with the 1998 restoration of the film, whereas the Film Society was showing an entirely new restoration of Napoleon! How about that. Anyway, I thought that they had skipped a reel, so I lept out of my seat. Little did I know that Lauren Bacall's wheelchair was blocking the aisle! I went barreling into that thing like an Indian bus hitting a cow. It was ugly, Jamie, it was very ugly. Ms. Bacall was flattened like a funnel cake in a fat boy's mouth, and I went flying. I landed about five or six rows away, in Sandy Kenyon's lap. But that's not how I fractured my sternum."
At this point, Tim Tebow went completely silent. It was as if he had been distracted from the story he was telling. He seemed deep in thought.
"Tim?" Jamie Shupak said. "Tim? What's wrong?"
He still didn't respond. Jamie nudged his shoulder.
"Ah....sorry," Tim Tebow said. "I was thinking about when I was young...when I was face-to-face with Stan."
"Stan...don't you mean Satan?"
"Oh, no," answered Tim. "I mean Stan. He was my gym teacher in elementary school. He would tell me to do things. He would reward me by putting Matchbox cars in his wife's Lady Purse. I would have to find them while blindfolded."
"Tim," Jamie said, "You were telling me about how you fractured your sternum."
"Yes, of course! Okay, so I ran into Lauren Bacall's wheelchair, went flying, and landed in Sandy Kenyon's lap. But that's not how I broke my sternum. After that happened, I felt so ashamed, I ran to St. Patrick's Cathedral. I wanted to pray a little and get my head together. But on the way out of the church I tripped and fell down the steps and broke my sternum."
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