Sunday Walk
An excerpt from Servicing the Pole
It’s Sunday afternoon. I gaze out onto the East River from a walkway next to the park. The air smells fresh and the breeze is mild. I’m standing between two bridges.
Directly across is Randall’s Island, where they have concerts in the summer. To the north is Hunt’s Point. To the south is Harlem. It’s a lovely view.
The sky is a crisp, cloudless blue. I watch boats sail by over the rushing river. Behind me, the sun beats lazily down on the weekend people. The hill is dotted with beach towels. Couples sunbathe together. Small children run in circles around each other, giggling.
I can feel the sun’s warmth on the crown of my head as I walk slowly over the grassy hill, taking in one scene after another. Mothers push babies in swings on the playground. Strapping teenage boys sweat hard as they try to jump over each other on the basketball courts. Along the river, parked cars with the windows rolled down play music of every variety while girls dance on the sidewalk. Spring has crept up once again.
I look down at my arms and notice how pale they are compared to everyone else’s.
Several families sit on the lawn picnicking in their Sunday best, but it isn’t until I see the pastel bonnets and the baskets full of colored eggs that I realize today is Easter. A wave of shame bubbles up in my chest – I am so out of touch with the world around me that I despair of ever getting back into it.
I haven’t spoken to my own family in months. I don’t see friends anymore either. I live alone now, and I want it that way.
I go to work sporadically – sometimes at Lucille’s, sometimes at other clubs where no one knows me. I work as infrequently as I can while still bringing home enough money to support myself. It’s getting harder every week. The guys can tell I’m not into it. Every word that comes out of my mouth feels stilted. I don’t even bother with the other girls.
It’s hard to make small talk with people when you have nothing left to say.
As I walk through the late afternoon, through everyone else’s holiday, I feel invisible – on the inside as well as out.
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