By: Gabriela Yareliz
Warm New York summer rain threatens my unspoken plan.
The rain is soft and glittery. It should be bottled up and sold as perfume.
It paints the sky grey and paints us wet.
In my search of the skyline for a perfect rooftop, I spot the flamingo tree. It’s sassy in its performance and color. Subtle, unassuming, with a hint of panache.
I pass Pig Beach, and fortunately for them, I am a vegetarian. A wedding dances on nearby, in a glowing room, with a couple of antisocial guests standing out in the rain. I can hear their silent prayers begging God to go unnoticed. As the guests plan their exit strategy—
I find a bathroom outside with a tree in a tub and a sink with some shrubs.
I pass a car that can take me to another time. It’s locked.
I find some fish whose time has expired. They are out in the open. I wonder if they were friends.
And then, as the sky turns orange, I find the view. There’s nothing like getting lost to find something better than what you were looking for.
As I wander, I find my little friends have found a rooftop of their own.
The rain over the city has gone, and now all that is left is the breeze over the Gowanus.