I Wish You Knew by Dasom Lee

Author:Dasom Lee [Lee, Dasom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798885041768
Publisher: Dasom Lee
Published: 2022-07-03T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Anthony

October 9, 2021

Upper East Side

Call me classical, but I’m a sucker for the unorthodox side of music. Juilliard, like the other local art schools in New York, are adamant about advertising these hidden gems too.

As a result, Saturday afternoons have become my most treasured past time. Amid the round-the-clock buzz of city life, I’m drawn to the unassuming corners where music—and therefore musicians—come alive. Recently, my ears have been aflame for the spirited Upper East Side drum circle on East Sixtieth Street.

“Looking good as ever, Alisha!” I wave to the florist, an elderly Indian woman in her seventies, on the corner of my subway exit. She blushes sweetly at me on my stroll.

“Thank you, Anthony! Any special women in your life?” she shouts back at me with a wink. She sashays around her fresh assortment of tulips, offering me a bouquet.

Should I get flowers for Becca? The thought occurs to me but doesn’t stick. I don’t have the slightest clue what she would like, anyways. “Maybe next time.” I wink back.

“You never fail to impress, Jim.” I fist bump the middle-aged war veteran on the back. Jim hands me my three-dollar juicy hot dog smothered in mustard and sauerkraut. Over time, I’ve come to admire the community members who serve the city in overlooked nooks and crannies. Millions of tourists come and go, but New York City would not exist without these essential human pillars. They show up every day without abandon.

Central Park, scattered with more people than usual, looms into view. The trees are in full autumn bloom, boasting dark oranges, bright reds, and deep yellows. I leisurely enter a rather crowded open path and spot the large drum circle in the distance. I close my eyes and tune into the rhythmic beats of the percussion ensemble. A smile creeps in; they’re entertaining amateurs today, evident in their wild imperfection and off-tune moments.

Smack dab in the center at the midway point between myself and the drum circle, I notice something. No, someone sitting still, perched on a stool in front of a large canvas propped on a wooden stand. In a moving crowd with streams of people, the immobile state of that individual is bizarre, strangely peaceful even. I inch closer, glimpses of him falling like puzzle pieces into place. No, her. I catch her billowing black hair, white converse, ripped denim jeans, stained apron, and then, her pale face with brown eyes immersed in concentration. Jenny. I haven’t seen her since Thursday; what a pleasant surprise.

I purposefully walk a wide circle around her, unsure if I should disturb her, before I get brave and simply approach her from behind. Maybe I can surprise her.

“Where’s your mustache and beret?” I joke, startling her. She jumps and drops her paint brush. Whoops, I didn’t mean to scare her.

“Anthony? What are you doing here?” She whips around in shock.

It’s the second time she’s asked me that question, like she’s questioning my motives or something. Can’t a guy just stumble into you every now and then? “It’s a small world, Jen.

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