Forever Wild

It was just another area within the sixty acres of Riverside Park, albeit a more secluded one. The sign read Forever Wild, etched in black on a white background. Next to the name was a drawing of a bird, although the childlike artwork bore more of a resemblance to the Loch Ness monster on two thin legs than any bird found in New York State.

The tall, brawny man with an otherwise nondescript appearance visited this stretch of nature located on the west side of Manhattan every morning just before dawn. With only the light from the glow of the moon, the man entered the semi-dry dirt path, boxed in by thin, light grey tree trunks. He looked up and noticed the ancient, yet sturdy trees all filled with lush green leaves that shaded the light brown trail. He smirked as he walked and thought to himself about the park’s history that spanned over one hundred years. It occurred to the man that in a city of millions, something morbid could have happened here, and no one would have known.

As he walked the dry, dusty trail, the man came upon his favorite resting spot, an old, large log that could easily seat two. Here is where he sat and contemplated his life spanning over fifty years. But this morning was different. It was his birthday. On today’s walk, he carried a small box with a chocolate cupcake and a single long red candle. He opened the box, pressed the candle into the frosting, and lit it with his lighter. For a moment he sat still, thinking of his wish, then blew out the flame, hoping this might be the year it came true. Removing the candle, he peeled away the paper wrapper and took a bite.

During his solitary celebration, his thoughts drifted back to his childhood in a small coastal town in Connecticut, where the air was always clean and briny. He remembered digging for clams before sunrise on an island just off the coast, and memorable moments of waiting for the boats to come in just before dusk with fresh lobsters his mother would prepare for dinner that night. But the pleasant memories gave way to a darker one – an ominous day in the middle of winter, where an argument between roommates in their late twenties became heated and came to blows, leaving one man bleeding on the floor, gasping for his last breath. The other, grabbing a leather bag filled with over one hundred thousand dollars, before he walked out the door.

A sudden crack behind the man pulled him abruptly from the depths of his memory. He turned, and in the hazy light, spotted two rats scurrying over a tangle of fallen branches. Twisting back around, he gazed through the trees, their leaves sparkling in the splintered sunrise. Then another memory surfaced, even darker than the last. It was a long holiday weekend, and most New Yorkers had fled the city for cooler places to avoid the stifling heat. His four-story apartment building was nearly empty except for the elderly woman on the first floor, who never left Manhattan. Mid-afternoon, the buzzer sounded- his Chinese take-out had arrived. Minutes later, the man heard footsteps climbing the final flight of stairs. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see his former roommate, alive. Without a word, his former roommate pushed his way into the one-bedroom apartment, demanding his share of the bank heist that had taken place more than twenty years ago.

He looked down at his big, callused hands and remembered carrying a heavy shovel while the body of his former roommate, bundled in his old Turkish rug, was slung over his shoulder as he walked into Forever Wild in the dead of night. He had struggled under the weight more than once, but felt fortunate no one was around between his building and Riverside Park. In a desolate spot far from the path, he recalled how long it had taken to dig a hole deep and wide enough to hide the tall, thin body from sight forever. Even in the early hours, the heat and humidity were brutal, sweat streaming down his face and soaking his shirt. Only after he had showered and finally rested in bed in his air-conditioned apartment – with the old Turkish rug, now scrubbed clean, dry, and hidden in a plastic tub in his closet – did he finally feel a measure of relief.

He glanced at his watch, noticed the time, and decided to head back home. The man continued to walk down the sloping pathway, where he made a crunch-crunch-crunching noise as he stepped on fallen twigs. At one of the few bends, he stopped and focused on the fragrant smells and early morning sounds. It was spring, and nature and its inhabitants were on full display. He took a deep breath and marveled at the crisp morning air. The man detected a light, floral bouquet from the yellow and purple-colored wildflowers, which mixed in nicely with the woodsy undertone. The small, brown birds with the black throat chirped beautiful melodies that welcomed in the new day, while at least a dozen or more squirrels with gray or cinnamon-colored fur chased after other squirrels, climbed the trees, and leaped between tree branches. He smiled as he realized this was yet another type of New York City rush hour.

More than halfway down, the man stopped again and glanced to his left. He observed that the area between the trail and the stone wall was filled with an abundance of green plant growth. The tall, majestic trees covered most of the area in shade, yet the vegetation thrived, as if drawing on some hidden source of nutrients. Turning to his right, he saw another stretch of greenery – impressive, but not nearly as lush. It stretched from the path’s edge down to the concrete walkway and eventually intersected with the end of the trail. The stark difference between the two sides gave him pause. But, true to his New Yorker pace and a jam-packed day ahead, he only shrugged his muscular shoulders and kept walking.

He reached the end of the trail, tossed his garbage in the trash can, and paused. The man enjoyed his daily morning walks as dawn’s first glow emerged through Forever Wild, with rarely another rambler in sight. It was the perfect way to start his birthday, and whether his wish came true or not, he was grateful to mark another year in solitude. The three-mile trail offered a tranquility that most urban dwellers craved. He turned slowly and admired the splendor of this natural environment, alive with its enchanting sounds. The man grinned, more sinister this time, as he thought to himself once more, something morbid could have happened here, and no one would have known.