#jessegreys

location: Santa’s Village on 51st 

Cold air hit Bel’s face as she made her way through the crowd of people. Everyone seemed to be visiting the village that exact day and Bel cursed her luck, wondering why did the only art store that had fer favorite brand of watercolors have to be near the most crowded place in New York. Feeling a bit tired from walking, Bel decided to sit down in one of the benches specifically placed so famillies could rest and take pictures of the pretty lights and decorations. To her right, a long line of children and parents were waiting to greet a Santa Claus, a very cute Santa Claus, Bel thought, ignoring the fact that it was almost freezing. 

After a few minutes of checking her phone, Bel stood up again and headed one last look at the scene. Children were still lining up despite the hour, and Bel shook her head laughing; she thought that, as much as she loved children, she probably couldn’t handle more than an hour doing that job. Maribel looked at the poor Santa still sitting on his chair... and then she had to look again, blinking. “Is that Jesse?” she muttered to herself, walking towards the crowd of people and snapping a picture of him. Then she quickly scattered through her contacts until she found their conversation and sent the picture.

‘Hi Mr. Art Curator. Is that you?’ she typed, feeling embarrased that she had thought he was cute. She shook the thought and then continued typing, knowing Jesse couldn’t possibly answer at the moment ‘I’ll be running some errands close, if you want to take a rest from your important duties, I’ll be working at the coffeeshop next to the art store. I’ll text you the location’, and she sent it.

Two hours later, Bel was sitting down inside the coffeeshop, her watercolors spread across the table, a cup of coffe on her left and a glass of water, tinted with color, on her right. Who could blame her for wanting to try her new watercolors out? 

The sky remained a light shade of grey throughout the morning, the promise of rain or snow on the horizon. Maya takes this opportunity to explore, venturing out to parts of New York she might have skipped out of laziness or fear. Or because she simply wasn’t a sunshine kind of person. The sun makes my armpits too ripe and once they’re ripe the rest of me follows along too, she remembers telling a friend one time after they offered a day trip in the mid-June. And Maya just hated being sweaty, plain and simple. Or, in this case, too ripe.

She’s stuck staring into the head of a brightly colored flower now. The bright pink petals make her whip out her cellphone, getting extra close to take a very Instagram worthy photo. She takes multiple photographs from different angles, all still closeup, already conjuring the photo dump she was going to post later today inside her mind. That’s when she turns, her head of large, wild curls following suit. Maya is silently relieved to see a familiar face. “Don’t you judge me,” The woman says teasingly to Jesse, brows furrowed in amusement. “I’ve never been here before. I’m trying to make memories that I’ll actually remember.” Because apparently photographs helped Maya solidify the moment.