Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
I set Toodles down on the ground and head to the bathroom for a quick shower. I’ve gone to hand out sandwiches in the park every other Sunday for about five months now, and yet I still haven’t quite adjusted to the routine. I make about twenty sandwiches the night before and pack two old backpacks, one with the food and one with bottles of water. Still, I’m such a heavy sleeper that when Sunday morning rolls around, it takes quite a bit for me to mobilize. Sometimes Rach comes with me, but other times, she prefers to stay in. I don’t blame her because working with the homeless can be heartrending, and sometimes the best thing you can do to protect your mental health is to take a break. That’s what Rach is doing today, and it’s okay. I know the park inside out, and it’s safe. I’ll be fine.
In the shower, I decide that today’s not a hair-washing day, and definitely not a leg-shaving day. When I get out, I don’t even put on any makeup, just a little bit of Chapstick. Who’s going to be eyeballing me, anyways? I’m just going to the park to try to be helpful.
With Toodles twining around my legs, trying to trip me, I go into my room to pick out my clothes. I used to dress nicely for the occasion, thinking that maybe people would be more willing to approach me if I looked respectable. But I soon realized that the people I wanted to help wouldn’t notice due to much more serious problems. In fact, when I dressed up, I looked out of place and awkward. As a result, I dress down now, and seem to have found a groove. People know me, and I genuinely enjoy speaking with my new friends. I want to make a difference, and clothes don’t matter at this point.
As a result, I change into a pair of old jeans and an oversized flannel shirt. The jeans have holes in both knees, as well as a weird tear on the back of one thigh, and the flannel shirt is a muddy green color which has definitely seen better days. In fact, I spilled OJ on the shirt about three months ago, and the orange combined with the green to form a weird coffee-colored stain right on the belly area. It’s not too bad though. If I tuck the shirt in, no one will notice the stain, I think.
Then, I pull my hair into a French braid and pause. Perfect. I examine my appearance in the mirror with satisfaction. I’m a little pale, but that’s what you get for being blonde, and aren’t bags under your eyes très chic these days? Grunge is back, right? Smiling, I grab my two backpacks and call to my roomie.
“I’m headed to the park! I’ll see you later, Rach!”
My bestie says something in a muffled voice from her room which sounds like, “Oof, Toodles!” and I quickly leave the apartment. My roommate’s probably gotten into another scuffle with my cat, and I want no part of it, otherwise I’m going to be even more late than I am now. With a smile, I clatter down the stairwell of our apartment building and step into the brisk, bright New York air before breathing deeply. I’m doing good, and honestly? I can already tell it’s going to be a wonderful day.
2
Laurelin
* * *
Every born-and-bred New Yorker has a favorite city park. Central Park? It’s great, but so big! Prospect Park? It’s too far away for someone who lives in Manhattan. Instead, there are so many quaint areas of greenery, sculptures, benches, and people-watching throughout the many boroughs of the city that it’s honestly difficult to choose.
But Tompkins Square Park just might be my favorite. It’s only a few blocks from where Rachel and I live, for one, and like most New Yorkers, I’m very neighborhood-oriented. If I can walk there, then I’m more likely to go. Plus, I love the patches of flowers, the many elm trees, and the assorted bands playing gigs, not to mention the Halloween doggy-costume contest that takes place every year. Only in quirky, funny Tompkins would that happen. It’s the quintessential outdoor East Village hangout.
What’s harder to watch, though, are the groups of homeless people sleeping on benches or on the grass. Sometimes it seems like the number of homeless people in the park is increasing; sometimes the Mayor cracks down on the issue, and the numbers, at least temporarily, seem to dwindle. There are a couple of mainstays, though. For them, and for those who are just wandering through, I bring the sandwiches.
The weather is lovely today, warm and sunny but not unbearably hot, as summer in the city can so often be. Kids are running and playing; there are even a few people playing ping-pong on the concrete table in back. My heart leaps as a young family walks by, a tiny, perfectly pink baby nuzzled to her mother’s chest. I definitely have a serious case of baby fever, and every infant I see increases it tenfold. I almost stop and say something, just for an excuse to look at that precious bundle, but force myself to keep walking. I have work to do.