The Four Seasons

This is my favorite time of year to run in the Park. The sweet, fresh scent of Kwanzan and Yoshino cherry blossom trees fills my nostrils as their branches stretch toward the reservoir basin like long, slender arms, creating a living arch for parkgoers to pass under. Rhododendron Mile is just ahead, where a riot of pink and purple flowers will flank me on either side. The promise of renewal and hope the season brings lifts my spirit after a long, cold winter in the City.

Tranquil as it is on the Bridle Path this morning, reminders of the City are all around me. The Art Deco-inspired skyscrapers tower above the trees and are reflected in the reservoir’s water; the hydraulic screech of a garbage truck is heard as it goes about the daily business of collecting 27,000 tons of garbage; and the ever-present sirens of emergency vehicles alternate with the blaring horns of the yellow hacks that speed through the streets like mice in a maze.

I pull alongside a middle-aged brunette in white knit gym shorts and a cotton tee. I recognize her immediately – oversized sunglasses and designer gym clothes give her away. Jackie O is a fixture on the jogging trail, where she is known to exercise regularly.

After months of classes, final exams, and the pressures leading up to graduation, it feels good to strip down to shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and leave the strains of college life behind. All that’s left between me and the beginning of my legal career is commencement this weekend. A much-needed month of vacation will precede the entry-level job at Dad and Uncle George’s law firm this fall, and the flexible hours they’re giving me will allow plenty of time to study for the bar exam in the winter.

Then there’s Martha . . . beautiful, sexy Martha. Mom is charmed, and, of course, Dad is smitten by her. With her goddess-like qualities and fine pedigree, she was instantly welcomed into the family. We’ll travel together this summer: Martha, me, a tent, and no determined destination.

I bought the ring months ago and have been waiting for the perfect time to propose. There will be plenty of romantic opportunities while we’re away and many chances to enjoy her sensual kisses that taste of grape lip gloss and spearmint gum. When we return to New York, we’ll be engaged to be married. By this time next year, Martha Collins will be Mrs. Ben Harris.

I can’t imagine being happier than I am right now, and I look forward to the beginning of our life together!

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The Park is alive with tourists and New Yorkers alike. Cyclists ride counterclockwise on the Full Loop, including competitive riders and families traveling in packs. The children chime silver bells affixed to the handlebars on their cruiser bikes, waving and ringing as they pass pedestrians in the opposite direction. A young girl with coarse red hair and a freckled face encourages me from the banana seat of her purple bike, shouting, “Keep running, mister!” She reminds me of my little Carolyn, whose pink Huffy is covered in Little Mermaid stickers and Disney Princess trading cards wedged through the spokes.

Couples sharing picnics and secrets are scattered across the lush lawn of the East Green on this sultry summer day. Old American elms bursting with foliage offer them shade from the blazing sun.

Shakespearean quotes drift from The Delacorte Stage, struggling to be heard over the booming beat of the Taiko drums lining the six-mile path where I run. The Japanese Kodo randomly cry, “Hup!” and “Tsa!” as they strike their barrel-shaped instruments with Bachi sticks. My feet fall into rhythm with the drums’ mighty thump, representing the mother’s heartbeat as felt in the womb.

Near Delacorte Stage, I pass Shakespeare Garden, where many featured flowers in the writer’s poems are planted. Lilies white as snow, hydrangeas and asters of pink and blue, and roses as red as the ever-flowing blood of “MacBeth”.

I’m excited to be training for my first marathon and feel confident about finishing. Martha had hoped to train and run with me, but the children’s weekend activities have made that impossible. “Next year, I’ll run, and you’ll shuttle the kids to art classes and library programs,” she bargained. There needs to be more recreational time in our lives now. Yet, full-time careers, busy social schedules, and Carolyn and Harry’s interests preclude leisure.

Still, I’ve got it good and couldn’t be happier. Martha and I love our jobs, and between work and investments, we’re making plenty of money now. We moved to the Upper West Side two years ago, where the children are assured of a good education and a safe neighborhood to play in.

With all we have, we lack alone time. Date nights are social engagements shared with dozens of others, and planned vacations are repeatedly kicked down the road like the proverbial can. I’d give anything for an evening out at Tessa, our favorite neighborhood restaurant for Italian food.

The kids seem happy and engaged in everything about their young lives. Outgoing Carolyn is smart and popular, and Harry is trying to decide if he’ll be a doctor or a professional baseball player. He’s already asking to attend Rady Children’s Medical Academy when he’s old enough, and he’s on the Yankees’ summer camp roster next year.

Our friends tell us it will get better as the children get older – things will slow down, and Martha and I will have more time together. I’m looking forward to that.

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They’re taking wedding photos by Gapstow Bridge. It’s no wonder. A canvas of vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows contrasts between Mother Nature’s exquisite gown and the bride’s creamy satin and lace. The young woman is a vision of elegance and grace as she smiles broadly for the camera. We’ve taken a few photographs in the same spot over the years; Harry had his high school graduation pictures taken there five years ago.

The Park’s Sawtooth Oak, Gray Birch, and Tupelo trees are at full peak and offer a feast for the eyes. I run across the rustling carpet of fallen leaves, occasionally glancing at The Pond, where ducks with leopard-print bodies move smoothly across the water, leaving a V-shaped wake behind.

The change of season is evident; shorter days and longer nights accompany the cool, crisp air. I dread the coming winter.  Last year’s fall on black ice left me with a fractured wrist and a partial tear of the rotator cuff. I feel like I’m starting over again after months of physical therapy and a few setbacks.

The cold bothers me more every year, and I envy Dad and Uncle George, who are retired now and living on a beach in Florida. Before fleeing South, they passed the baton to me and George’s two boys so they could fish, golf, and sun all day and sip their favorite bourbon all night.

I’ve never gotten used to the empty space between the statuesque elms where the Twin Towers used to appear in the distance. It’s been ten years, yet it feels like yesterday since that terrible day.

An emptiness has developed in my relationship with Martha, as well. With the children gone, she spends less and less time at home, and I’ve begun spending nights on the couch in my office when work and meetings keep me until the wee hours. Lacey ensures my suits and shirts make regular trips to the cleaners, and she always has the toiletries I need.

Beautiful, sexy Lacey . . . She has proven to be an excellent assistant and often knows what I need before I do. Of course, I hired her because of the form-fitting sweater dress she wore to the interview. The contrast of her long, white-blonde hair draped across the shoulders of the black wool was as pleasing to the eyes as the top of the white lace bra peaking up from beneath the low-cut V-neck. That outfit caused a few stirrings in me missing for years.

Lacey and I work long days, and often, I take her to dinner, as we both have to eat, and neither of us wants to go home and cook at such late hours. The other partners have spoken to me about this – how it hasn’t gone unnoticed by staff. But I don’t care; we’re co-workers having dinner and enjoying a bottle of wine together. She works as hard as I do and is always available when I need her, and I need her more than she realizes. Her youth and beauty cause this neglected, aging man to feel like the young, virile stud Martha married but long ago forgot.

I look forward to our dinners; they are the number one reason I show up at the office these days.

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I pick my way across the snow-strewn path this afternoon, avoiding glazed spots that indicate ice. The barren, monochromatic landscape is draped in fresh, damp snow, creating a seasonal scene worthy of a greeting card but betraying the risks of running in the Park in winter. The scarcity of others on the trail makes me feel alone in the world. I used to love the solitude of winter runs; now, they offer another unwelcome opportunity to reflect on my life.

Lacey has left me after eight years together; she took Ella and Ava and relocated to Connecticut with her personal trainer. I didn’t fight her in court; I’m too busy, old, and worn down to be a good father. The alimony and child support will prevent the early retirement I looked forward to, but that’s the long-term price I pay for the short-term pleasure of Lacey’s company.

As I head back to 5^th Avenue, I pass Wollman Rink, where dozens of amateur skaters glide past the more experienced athletes executing complex jumps at the center of the rink. All four of my kids have skated here; young Ava mastered the ice as soon as she could stand on the blades.

I should have stayed with Martha. Too late, I realized that we could have made it work with counseling and compromise. I was a fool to believe that Lacey would be happy with me for any length of time; I am, after all, 24 years older than her.

Carolyn and Harry ended up on the West Coast. They enjoy successful medical careers – Harry as a cardiologist and Carolyn as a clinical trial researcher. I’m proud of them both, but they have never forgiven me for leaving their mother. Between them, I have five grandchildren whom I haven’t seen in years.

Martha remarried and spent a decade living in Europe. When her husband died, she moved back to New York to be near an ailing sister, then never left. We talk occasionally – mainly about the kids and grandkids. We’ve even spoken of getting together this spring, perhaps dinner at Tessa.

I look forward to that, just as I am eager for the return of the cherry blossoms to Central Park.