It’s gotta be below zero.
Prospect Park, a little after midnight.
The park bench all alone.
Sitting here thinking of what to do next?
I have a pair of wet gloves on. Three shirts, a black leather bomber, jeans, long-johns and black boots. Probably have two, maybe three pairs of socks. I couldn’t tell you because I can’t feel my toes.
All my friends went home. I don’t want to go home. The heat is off. The landlord said she’ll call someone in the morning to fix it. Our apartment is always cold, even if the heat works.
Sure I can throw a few extra blankets over my skinny body but to tell you the truth, I’d rather be out here. When I am outside I feel free. No one to tell me what to do.
There’s snow on the ground, it’s been snowing all night. I can’t go to the yard, because I don’t have a shovel. Usually I can shovel the court and get some shots up or work on my dribbling.
I see the 68 bus sitting in front of Lefrak waiting for passengers. Who rides the bus at midnight?
Maybe I should ask the bus driver If I can ride with him? At least the bus will be warm. I can sit in the back, stare out the window while it rolls down Coney Island Avenue. Most important, I’d be sitting over the engine, my ass would be nice and warm.
Too late, the bus pulls out and heads down Prospect Park SouthWest.
I wonder what Maureen is doing right now?
Maureen is my girlfriend.
We’re in love.
I can’t live without her. I want to go down to her house and hang out with her.
I miss her.
It’s been about an hour since I walked her home.
We make-out on the corner of Windsor and eighth, and I say good night.
God I hate when she has to go home. I think she has a curfew.
Some nights I feel like I am never going to see her again. I have dreams of her running away with some rich guy.
Sometimes when I go home I call her and we talk on the phone for hours.
“GET OFF THE PHONE!” mom yells at me.
I finally get my ass up off the park bench and head across ninth avenue. There are a few junkies sitting on the circle. I pick up some snow, pack a snowball and throw it at them. I miss.
Walking past Farrell’s I look through the front window and see a bunch of guys hanging out at the bar.
I’m sixteen so I can’t go in and drink…yet.
Matter of fact, I can’t wait until I turn eighteen so I can walk up to the bar and order a drink.
I head down Windsor Place towards eighth avenue.
The wind picks up and my face feels like its frozen.
I can barely move my jaw.
I get to the corner of eighth avenue and look up at Maureen’s bedroom window. She lives in the first house. It’s a pink house. You can’t miss it. We hang out on her stoop in the summer.
Her light is on.
I want to ring her bell so bad.
Boy I wish she would peek out the window so she could see me, come down and hang out with me.
Maybe we could walk down to Frank’s pizza. Grab a rice ball, hang outside and talk.
A cop car drives by and stops in front of me.
“Get home,” the cop says.
I look at him.
We stare at each other for a few seconds.
I look up at Maureen’s window.
“You hear me?” the cop says.
Both cops are looking at me. Wondering what I’ll do next.
I turn around, too afraid to answer and start heading back up Windsor towards ninth avenue.
The cop car pulls away and heads down Windsor towards seventh avenue.