MY PERSPECTIVE

I’m sitting on a bench in Central Park, surface slightly wet from the afternoon rain which had just stopped. The air itself smells slightly damp, and the park itself seems to glisten. I spot a squirrel nibbling a nut in the distance. In front of me sits the Alice in Wonderland statue – a strange brass coloured mix of the characters from the novel. Children are understandably attracted to this statue, I note, as a couple of kids run up and grab on to the rabbit’s ears before abruptly trying to climb onto the top of the slippery looking mushrooms. A worried mother comes striding by, shouting a quick warning to be careful but her children seem to pay no attention to her words. As always, there’s the usual gaggle of tourist snapping pictures, as they contribute to the incessant background chatter that seems to be a constant in New York. I lean onto my boyfriend’s shoulder, who is currently fiddling with his phone as he takes in the atmosphere around us. The lady on the bench besides mine is talking loudly to her friend, a cup of coffee in one hand as the aroma of it drifts over to me. “I don’t know. I’m still thinking, like, is it a deal breaker? Is it a deal breaker?” I hear her ask exasperatedly, her other hand roughly pulling her hair back. The squirrel has scampered closer to the area I am sitting in, its nut still clutched tightly in its paws.

THE BOY AND THE STATUE

A young boy is running through the park. He has only turned four and already a mess of tiny limbs that always seem on the verge of falling coupled with the unwaveringly naïve bravery of children who don’t understand their fragility. He runs and runs without care as his feet splash through muddy puddles leftover by the rainy afternoon. From behind, he hears his mother shout loudly at him to be careful; to make sure he doesn’t get wet and to be careful of the slippery ground and to wait up for her and she hurries to catch up, but the young boy pays no heed to her words. His mind is already focused laser sharp on the goal in front of him – to make it to the golden statue. He surges forward. A deep huff of breath and a final sprint later, he finally makes it to this wondrous statue with characters straight out of the storybook that his father read to him. Immediately, his nose is assaulted with a strong metallic scent but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he scrambles to find purchase on the lowest mushroom, little arms and legs pushing his body up. He succeeds. The boy then quickly moves on to next mushroom, and finally to the largest one with Alice sitting on it, arms gracefully spread out in welcome. He laughs in delight and perches himself on the edge to swing his legs back and forth. Finally, the boy is content – for now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE PIGEON

A pigeon flaps its wings and makes the short journey from his perch on a branch to the ground next to a park bench in order to join the rest of its brethren. It squawks a greeting to the others but make no mistake – this is no social visit. A man, old from what the bird can tell with his receding hairline and face adorned with wrinkles, holds a brown paper bag. A hand reaches in and rains a flurry of crumbs upon the pavement of the park. The pigeon quickly begins pecking away at it, but before it can even finish, another round of crumbs come flying through the air. The pigeon looks up, as if trying to communicate its silent gratitude before quickly resuming pecking at the ground. More crumbs rain down and this time, the pigeon spots a large, mouthwatering piece in its peripheral vision. It hastily moves over to it, only to find that another pigeon is already there. The pigeon squawks indignantly, and a brawl ensues over the scrumptious piece of bread. Their beaks quickly disintegrate the bread and it is with annoyance that the pigeon realizes that no one has won. In fact, it realizes that while they were busy fighting, the other pigeons have managed to empty the brown bag of crumbs. With as much haughtiness the pigeon can muster, it takes off in flight and lands back on its branch, deciding to sulk in solitude over the pain of a missed meal.