I Take the Tram Because I Have ToWhat does it feel like to rely on something that no longer feels built for you?
There are people on this Island you learn to recognize long before you ever learn their names. Like the real estate man with the blue goatee, the one whose name I keep forgetting, though I could pick him out of a lineup any time of day. And there are others you learn to avoid, gently, respectfully, with the kind of choreography that only comes from repetition. A turn of the head. A sudden interest in the opposite side of the street. A quiet adjustment of pace that, at my age, is more aspirational than effective. When I was younger, and my eyesight was more cooperative, I could simply cross to the other side of the street before they ever noticed me. It required timing, but it was reliable.
Now, I have fewer options. I can try to position myself behind someone taller and hope for the best, or I can avoid eye contact entirely and pretend that my hearing has begun to fade. Dr. Michal Melamed, on the other hand, does not avoid anyone. I have watched her stand, patiently, in conversations most of us have already excused ourselves from in our minds. She listens with a softness that feels almost impractical now, like something from another time. The kind of patience you hope your doctor has, but rarely expects anyone else to carry. I admire it. I do not possess it. I used to cross the street. Now I pause, calculate, and accept my fate a bit earlier than I once did. She stays. Why I Take the TramI take the tram because I have to. Not for the view, though I suppose it is still there. Not for the novelty, which seems to renew itself endlessly for those visiting. I take it because it is the most direct way to get to my appointments, and because I would prefer, whenever possible, to buy my own radishes. There is a pantry in my building, and it is generous. Truly. But pride is a stubborn companion, and it does not always accept generosity as easily as it should. It insists, for reasons I no longer question, on leaving less for my ungrateful children, whom I love very much. So I take the tram. What It Costs to Rely on ItThere is a difference between riding something and relying on it. If you are visiting, the tram is a view. A moment suspended over the river, a photograph waiting to happen, a brief inconvenience if the line is long. If you live here, it’s a calculation. Whether I have the energy to stand today. Whether I can schedule an appointment somewhere between the tourist rush hours, or if I will have to negotiate my way through them. Whether I have the patience to be civil. Often, I do not. I find myself wondering how many radishes I can reasonably carry before I start resenting every life choice that brought me to this moment. It sounds small when I say it like that. Radishes. A handful of groceries. But that’s the thing about relying on something. The smaller the task, the more obvious it becomes when the system isn’t built for you. I adjust. I always adjust, assuming it was decided in a meeting for me.
When Patience BreaksOn April 9, 2026, during the full board meeting of the Roosevelt Island Operating Corporation, the tram came up the way it often does. Mary Cunneen, Chief Operating Officer, announced that there would be necessary work on the tram. September and October. Approximately two months. Dr. Michal Melamed, not with the patience I have come to associate with her, asked, plainly, why there was no plan for how people were meant to navigate the interruption. Not the mechanics of the repair, but the mechanics of living through it. It was said bluntly. That was what shifted the room. Because when someone like her runs out of patience, it is rarely about a single moment. It is about something that has been sitting, unresolved, for longer than anyone is willing to name. What followed was a brief hesitation, the kind that settles over a room when something has been said more plainly than expected. It did not last long. It rarely does. The conversation moved on. It always does. I assume the answer will appear in September. Subscribe for free to receive updates on new posts and support our work.
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