Parade Day

(We’re Not in NYC Anymore)

THE TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES DISPATCH: SPIRIT WEEK EDITION

By Randi Hoffman

After a four-hour drive from Santa Fe, I was disoriented in the ninety-degree heat and dust, especially after having traveled from a cold, wet place the day before. The woman at the check-in desk at the Pelican Spa said I could have a soak while waiting for my room, but when I asked about a good place for lunch, she said the Further Bistro across the street had clean, fresh food. 

I walked back and forth past the café a few times, thinking it was an office or campaign headquarters. Posted in the windows in front of white Venetian blinds were flyers of a smiling man with glasses and a trimmed beard, declaring, “Gordon for City Commissioner. Have a voice! I will listen!” 

With a Grateful Dead-inspired name like Further, I expected more of a hippyish vibe. But I went inside to a white and beige, slightly dirty room and sat in a brown booth. It was however, cool and air-conditioned. I was the only one there. I found a folded piece of paper that resembled a menu. The salads and wraps looked interesting, if more expensive than I expected. But they did sound healthy.

I heard a commotion outside, and the aforementioned Gordon frantically ran by me and rushed out the door with a case of water.

A tall, thin man, he resembled his campaign photo, except that the poster didn’t show the color of his red-gold hair and beard, and he was much more flustered at the moment. I followed him out to witness a small parade of teenagers on floats with a police escort. First, what must have been the football team rode by, and then girls who must have been cheerleaders. Then appeared a more decorated, creative float with a Halloween theme. I waved at them, since there wasn’t much of an audience out on the street. Even though it was called Main Street, not many were out and about in the midday heat. The teenagers energetically waved back at me. Gordon rushed up to them and handed them the case of water, which the hot sweaty teenagers immediately tore into.

“Is the parade for the football team winning a championship?” I asked Gordon.

“No, it’s Spirit Week,” Gordon explained. “That’s the drama club.”

That made sense, these kids weren’t all wearing the same T-shirt like the ones on the other floats. They had more of sense of individuality about them.

“The drama teacher is on the City Council, and she asked me to bring them out water,” Gordon further explained. And then he went back inside, as the small parade had passed.

Where I live in New York City, parades are huge, elaborate, highly produced and organized affairs, and last most of a day.  Either outrageous and wild for Pride, with half of Manhattan blocked off, or colorful, loud and flamboyant for the Caribbean Day Parade on Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn, or the  Labor Day Parade for all the city’s unions. Not to mention extravaganzas like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parades, with all of the huge cartoon character balloons. But it seemed nice for small-town teenagers to have a short moment of glory.

The commotion having passed, I went back inside, and followed the voices this time. I found a more colorful and inviting room, with some red and yellow chairs and a counter to order food. I ordered the Eastern Wrap, from a woman with dark blue shiny eyeliner. The wrap was pretty good, and more than enough food.

There were some other people in this room, two youngish women at a table, and two middle-aged men in khaki shorts and polo shirts having a loud but mundane conversation. First one of them seemed to be complaining about his wife being annoyed with him. The other one said he had to go home and start making Bar-B-Que. The first one told him he enjoyed leftovers.

I didn’t quite finish the wrap; it was too much food. I was the only customer left in the café now. Having some food in me, I felt less lightheaded and more settled and calmer. I gathered myself to face the heat outside, and whatever our writing weekend might generate or uncover.

Randi Hoffman has published nonfiction in the anthologies: Places Like Home; The Zen of Mothering; Un Bordado de Voces; and After the Clouds the Sun. She has written art reviews for A Gathering of the Tribes and Downtown. She teaches English at a community college and lives in the East Village of Manhattan.