He stares at me, stunned almost. “Really? You’d want to go on a run with me?”
“What?” I ask as I sort through my belongings. I didn’t bring anything to work out in. Everything I have is nice-casual. “I don’t look like someone who would be up for a sunrise run through the park?”
“No, it’s not that.” He rummages through his own suitcase, sounding animated. “It’s just, nobody ever wants to go on runs with me. I’m pleasantly surprised, that’s all.”
Derick lends me a loose-fitting pair of shorts. I keep on my sleep T-shirt, put on sneakers, and grab the key cards before we go.
The subway gets us to the Museum of Natural History. Its storied stone facade is covered in bold advertisements about upcoming exhibitions and dinosaurs. It’s peaceful right now, not yet overrun with families. Kind of like the drive-in at midday.
At the edge of the park, we find a bench. Dawn is approaching. You can almost feel it in the breeze, in the numbers of people that start appearing on every street corner. The pretzel vendors gear up for another day of hawking water bottles under the sweltering sun.
“We should warm up.” Derick leads me through a series of stretches, jumping jacks, the works. I’m sweating from the moment we start and my energy is lagging from being up this early, but I’m going to power through. This is important to him. Plus, I want to be fresh and alert for the recording.
When our heart rates are rip-roaring and ready to go, he rubs my shoulders in preparation. “Thanks for doing this. We’ll just jog, okay? Ease you into it. Whatever speed you want. You set the pace.” I know he’s referring to the run, but it feels like he’s talking about us. Gratitude washes over me.
The park envelops us. Trees and grass mask the asphalt and chrome of the city. We could be anywhere right now, our feet rising and falling beneath us at a regular rhythm.
Derick hooks a left into the Shakespeare garden where the stone pathways narrow. We slow a bit to take in the whimsical wooden benches. The tranquility is striking, even though my insides are charging up. Flowers in pinks and purples appear like outliers among the blanketing blue-green shrubbery.
“How are you feeling about recording today?” Derick asks, breathing evenly.
I huff, attempting to keep up. “I’m afraid I’m going to sound like a bumbling idiot. I don’t do well in front of big crowds.”
“It’s not a big crowd. It’s just you and Oscar.”
“What about the thousands of people that will end up listening to it silently, judging me from behind their phones?”
“You can’t control their reactions. Don’t let them infiltrate something good.”
“You’re right. This”—I motion with my free hand to the trail—“is definitely helping keep my mind off things.”
“Good.” He grins at me with a side glance. “I’m glad.”
Feeling daring, I pick up the pace.
The first licks of sunlight break through the leaves. They hit the black iron lampposts, creating the illusion that they’re lit during daytime, a scenic oxymoron. Nature starts waking up along with my body; my lungs expand and contract with pressing ease.
Derick decides we should do a loop around the Great Lawn. It’s clear he doesn’t care how free-form this run will be, whether I’m slowing him down or not, whether he’s hitting his usual calorie burn. He’s just letting us enjoy our time together.
Women power walk with strollers in front of them. Baby hands fly out to wave as we pass. I catch Derick’s smile as we round the empty softball diamonds. I could stare at that smile forever.
The skyscrapers begin to glint in the distance like squared-off, snowy mountain peaks doused in early morning blue. It’s absolute bliss, until I stop dead in my tracks because there in front of us is a slate-gray stone miniature castle with a turret that appears to have been plucked from a fairy tale.
“What? Are you okay? Did you pull a muscle, get a cramp?” Derick asks, stopping beside me. All I can do is point at the castle. “It’s beautiful, right? That’s Belvedere Castle. It quite literally meansbeautiful viewin Italian. Do you want to go up?”
“Can we?”
He takes my hand and leads the way. The castle isn’t massive by any means, but from every angle it exudes an idyllic regality that fascinates me. It oozes romanticism, right up until we get stopped at the door. The green sign reads:Open Hours 9 a.m.–7 p.m.
“Damn,” Derick says, looking around at the others who mill about the low-area lookout.
“Can we come back later?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Bus is at four, right after you’re done with Oscar. We wouldn’t make it.”
Disappointment drips like the sweat off my brow.
“We’ll just have to come back another time.”
