New York Paradise

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• August 9, 2024

The sun beamed stronger than an ant carrying a crumb twenty times its body weight. My wide brim straw hat covers my melasma stained face, which, I’ve been warned will worsen outdoors despite my best efforts to wear hats and sunscreen. Despite my growing insecurity of my discolored face, I would rather die than never be in the sun again. While my face is protected, my body is lathered in coconut smelling oil. If only my face were as evenly bronzed as my body.

Here at the beach on Fire Island is the only place I want to be on a 90 degree day. In fact, it’s the only place one can be comfortable, or happy, besides being in a pool or staying indoors in air conditioning. In July, the ocean was Caribbean blue, but now that it has warmed up some, it’s not so clear. Today, there is a rather strong rip tide, despite this, I go in every half hour or so to cool off. I watch a young boy drift in the water, since there are no lifeguards at this beach. His mother yells at him, worried. Don’t worry, this no tragic tale. He kept getting out, running down the beach, and jumping back in until he drifted again, much to his mother’s disapproval. I cannot begrudge the kid for such behavior. I would have been the same way. Diving under shore break.

I came here on one of my best friend’s boats. My little speaker plays my sunshine playlist. I drink Corona’s but she isn’t drinking at all because she has to bartend at Cherry Lane later in the afternoon. When she departs for her shift, I remain on the beach for a couple more hours until I’ll eventually clean up, change into dry clothes and be her patron at the bar.

Next to us, a group of Spanish folk set up a tent and were were having a good time. They cheers to me, and I cheers back. Soon after my friend left for work and I was alone on the beach, these three people sat directly in front of me (though there was plenty of beach) and played music far too loudly. This is an obnoxious move, but what I found odd is they weren’t really beach ready. Between the three of them, they only had one towel. Only one of them was even wearing a bathing suit.

At some point, one of the Spanish women came over and sat next to me to strike up conversation, asking if I were alone. I told her my friend was bartending, and I’d join her shortly. She told me she didn’t trust the three people sitting in front of me, the way they were looking at me.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” She had an accent but spoke perfect English, no less.

“I’m 35.”

“35!? You look 22!”

“That’s generous,” I said, “my sunglasses hide my wrinkles.”

“Are you married.”

“No. Never married.”

“What?! How come? You are so beautiful.”

“Ah thanks. I think I’m somewhat the problem. I always seem to fall in love with the wrong people.”

“I hear that. I’ve been married twice. I have four kids. Guess how old I am.”

I truly hate this game because I am god awful at guessing anyone’s age.

“Forty… five?”

“Bless you. I’m 55!”

She really didn’t look it. Non-white people always age better. She had a great smile.

“Where are you from?”

“Guatemala. But I’ve been in the U.S. almost forty years.”

“Well, that makes you an American proper.”

“I love New York. New York is paradise.”

“Paradise?! New York? I’d rather been in Puerto Rico, Costa Rico… or Hawaii. Now, Hawaii is paradise.”

“No, New York is the best place. I love the changing of the seasons. The people.”

“Most people find New Yorkers rude.”

“Probably because they were rude first.”

She went on about how much she loved America. And how much she hated Kamala and Biden. No one hates illegal immigrants more than the legal ones. And no one is happier to be in America than immigrants. They’re far more patriotic than citizens born here. It was somewhat refreshing to hear someone praise the country. Though she did warn that our country was “in trouble.” Don’t I know it.

“What do you do for a living.”

“I’m a writer.”

“A writer! What do you write?”

“Well, unfortunately, I lost my main job writing for radio because they fired half the company and are attempting to replace us with AI.”

“Oh no! That’s terrible.”

“Yeah. It was a pretty good job. It didn’t pay well, but it was remote so I was able to travel. I spent my summers out here on Long island. Went to Hawaii, Paris, Portugal.”

“Wow! That’s amazing!”

“I freelance for TV and other things sometimes. But it’s kind of slow out there.” I left out the part where I’m a comedian, half because people have A LOT of questions when you tell them you do comedy (most annoyingly so when they want you to tell them jokes), but also because my calendar is empty and I’m not even sure I am a comedian anymore.

“I clean houses,” she says.

“I used to do that too.”

“When you were younger.”

“Yeah. But these days I still will. I’ll take any odd job. To be honest, I never really minded cleaning houses. I’d just put my headphones in my ear, listen to music, maybe smoke a little weed, and no one bothers you.”

She laughed at this, although I didn’t mean it to be funny.

“I hope you don’t mind I came over here. I didn’t want those people over there to think you were alone. I’m going to have a beer, do you want to join my family?”

I obliged and joined her crew. She cracked open a beer for me.

“This is Lori,” she said to everyone. I waved. “Guess how old she is.”

They all shrugged until some of them started guessing… “23.” “24.”

“She’s 35!”

“I would not have guessed that. You are very pretty,” one of the guys said.

“I didn’t even know you knew that much English!” The woman said to up-roaring laughter at all. I laughed too, I’m not sure why.

I hung with them for a little while before packing up and going to the bar where my friend was working. After her shift, we got stuck on Fire Island because of a lightning storm. It would be suicide to drive a boat through it. I stood under a canvas in the rain, watching the bolts strike over the Great South Bay like the fourth of July. Eventually the seas calmed and we headed back to the mainland.

I told my friend how that woman considered New York paradise.

“Paradise?!! Was she high?”

“No, I was the high one.”

“Maybe in the summer… but that’s about it.”

The two of us were hatching a plan to escape the winter, chasing an endless summer. The biggest problem being my budget, or lack there of. But with no work on the horizon, I found little reason to stay. Paradise, perhaps, was less of a place and more of a state of mind. My mind was far from it.

I love being on a boat at night. I mean, I always love being on a boat. It was almost 10pm, and the post storm sea was flat as glass. The clouds above dissipated and you could see the stars. My captain and best mate driving us home. This moment did feel somewhat like paradise, and I could enjoy it. But my head was full of high winds and thunder. If paradise is peace of mind, I had very little idea how to clear the dark and dense clouds in my mind, save for these little moments.

I don’t think I ever considered New York a paradise. But I was in love with it once. Did that woman see New York for what it really was, or through rose colored glasses? Truthfully, I don’t think it matters. I was grateful she left her beach chair to chat with me. Just to see this place, this country, through her eyes.