Memorial Day in Central Park

In central park, on the various bodies of water, you can always see a couple rowboats cutting through the water. One guy had a rolled up American flag plastered to the side of his boat, his paddles squeaking with every turn. We were sitting in a gazebo right on the edge of the water with a tree titling across right next to us. Its roots twisted up from the ground, suspending the trunk over the water. Little leaves grow from the roots that are connected to hunks of stone. Right behind our resting space, a group of four people huddled around a turtle on the ground, question if it was dead or not and trying to poke it. Another four turtles were lined up on a log, sunbathing and hiding their heads and limbs. A girl in a white dress, her chopped blond hair clinging to her head, plunks a rock into the water below her. She flails on a branch as her friends tell her not to fall in and her laugh gasps out of her. Her voice sounds like a character from I Dream of Genie, bubbling out of her throat, high and lilting. The shadow of the tree ripples across the water, a gnarled hand, placid and still. A bee buzzes around my head, sounding like the fuzz from a radio.