Along the Park
Dear Diary:
It was April Fools’ Day, and the weather kept changing from sunny to drizzle, as if the gusty wind was moving the sun back and forth behind a cloud.
I put my jacket on and off as I walked along Prospect Park. The trees were still bare, but spring was slowly awakening with yellow forsythias, and every child walking by stared at my new purple hair, hungry for color.
A guy in the bike lane yelled, “Hey!”
I turned to him.
“Sorry,” he said, pointing to someone else. “I’m talking to this guy.”
“But you actually look familiar,” I said.
“So do you,” he said, laughing.
I entered the park to hear pop music near the band shell. Two people with a portable speaker were dancing.
I wanted to join the party, but I realized that I hear the music, so I’m in the party. I danced along from a distance.
From high above, hundreds of blackbirds swooped down like falling peppercorn into the black-and-white woods ahead. As I got closer, I saw specks of tiny green buds emerging on each tree limb.
I left the park, passing three people who had converged because their dogs could not contain their joy. The people laughed like old friends, but within seconds they had walked off separate ways.
As I passed Seeley Street, I overheard a friend through the open window, cheering on a drum student.
I laughed. I should be getting home before the possible rain, I thought, but today, everywhere was home.
— Mare Berger
S. Klein’s Basement
Dear Diary:
It was around 1960, and my mother, my sister and I were in the bargain basement at the S. Klein department store on Union Square.
My sister, 13, was trying on winter coats in the aisle between the bins and discussing two final options with my mother when a woman riding the escalator up to the ground floor weighed in.
“Take the red!” she called out.
We took the red. I miss S. Klein’s.
— David Hammond
Brooklyn Warehouse
Dear Diary:
I woke up to my alarm at 2:45 on a Saturday morning, then maneuvered trains and city blocks through darkness to an unremarkable warehouse in Brooklyn.
Inside was a cathedral of music. Hips gyrated, and arms exalted rhythm. Fog embraced kissers, dancers, exhilaration, prayer, meditation, community.
I found my intention and connected with my spirit and the energy of bodies around me, alone and together, holding friends as family and strangers as friends.
I departed at 8:45 a.m. to a cold, golden morning, feeling lighter, freer, learned and loved.
A shopkeeper opening up for the day called out from behind me, his question nearly drowned out by the morning traffic.
“Hey, what’s happening over there?” he asked.
“Just a little dance party,” I replied. “Nothing crazy.”
— Carlie Cattelona
Helping Hand
Dear Diary:
I ride my bicycle 99 percent of the time. It’s just me and the city. I move fast enough to keep things interesting, but slowly enough to catch the weather changing or feel the mood of the people on the sidewalks.
Every so often, I have to take the train. On very rare occasions, it’s me, the train and my bike, a combination no one ever seems thrilled to encounter.
Because I know this, I try to shrink myself into an apologetic bicycle origami project once I’m on the train. I fold. I hover. I whisper “sorry” to people who haven’t even seen me yet.
On one such evening, I was trying to avoid anyone’s shins while hauling my bike up a flight of stairs after getting off the train, when I felt someone close behind me.
Terrified that I’d clipped someone, I whipped around to see a smiling woman who had one hand casually gripping the back of my bike.
“I got you,” she said, like we were old friends moving a couch.
I told her I had it under control.
“Two hands are better than one,” she said. “I got you.”
So we climbed the stairs together: me, my bike and a total stranger, moving in perfect, unspoken coordination. At the top, she let go, nodded and vanished into the crowd.
— Evan Abel
Central Park Zoo
Dear Diary:
Years ago, our nanny would take our son and daughter to the Central Park Zoo, where they could be set free from their stroller.
It was safe because the children loved the zoo and always stayed in the nanny’s sight and because the zoo’s walls meant there was no way they could leave.
One spring day when I was not working, I decided to accompany them all on a walk through the park, with the kids in their stroller.
As we passed the zoo, a guard at the entrance beckoned our nanny over and had a deep consultation with her.
She was laughing when she came back.
“He wanted to know who was that strange woman walking with me,” she said.
— Georgia Raysman
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
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