Small Town New York City.

Six or seven years ago my high school girlfriends and I planned a weekend get together. For more than a decade after college we had the Northeast corridor covered with me in Boston, Moira in New York City, Meghan a few towns over from where we grew up in NJ, and Alicia in Washington, D.C. The four of us would rotate turns hosting the other three and we fell into a pretty good rhythm of getting together at least once a year (something I'm proud to say we keep up to this day even with the eventual moves and husbands and kiddos that came along for a good portion of the group.) Anyway. This particular get-together was in New York, when Moira lived in Queens.  As was our usual MO, we all gathered at her apartment at various arrival times on Friday night and caught up over drinks and snacks.  Saturday morning, we took the subway into the city and played tourist all day, running uptown and downtown and in between town before heading back to Astoria for dinner.  As was also our usual MO we were exhausted after dinner and debated just going back to Moira's to veg out in front of bad TV, calling it an early night.

"You guys," I said as we paid the check at dinner. "We should at least rally for one drink out somewhere. We can do that.  One drink." Moira suggested a small little random bar in the neighborhood, not far from her apartment.  We walked in and made our way to the bar, ready to order our drinks.  We stood in a circle, the four of us talking, when I noticed three men also standing in a circle at the bar.  "Guys, " I yelled over the music.  "We know those three guys over there."

My friends heads all turned, looking at the three men in question.  One by one they turned back to me with a shrug. "Nope.  Never seen 'em before in my life."

"I swear we went to high school with them. I'm sure of it."

So the debate went for a good five or ten minutes more before I finally decided to just ask them.  My friends stood back to let me through the crowd, all of them a little too eager to witness this forth coming embarrassing moment. "Excuse me," I said, breaking into their little circle.  "But did you guys go to Shawnee High School?" All three of them nodded immediately. "I thought so!" And then I went on to re-introduce myself and my friends (whose jaws were all on the floor given the randomness of this occasion). Our two smaller circles opened up to one larger one and the seven us caught up late into the night.  These guys had been friends of mine in high school, had graduated the year after my girlfriends and I did but we'd all lost touch as it happens.  Now, more than a decade later, all seven us ended up in the exact same bar, on the exact same evening, in Queens, New York when we all grew up a two hour drive away, in Southern New Jersey.

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In May of 2016 I was down in Manhattan from Boston for a weekend.  I was there for a date with a boy I was just getting to know.  We went to the Met and after wandering through the newest Vogue Met Gala exhibit made our way up to the rooftop for a cocktail.  It was a perfect early spring evening, warm but not yet hot, and we joined the crowd of other like-minded New Yorkers, queuing up for a cold glass of rose.  As we stood in line, I caught sight of a couple in the second line that had formed on the other side of the bar.  I was listening to my date talk but I kept staring at the couple, particularly the man in the duo.  Finally, when there was a lull in my date's story, I interrupted him.  "I'm sorry," I said. "But I really think I went to college with that guy.  I need to go say hello."

My date saved our place in line as I walked across the rooftop.  "Rocco?" I asked, approaching him from behind.  He turned around and did a double-take. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "Kelli! What are you doing here?"  Just like that we were reminiscing about our days at BU together before I finally left him and his girlfriend to go return to my own date. (Who was still waiting in line #1.)

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In the summer of 2017, a couple of months after I started at my new job, I came down to our New York area office from Boston to work with my team here. I left the office at a random time at the end of the day, ready to take the train back to the neighborhood I was staying in on the island of Manhattan. As I waited for the train to pull into the station and open its doors, allowing the passengers off, one of my closest friends from business school was standing directly in front of me.  This was not a train line she usually took, it was certainly not part of my normal routine since I was visiting from out of town.  With a shock she leapt off the train and hugged me, both of us amazed we were in the exact right spot at the exact right time.

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Last week, I was running late for work and left my apartment about fifteen minutes later than I usually do.  I was about four or five doors down from my building when I noticed a guy my age putting his trash out in the bins in front of his own building.  As soon as I saw him I recognized him as an old friend I'd met through another friend probably seven or eight (or maybe ten?) years ago up in Boston.  I shook it off though, deciding there was no way that could possibly be him; the odds were far too great. Still, as I rode the subway downtown I kept thinking about that quick passing on the sidewalk, growing more and more confident it had been him that I passed.  When I got to work I fired off a quick note via Facebook asking him - in the least creepy way possible - if he had in fact been putting out his trash on my street earlier in the morning.  A few minutes later he wrote back that, yes, indeed he had.

He lives at building #20.  I'm in building #58. On the same block. In the biggest city in the United States.  We haven't seen each other in years and years, barely keeping up with one another on facebook.  And yet, here we are.  Neighbors.

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You would think a city like New York, with 8 million (!) residents, would feel massive and constantly overwhelming. And truthfully, sometimes it does - there are just so many people!  But then there are other times, like these three crazy and random coincidences that make New York City seem like the smallest town in America.  This city, man.  It's New York magic.