This particular conversation on this particular night followed a couple of pitchers of sangria at the Monk’s Vineyard, a small cafe farther south on St. George Street. The conversation started there and spilled out onto the street with the two friends.
“It’s the spirit of this place...hangs over it like a fog,” Amy had said waving her arms wide to encompass the city.
“I know what you’re talking about,” Sue agreed. “It’s what keeps people here, keeps them trapped until eventually...”
“,,,until eventually,” Amy had interrupted, “until it gets so overbearing and frustrating that it eventually drives them away or drives them mad.”
“Yes, right, the same force that lures later repels. The city’s siren’s song draws people near, then grabs and squeezes all life right out of them,” said Sue, pausing, then laughing at her serious and emphatic tone.
The two sat on the ground, each leaning against the rough coquina wall of the gate, looking up at the stars. It was after midnight and the streets were empty. After what seemed a long quiet, Amy spoke.
“You know Sue, in this town...in this town I can go and stand on a corner, or someplace, someplace like here, the City Gate, and know where I am, know exactly where I am standing.”
“You know where you’re standing?” Sue asked in a sarcastic, doubting, baiting tone. Amy took the bait. She stood up and spoke in a quiet, near firm voice.
“I am standing in the City Gate of the oldest city in the United States. I can’t do that anywhere but here. I can’t do that anywhere in the universe except right here, in this narrow passageway. And, while I stand here I know that hundreds, thousands, millions have walked right here on this very spot. And I don’t mean those god damned tourists with their stupid little maps. I mean real people, families, settlers, soldiers, Indians, Greeks, British, Spanish priests, they all passed not over there or over there but here...right here through this gate.”
Amy paused. Sue quietly replied “So?”
“So?” Amy replied in a voice that was quieter than Sue’s and much sharper with a deeper questioning tone.
“So I know. I know where I am. There’s no question about it. I’m certain of the uniqueness of where I am standing right now. I am secure in my certainty.”
She continued, adding a little back and force pace with more arm action for emphasis. They were both having a good time.
“This spot is not some chain drugstore where you’re walking down the tire aisle and for a moment you space out and forget which one you’re in, and there’s not one hint in sight to help you out. They all look alike. The one in Tallahassee and Miami and Hawthorne and South Jacksonville and North Jacksonville. It’s a classic one of those anytime-anyplace zones. Strip mall boulevards with no sidewalks and no pedestrians that stretch for miles on old U.S. highways in every town in Florida lucky enough to have a four lace slice it in half. You could drop down in one of those zones and be lost for days, thinking you were in Longwood when you were shopping in Dellwood.
Amy caught her breath and continued.
“But not here. Not here.” Amy stood between the two towers and threw her arms out wide, stretching as if she could expand to touch both sides with feet planted in the center.
“I stand here in the City Gate and I can only be here, this is where I am in the universe. And that feeling makes me feel in control, secure. I know where I am.”
Amy dropped her arms and looked at Sue like a catcher waiting for the pitcher to make his new pitch.
Sue looked up at her and said again, “So?”