The sky is grey, and rain is imminent. The cobble stones press into the thin soles of my shoes. The air is just as cold and wet as I remembered. Alone, walking along the promenade, it occurs to me that today, I may be the only person that wants to spend a cold February afternoon sitting by the water.
When I lived on the Upper East Side for a brief two years, this spot was one I frequented. Just a quick walk down to the quiet and unassuming York Avenue, then up the foot bridge, and over the FDR to the narrow parkway along the East River.
It truly feels like ages ago, but really, it’s only been nine months since I decided I would rather get an apartment with my sister than live in a dorm room with three new strangers each year. These walks down to the river were the only things I knew I would surely miss when I left.
I sit on a bench; it’s cold and damp. I look into the sky and think of all the times I came here in the dark, when the moon would illuminate the murky waters before me. This promenade became more than just a place to sit alone and watch the water, but to be joined with others on a quiet walk. I put my feet up on the railing and let the stream of memories come back to me.
The hot cider spiked with booze that one chilly Halloween, the hands held, the wind sweeping, the cars buzzing by. Confessions, emotions, confrontations, this is where they all occurred. You could feign distraction, sitting here, watching the water for moments on end so you didn’t have to face the words at hand. I thought about all the things that infiltrated this idyllic scene, just by sitting here, all of those times flooded back to me.
I suddenly become aware of my cold hands and the wind licking at my face, but it isn’t enough to make me leave. I notice the cluster of benches to my right that are still wrapped in caution tape, just as I remembered, unchanged.
Down the water, the Queensboro Bridge stands tall and commanding. A barge passes by, creating ripples in the river that appear long after it has passed. It starts to rain, the heavy dark clouds finally breaking open, and I’m forced to retreat. I walk up the bridge and then down again on the other side, and once again, everything is silent.
