Central Park is our next stop, and is a nice change of pace from the bustling ferry and busy streets. It's crowded like the rest of the city, but the people traversing the wide, shaded paths of the park seem more laid back somehow. Where everywhere else is like one big race, the park is a nice place to take a breather and appreciate the bits of nature that New York City has to offer.
The trees hang over our heads, hiding us from the sun that finally decided to make an appearance. I'm thankful that thanks to the clouds starting to disperse, it's getting a little warmer. Birds chirp from their hidden nests, while the less shy pigeons walk along the sidewalk, bobbing their heads. A small flock crowds around one bench where an old man sits, a bag of birdseed in his hand.
"Did you know the park has over nine thousand benches?" Charlie asks, turning backwards to face me and Kat. Despite his shorter legs, he's walking faster than both of us. It's like the kid has some hidden source of never-ending energy.
"Nine thousand?" Kat repeats. I'm surprised by both the trivia and the amount of facts Charlie's managed to remember.
"Nine thousand." He nods. "And the carousel," he points to the brick structure we're approaching, where typical merry-go-round organ music blares from, "is over a hundred years old."
"Not really the kind of information that makes me eager to ride it." I watch the wooden horses go in circles, smiling kids and laughing parents sitting on their saddles.
"Please?" Charlie brings out the puppy dog eyes again, already leading us in the direction of the line.
"We should," Kat suggests. "I haven't been on one since I was... jeez, probably Charlie's age."
"I don't know." I shrug, standing next to them as they join the short queue. "Spinning like that makes me nauseous."
I think of the last time I was on a carousel-- it was my tenth birthday, and Mom and Peter rented out a small park for the day. My whole grade was invited, a large group of boys all on the verge of double digits, finishing up our last year as elementary schoolers.
The problem was, I was just as reserved at ten as I am now. I wasn't friends with anyone, and I knew-- without really caring-- that they'd all shown up for the party rather than for me. Mom was busy with Charlie, who was about to turn one, and Peter was occupied with making sure the party ran smoothly.
I spent almost all day on the merry go round by myself, watching the same trees pass over and over, listening to snippets of passing conversations and laughter buried underneath the music. I went around and around while my brain tried to deal with the knowledge that I was one year older.
When I finally got off, it still felt like everything around me was spinning. I got sick, ate cake, and went home, wondering if the world would spin forever. I guess in a way, it never did stop-- it still feels like everything moves around me in a blur that I can't quite understand.
I pay the operator once we get to the front of the line, Kat silently thanking me with a smile that's well worth the three dollars. We head up to the ride and climb onto three fanciful brown horses. Charlie sits between me and Kat, a smile on his face as the music surrounds us.
When the ride starts the feeling brings me back to the party again, and I find myself wondering what ten-year-old Oliver would think of eighteen-year-old Oliver. Looking back on the past eight years makes me dizzy, a never-ending cycle of trying to figure out how so much nothingness made me go so crazy. It almost feels like I haven't changed at all-- like this could be the same carousel on the same day, because I'm just as clueless and inexperienced as I was back then.
I feel sick, but I'm not sure it's from the ride.
My eyes meet Charlie's bright blue ones and I force a smile, wondering if he can pick up on when my happiness is artificial. If Charlie was faking, would I know? The thought tugs at the heavy knot in my stomach. As it lurches, I swear I can taste birthday cake.
Charlie looks away, and I watch him watch everything-- the people, the colorful ride, the glimpses of the park as we pass by the openings. I think about the spinning feeling, and how I hope more than anything that when Charlie gets off, for him, the world is still again.
»»——⍟——««
"So," Kat starts to speak as we continue our walk through the park, but pauses to eat another spoonful of cherry ice cream from the small cup in her hands. Charlie's holding a cone of chocolate, and I've got my own cup of vanilla, all picked up from the overpriced vendor next to the carousel. "When you were on the phone with your mom, you said something about her hiring someone to talk to you. I'm guessing that means you have a therapist?"
"Doctor Schneiderman," Charlie answers for me, the hint of a smile on his chocolate-covered lips. "He's funny."
"Funny?"
"He's not funny," I argue.
"He looks funny," Charlie corrects himself. "Not in a mean way. It's kind of cool."
"You take one look at this guy and you'd think you're living in the seventies," I explain to Kat. "I mean, really. He's got everything-- big glasses, tacky clothes, a mustache that takes up eighty percent of his face. I don't know where my mom found the guy."
"Well, disregarding his fashion choices, how is he?"
I shrug. "Fine, I guess."
"I like him," Charlie says, looking up at Kat from his place between us. "He's nice. And he asks good questions."
"He's your therapist too?"
"Not really. Mom just wanted me to talk to him."
"Anyway," I say, wanting to direct the conversation away from the reminder that what I did could've fucked with Charlie's head pretty badly, "Yes, I have a therapist. What about it?"
"I've just always wondered what it's like," she admits, eyes briefly distracted by a passing dog walker with four comically different looking dogs, all of which are practically dragging her through the park. "Having someone to talk to about all the stuff going on in your life."
"It's not that great. Not like having a friend or anything." As soon as I say the words, I realize I'm not really sure I have enough experience with friendship to know if that's true or not. "I mean, at least for me, I'm always worried about saying the wrong thing. I know he's analyzing everything, trying to make sense of me, make sure I'm sane and all that. It's too nerve-wracking to really talk freely."
"I guess that makes sense. Must make his job a lot harder, though."
I let out a short laugh. For someone who likes to remind me of how young I am, Kat has a certain naivety about her that almost makes me feel like I'm the older one. "Which he's probably grateful for. The longer it takes him to fix me, the longer my mother keeps paying him."
She squints at me, tilting her head slightly. "You know, there are more lucrative jobs than being a therapist."
I scrape my cup for the remaining ice cream, which is mostly a soupy liquid thanks to the rising temperature. "...Meaning?"
"Have you considered that the money might not be his primary concern?" she asks, sounding genuinely curious rather than condescending. "That maybe he became a therapist to help people, and is more worried about you than what his next paycheck will look like?"
"I guess it's possible. Unlikely, but possible."
"I just think maybe you're selling him short." She takes another spoonful of pink ice cream, pondering the thought for a second. "I mean, it's not helping anyone if you don't give him a chance."
I know she's got a point-- it's one I've argued with myself over. Maybe for all I know, Dr. Schneiderman is the answer to all my problems. Maybe if I opened up to him, he really would fix me. But the chance of that happening doesn't stop the fear that maybe, even if I tried my hardest to get better, it wouldn't help at all.