Kyle Schreiber
What was I suppose to do? Where should I sit? I mean, the park is only so big and most of the trees were occupied by yoga enthusiasts or bongo musicians. In the open grass picnics were underway with smiles and sunshine filling the air. I passed a few fellas playing hacky sack near Elmwood Avenue but I was too high to engage; all I cared about was finding a tree to sit under.
I found a vacant tree near the Potomac Avenue split and sat down with my back to Elmwood. Across the street my eyes fixed on a bricked mansion with tall living room windows and beige curtains.
I had nothing to write – I just needed to get out of my apartment for a few hours.
A sense of rebirth is in the air – an anticipated event from the onset of when the colder months approach and the skies turn grey. During these short days and long nights I yearn for the summer months and warmer weather.
Now it was early May, and the weather has broke from the coldness of Buffalo winters. My seasonal depression vanished as it always does for the warmer months leaving only constant depression and worsening anxiety to distract me from life. One less layer goes a long way.
Anyway…Looking around I see a lot of people around. As I scribble down this nonsense as if you the reader care, I’m also trying to take in all of my surroundings and enjoy the sunlight and maybe catch a contagious smile.
A few bikers – the pedaling kind – rode by.
What do cyclists talk about? Tires and spokes; Handlebars and seat adjustments? Are these thoughts too elementary? Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps the heavy peddlers discuss the inter workings of velocity and speed on the given grade and erosion of Buffalo’s streets – maybe they write the Mayor and Governor angry letters demanding the streets be repaired and I’m the asshole for judging…I wonder if they’d let me cycle with them.
What was the right way to do things? What is the wrong way? Why do people judge? Why am I so curious about so many things?
I don’t have the answers to these questions.
I turned back to look at Elmwood. Traffic was heavy now. It was probably around 5:30 pm; everyone was leaving work and heading home.
A motorcycle turned away from the gridlock and slowly roared by the park.
It looks like a cruiser. An all-white polished body glistening in the warm sun. The spotless chrome engine rattled as the husky and fierce-looking rider rolled by. Their body weighed the bike down low to the weathered streets. The bike came to a stop at the split. Looking both ways the rider took a second and scanned the area – then he released the brake.
A thunderous rumble tore through the air. The motorcycles hot anus exploded with each gear change sending echoes down the city streets. They were off to the races. The rider was soon out of sight, but I had a feeling I’d hear him for the next few minutes.
I wondered what time it was. I use to wear a watch – it was easier to tell time that way instead of awkwardly pulling out a phone in mid conversation – but I gave that watch, a watch that was with me for many miles and many years to the woman I love. Since then, it’s never left her wrist. The story itself is one made for Hollywood, or maybe someday a novel. The timeline of events is more romantic than just gifting someone a sentimental wrist watch out of strong feelings of love…But we’ll save that for another time. Today, I’m in a park being a person – and it feels great.
Sure money is tight and bills are due. Debt collectors and the bank are calling to harass me over money I simply don’t have. But who cares? The power of the suns desiring rays cause me not to worry about these obstacles and instead to simply enjoy the outdoors again. I’ll give those demons my energy a different time – probably later this week while I’m at work contemplating my career, contemplating my life, and trying to understand what happened to the world.
I didn’t have anywhere to be this afternoon. I sat for a few seconds zoning out to the fantasy of what else I could do with the remaining hours of sunlight today.
In the distance a loud engine screamed – I wondered if it was the motorcycle from before. Whoever it was they had somewhere to be. That’s the real feeling of freedom – a loud and fast car with your music blasting and somewhere to be. I wanted to go fast, I wanted to listen to music – first I needed somewhere to be. But for now, sitting in the park is a good gig. I think I’ll stay a little longer.
North Jupiter Inlet 