A little girl, maybe three feet tall, sits in the stroller that her father pushes, poised to jump out, eyeing the little playground at the newly renovated Franklin Square Park.
Her white dress has a blue and green flowery pattern, its long sleeves hiked up to her elbows. Her grey leggings complement the dress and keep her legs warm on this breezy October afternoon. Her black, curly hair is short, her ears exposed. Her dainty sandals have a strap that goes around her heel, keeping them in place while she explores the play area.
The new Franklin Square Park playground has a wide metal slide, which seems to be the little girl’s favorite part. Her dad sits across from the slide, phone poised, smiling. Once she’s sure he’s watching, she slides down, yelling, “Whee!”
A few moments later, she comes galloping back up, ready to give the slide another go. This time she starts to slide, changes her mind, turns onto her stomach and grabs the top to keep from going down. She gives up and makes the slide down, slowly, with her arms outstretched, her back to her dad.
Elsewhere in the park squirrels dart in and out of the grass, looking for nuts. A white dog is on a leash, his owner appears to be ready for a business meeting in a blue button-down and navy slacks. He looks at the dog, impatient.
The dog does not give his owner a second look. Instead he focuses his eyes on the squirrel standing in the grass. They have a brief staring contest. The dog slowly takes steps towards the fluffy creature, careful not to alert it.
When the dog sees the squirrel begin to catch on, he lunges, chasing the squirrel through the grass. The squirrel disappears up a tree, leaving the dog confused. The confusion lasts only for a moment, and then the dog gets distracted by another furry friend.
People sit at the gray metal tables and chairs in the center of the park. Some chat over coffee, others lunch. Their conversations are lost in the sounds of the city that serve as the backdrop for the urban greenspace. Trucks rush by, and distant beeps ring out as a vehicle reverses.
The only word to make it through the blanket of city sounds is the occasional “whee” from the little girl, still sliding down the metal decline, the giddiness of the quick ride never getting old.
The slight autumn breeze brings a chill. The mosquitoes circle the exposed skin of my legs as I sit on the brown wooden slats of the bench. All across the park, benches just like mine seat a different pair of legs, some two pairs.
An older woman walks by slowly, pushing a gray stroller with no one in it. A toddler, approximately two feet tall, walks behind the woman, perhaps her grandmother.
Her pink t-shirt tucked into her gray sweatpants matches her pink sneakers. Her black hair is short, and her hand is outstretched, pointing at the woman in red talking on the phone at the bench to my left.
When she sees me, I wave, piquing her interest. She starts my way, her companion walking behind her. I say, “Hi.”
The girl’s caretaker says, “Maya, go say hi to this woman.”
The toddler comes meandering my way, already distracted by something behind me. It turns out she and the white dog have a shared interest–squirrels. She looks at the squirrels clinging to the big tree to my right. The woman says hi to me on her way by and begins pointing out the squirrels to her small companion.
Six park workers wear red shirts, black pants, and red-and-black hats. They have name tags and the words “Franklin Park Ambassador” written on their uniforms. Across the park, they push bright red trash cans and pick up litter. They talk to park-goers, seeming genuinely interested in their conversations.
There are many diverse faces in the park–all ages, races, genders. A group of three people, two men and a woman, walk by speaking Spanish before sitting with their coffees at a table near the empty fountain.
At a table to their left, three people sit to eat lunch pulled from a large brown bag. Behind them, caution tape is strewn haphazardly around a tree. At the long brown bench across from the caution-taped tree there is more caution tape and a silver chain-link fence. A green construction machine sits empty.
I hear the clink, clink, clink of a man doing work on that center area. On the edge of the park, behind the play area, two guys adorned in yellow vests do other work. The soon-to-be restaurant also contains workers in yellow, showing that the renovations are not quite done.
As I get up to leave, I decide to walk the long way out, behind the playground and on a looping path to the center of the park. The little girl stands at the top of the slide again, ready to ride it down to the bottom.
Her dad stands by a wooden playground structure, his short-sleeve navy shirt showing off a tattoo on his right bicep. His white pants and white sneakers complement the white of his daughter’s dress.
“Daddy, I don’t think this was a good idea,” she says, preparing to go down the slide on her stomach, head first. She’s smiling, and she slowly pushes herself off the edge and down the slide.
I walk to exit the park at the corner of 14th and I, hearing “whee!” over the drum of the city.
Faking It Made 