Three years ago, just after I’d move to NYC, Dustin and Lindsey drove up from Atlanta (for reasons I don’t remember? Possibly they were on their way to a concert in Boston). It may have been Dustin’s first time in New York, or at least his first time as an adult. Either way, he’d never been to Central Park and specifically the Bethesda Fountain. I had (probably on one of my first trips back in college sometime), but I don’t think I had any defining memory of going there until this time, the first time I went as a resident.
It’s movie-like to approach it. Walking between all the trees, under the bridge where everything gets dark until you emerge on the other end to the spectacle. It will never be deserted enough to make it picture-perfect but that’s part of the charm. The water was on because it was still summer, and dozens of tourists were jockeying for position for the best photos. We took one of our own, and stood a little inside ourselves, and then continued on with our day.
I’ve been back since, maybe 2 more times in the time I’ve been here (once with Paul in winter and it was a little more deserted, but still not enough.) Central Park just isn’t in my weekly plans, too far uptown for me. It’s Fall in New York again (my 4th Fall) and I need to get up there even though the water’s probably turned off already.
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This weekend I saw both parts of Angels in America. (For the second part I sat two seats away from Michael Grief, an entirely other post about me and New York I will maybe have the ability to write someday.) I cannot recommend this production enough. The acting, the pacing, the use of light and sound to move the story were all so exact and beautiful. I’ll see it again if my heart can take it.
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Prior: But still. Still bless me anyway. I want more life. I can’t help myself. I do. I’ve lived through such terrible times and there are people who live through much worse. But you see them living anyway. When they’re more spirit than body, more sores than skin, when they’re burned and in agony, when flies lay eggs in the corners of the eyes of their children - they live. Death usually has to take life away. I don’t know if that’s just the animal. I don’t know if it’s not braver to die, but I recognize the habit; the addiction to being alive. So we live past hope. If I can find hope anywhere, that’s it, that’s the best I can do. It’s so much not enough. It’s so inadequate. But still bless me anyway. I want more life.
