A Non-Spoiler Peek at 'The New Story' - A Winter's Day at Central Park

 

A Moment in the Park

 

Maddie and I walk in Central Park, feeling the sun on our faces and the snow crunching under our feet. It's a beautiful day for late February. The air is crisp and fresh, and even though the forecast calls for more snow later, perhaps as early as tonight, right now the sky is a bright blue. Just right.

We've been here for a while, exploring the park and its wonders. We've seen so many things. So many people. So much diversity.

We've seen children of all colors building snowmen and dogs of all breeds chasing squirrels. We've seen couples of all orientations cuddling on benches and seniors of all backgrounds feeding pigeons. We've seen athletes of all fitness levels jogging and biking and skating. We've seen artists and musicians and performers of all kinds.

We've heard a symphony of sounds. A harmony of noises. A melody of music.

We've heard birds singing and leaves whispering. We've heard cars honking and sirens blaring. We've heard laughter and crying and shouting. We've heard songs from a boom box. Songs that are popular now, like the romantic ballad “I Knew I Loved you” or the grateful anthem "Thank God I Found You.”

We don't talk much, but that's okay. We enjoy the silence. We enjoy each other's company.

We hold hands and look into each other's eyes. We smile and feel a spark. A spark that ignites our hearts.

We like each other, but we don't know each other. Not really.

We have secrets that we haven't shared yet. Secrets that might surprise us.

But we don't care about that right now.

Right now, we just care about this moment.

This moment in Central Park.

 

3

Vivas oportet si vis tibi vivere

 

We decide to sit on a bench near Conservatory Water, where we can watch the model boats sail on the pond. It’s a peaceful spot, away from the crowds and the noise. The bench is made of white granite and has a curved shape. It’s called the Waldo Hutchins Bench, after a man who was one of the first administrators of Central Park. There are some Latin words carved on the bench, but I don’t know what they mean. There’s also a small sundial on the back of the bench, but it doesn’t work today because of the clouds.

We sit close together and wrap our arms around each other. We feel warm and cozy, despite the cold weather. We look at the pond and see the boats gliding on the water. Some are colorful and some are plain. Some are big and some are small. Some are fast and some are slow. They remind me of us. We are different, but we are together.

We talk about music, one of our shared passions. We both love classical and Big Band music, but we have different tastes when it comes to popular music. I’m more into Billy Joel, The Beatles, and doo wop, while Maddie is more open-minded about current artists. She tells me about some of the songs she likes from the boom box we heard earlier, like “I Knew I Loved You” by Savage Garden or “Thank God I Found You” by Mariah Carey. She says they are romantic and sweet. I say they are cheesy and sappy. We tease each other and laugh.

But we don’t talk much about what we do for a living. I’ve told Maddie that I teach history at a college, but I haven’t told her which one or that I’m also a bestselling author. I don’t know why I’m being vague. Maybe I’m afraid she’ll think I’m boring or pretentious. Maybe I’m afraid she’ll only like me for my fame or my money.

She's a musician, I can tell from our chats and my intuition, but she won't say where she works. It can't be Henry's Piano Bar and Grill, can it? She's hiding something from me. Maybe she thinks I'll be intimidated or ignored by her. Maybe she's afraid of revealing her identity and connection to me.

But we don't care about that right now.

Right now, we just care about this moment.

This moment in Central Park.

But then I notice something in her eyes. A hint of sadness. A trace of pain. A shadow of fear.

She looks down at the ground and sighs.

I wonder what's wrong.

I wonder what she's hiding.

I wonder what she's going to say.

I feel a pang in my chest as I see her sad look. I want to make her happy. I want to make her smile. I want to take away her sadness.

But first, I need to understand why she’s so sad all of a sudden.

I tighten my grip on her hand and gently pull her closer to me. I feel her warmth and softness. I smell her perfume; that mix of jasmine and orange blossoms that is somehow maddeningly familiar; and hair. I hear her sigh and shiver. I lift her chin with my finger and look into her eyes. They are hazel and beautiful, but also cloudy and troubled.

"Maddie, what are you thinking about?" I ask softly. "You seem so aloof. Is there something on your mind?"

Maddie shoots me a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s – “ she says in a half-whisper, “It’s nothing important. I’m just a bit overwhelmed by all of this.” She sweeps her left hand in a semicircle, indicating the entirety of Central Park.

I’m not a psychologist – nor do I play one on TV – but I’ve had too many students, most of them first-year ones who still believe they can come up with excuses as to why they have not handed in their essays about the preparations for Operation Overlord or why they need an extension to turn in their term paper outlines.

"I know you don't have to tell me anything, Maddie. But I care about you. And I can see that something is hurting you. Maybe talking about it will make you feel better. Or maybe I can help you in some way. Please, trust me."