09 18 07

September 18 2007

Sitting in Washington Square Park, finishing a snack of tofu and fish before my next class begins. It is a Fall day in mid-September. Summer has just passed, but it feels like the seasons have forgotten the Fall because it is already chilly (reminding me of Miami's Winter). New Yorkers wear coats and curl up in the arms of those they tell they love. As Summer leaves, couples appear again, reminding the independent hearts of what it is like to be alone.

I am in "The Nanny Section". Silly thinking that in the nanny section, I sit here consumed with diaring. I have places I am suppose to run off to, but it is nice to actually sit calmly and smell the changing of the seasons - the instrumentalist's rhythm radiating the park. I watch, delicately, a nanny banter with a baby as she watches me. It is as if she is performing for me. As if telling me to write these words, "She is good to this child, perhaps better than the child's actual mother."

I find the situation almost sad: her being black, the child she cares for being white. It reminds me of our world and how no one will ever compliment her on her baby. These are the moments though, these moments in the park. And I am sure the baby will remember them and hopefully the way the nanny cared, really cared for the white little being.