My feet were killing me but I couldn’t be defeated on one of my first outings since moving to New York. After all, even though I was alone, I didn’t want to be home-alone. I left the Mid-Manhattan library with my books successfully placed on hold for when they returned to the library itself. I walked past the big building; library, and headed back to Time Square. My strides were short and my feet felt of sharp needles with every step and although I wasn’t planning to stop where I did, I did. I shrug.
The green on the left of me was such a beautiful juxtaposition to the hard windows and buildings to my right and the honking of taxis and chatter of people on their phones. I thought about taking the book I had and plopping on the grass for a bit, giving my feet a rest, enjoying the daylight and being outside of the purple walls that surrounded me at home. Beautiful, spiritual, purple walls, but they’d been closing in further on me since I’d been told I’d be single from here on out. I thought about food too. I had eaten earlier, but by now it was hours and if I was going to change my plans, I’d need to eat something. I made it to the corner after almost passing up the park when I saw little booths it seemed. Most of which were shaped like little hexagons with ” ‘wich craft” as a sign and coffee & pastries or sandwiches following the name, I couldn’t necessarily go wrong. I stepped up and ordered an iced chai latte and a mini loaf of banana bread. After what seemed like an obvious interruption to their day, I grabbed my drink and munchy and turned toward the park to seek out a chair.
There are so many parks, I’ve noticed. Well anywhere from Central Park, to “well – there’s some land here with trees, so lets put benches in here and call it a park “- parks. I have found that most of the highly populated areas will have more than benches. They’ll have little cute round green tables, and green chairs, just – there…for me to sit and use.
So I had successfully received my drink and bread and looked for a chair, I hadn’t realized how many people were actually at the park today but the lawn had seemed so empty I guess everyone was seeking shade and – music…??? I had recognized this park from when Kaza had stood in the rain to see John Mayer for free. She had said that he took a water bottle and poured it over his head because it wasn’t fair everyone else there was getting wet from the rain, and he was protected. I smiled at the memory.
Apparently I had stumble upon free concerts in the park, a series of Monday’s at 6pm, and the 14th being the last monday it was happening. For a moment I was excited to know I could come here and get a beverage and just listen and enjoy, and was of course disappointed when I saw I was attending the last of the series. (Although i’m sure there will be more, I’m told there is always SOMETHING to do in NY). I had walked through the open sea of people and found a chair in the center. There was a flutist and harpist. The weather was still quite lovely for only 6pm ish and I had nestled in my chair and began peeling a way at my mini loaf. They played a couple songs, and then the gentleman, whom we can only assume is the guy who organized the concert in the park, was interviewing the musicians allowing the audience to get an inside look at where these people came from, how long they’d been playing and what not.
The flutist was a grammy nominated woman, the harpist was…tiny. A very tiny Korean woman. =) She explained how she got into playing the harp, that it had 47 strings and 8 pedals. One for each note on the scale, so which ever pedal she pressed down would shift each string in that key. The strings were also color coordinated and quite frankly the size of the harp didn’t seem at all daunting or overwhelming until you paid close attention to her playing it. I listened to them speak until something caught my attention in the not too far distance. It was twirling, and there seemed to be Christmas lights on it. Maybe I’m easily distracted, maybe the talking didn’t really hold my attention, or maybe it was a sign. Again, I shrug.
It was a carousel. It was small, I could tell and the first thing I thought was “is that where Charlotte and Harry took Lily?” (SATC fans unite). And while staring at it, it slowed and came to a stop. The moment it stopped spinning, my mind did. I wished K was there with me. Listening to delightful music in Bryant Park, because it was there, and because we can, and then we could walk around the park together, look at the carousel, or sit and read together. I felt the tears begin to form and tried to focus back on what the musicians were saying. Something about the next song was originally written for a Harp & Violin, but I awaited the distraction of their music combo. In the corner of my eye, as the tears slowly dried, having not streamed down my face, the carousel also began to turn again. I somehow felt better with the music playing and the carousel spinning.
I finished my mini loaf and chai, which unfortunately was not that great, and I head to the carousel.
It was smaller than I thought, even though I thought it was small. But it was charming and there were children getting in line to climb on and ride. I grinned at the blue butterfly and took out my camera, smiled at the gentleman running it and he nodded and returned the smile.
As I smile and nodded to more strangers the porcupine feeling in my feet began to rise again and I felt as though I were walking through a small fire. It was time to get home. I found an exit from the park to the streets again and stopped to admire the light post, reminded myself where I lived, why I was living there and that as much as I may have wanted him there with me, he just wasn’t going to be. So I needed to enjoy this myself.
And no, having a broken heart is not the end of the world, but it is a piece of my world that shattered and crumbled. I don’t have a large enough vocabulary to express what my world is like right now, or how it was a week ago. I know that sad songs are more sad, love songs hurt to hear, and “I miss having a man in my life that cares about me.” (Thank you Carrie Bradshaw) Cares enough to want to read a book with me. Cares enough to want to talk to me, cares that I have feelings and appreciates that I express them. Cares about art and would adore a light post like this. Shrug. Is romantic and wants to take me through Central Park on the horse drawn carriage. And much more.
It’s hard to be pushed away, as if 3,000 miles wasn’t enough already. I just wish I could share all of this with someone special, and important who also thinks I’m special and important, and worth it.
But for now, it’s just me, my camera and these pages.