Photo Story Response: Central Park

Fit for a King (or Queen, Rather)
By Laura Daye

Last time I was in Central Park, it was March, and very cold. The sky was white and threatening the full five days. I neglected to bring a scarf, which I really regretted. I was in a disintegrating relationship; five+ years and I was bored and decided to throw it away. I was staying in a hostel on Amsterdam with my boyfriend and three other friends; two of the friends were part of a couple. Even though we were staying in a dormitory of bunkbeds, the two friends that were a “couple” shared a little top bunk made for one person. I didn’t even bother to climb into my then-boyfriend’s bunk. I had no interest. I wanted space. I was cold as the New York sky.

I have photos from that trip. I was in Central Park with my boyfriend and the one accompanying friend who wasn’t part of a couple. We wandered around, and took photos of each other sitting in a throne-like seat built into a castle-like building that housed specimens of the park’s history.

The single friend is no longer a friend; I saw her a couple of years ago, and what I thought was going to be a fun reunion ended up being an outing with five other snotty, bitchy people I had never met before who threw me dirty looks and refused to engage in conversation with me. Each one, part of a couple, possessively grabbing their downtrodden boyfriends at lame Dragonfish, sipping neon-hued cocktails or water (because they seemed to anal-retentive to actually let loose with a little alcohol), thinking they’re the height of maturity. Yeah, whatever. I have no patience for that bullshit.

The then-boyfriend I trod down in New York, in Central Park, in the hostel, in the financial district, on Madison Avenue, at the Indian restaurant, is now a best friend. He is a specimen of my past, but an integral part of my present. We don’t place each other on pedestals or thrones anymore: we know all of our bad sides (and good).

And the friends that were part of a couple in New York? Long since broken up, on to the umpteenth boyfriend or girlfriend, in one case possibly THE girlfriend to last through all forthcoming seasons. I hope, I hope! I’m not entirely a pessimist, you see.

The day after we all returned to Portland, a big snowstorm hit New York. Central Park, and the city at large were coated in white. The airport shut down. Everyone was stuck. But we made it home.


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