Free So Much Closer by Susane Colasanti Page B

all around them. They put in wooden lounge chairs that roll along the tracks and an area with bleachers where you can watch the street below through a glass wall. John even knows that the type of wood they used is called ipe, which was sustainably harvested from a managed forest.
    “It sounds incredible,” I say.
    “Look up,” John says.
    There’s an industrial metal structure elevated a few stories above Gansevoort Street. It’s already impressive from over here. I’m also impressed by this triangular intersection we’re crossing.
    “Wait,” I say. “I recognize this place.” I look down Gansevoort Street at the cobblestones extending into the distance. The river glints against the horizon. We’re right by a storefront that for some reason I think might have once been a flower shop. Lewis King of Plants, 12½ Gansevoort Street. Everything’s coming back to me now. A scene from Bed of Roses was filmed here. It’s this nineties movie where two typical New Yorkers (i.e. lonely people with baggage) find each other. Which I saw a long time ago, but of course I remember all sorts of details from it.
    John goes, “How?”
    “This was a flower shop in a movie. I can’t believe it.”
    “Yeah. Lots of movies are filmed around here.”
    “That’s so cool.”
    “I know! Dude, I love how you’re stoked about this! Everyone else is so jaded. They’re all been-there-done-that by the time they’re seven. You tell them about the High Line and they’re like, ‘Who cares about some old train tracks?’ It’s tragic.”
    We climb the stairs up to the High Line. It’s such an incredible space that it literally takes my breath away. It’s like this whole other world up here, this secret level to the city you could just walk right by and never notice. As far as you can see, it’s train tracks and all different flowers and trees and it’s just ... unreal.
    John shows me all sorts of interesting things. I totally forget that I’m supposed to be tutoring him. He points out how all the energy-efficient lighting is at waist level or lower to cut down on light pollution. He explains that the vegetation is indigenous to the area, cultivated from locally grown plants. He shows me the red lights on top of some streetlights that used to be signals for firefighters back in the day.
    “How do you know all this?” I ask.
    “Research. Isn’t it the best?”
    I agree that it is the best.
    What’s also blowing my mind are all the upscale apartments right next to the High Line. Some windows even look directly out at us. That must be weird, having your private space being so public. When I first moved here, I couldn’t believe how people left their curtains open at night. Now I totally get it. If I lived in one of these places, I wouldn’t want anything blocking my view. Especially if I were on a high floor. Those views must be incredible.
    It’s seriously magical up here. The air is crisp. Tree leaves rustle in the breeze. My heart is happy.
    We score an enormous bench made of gorgeous wood. John takes out his work. We manage to concentrate for approximately twenty-three seconds. Then John’s like, “Check out that water tower!”
    I’ve always had a thing for rooftops. I’ve just never really noticed water towers before. I guess New York has way more water towers than New Jersey, because suddenly they’re everywhere.
    “Which one?” I ask.
    “That one right there.”
    “You mean the skinny one?”
    “No, the fat one.”
    “The fat one’s huge. He’s hogging the whole roof.”
    “That’s his prerogative. Look how commanding he is.”
    “I like the skinny one better. He has fringy edges. And a cool triangular top.”
    John squints at the skinny one. “Oh, yeah. That is cool. But not as cool as the fat one.”
    “Is too.”
    “You know I’m right. You’re on my side.”
    “Am not.”
    “Are too.”
    “Not.”
    Silence from John. Then: “ So are.”
    We really have to get to work. Except first we must