On Board #61

On Board has thus far been strictly text. That wasn’t our intent, being friends of all media. Thus, our thanks to reader KC provides our first foray into visual media. Send your photos, videos, audio, performance pieces – and, yes, text – here.

March 18, 2010, 7:16 p.m.
N Train – Union Square to Atlantic Avenue

And, because “why not,” here’s a fictional tale to go along with it, written by your proprietor:

Where were the ripples coming from? I had seen the East River in various states of tumult, but never with such a smooth, controlled series of waves rolling from Brooklyn to Manhattan, as if the Brooklyn Bridge’s eastern-most tower had collapsed into the water in one mass of limestone.

It had been a long day, a Thursday, four-fifths of the way through a long week. I saw the pink sky bouncing off a flotilla of clouds and pulled out my phone. I needed that picture. But now I had the clouds and the skyline and the bridge, and I couldn’t stop looking at the ripples. They were spread as evenly as the lights on the bridge above. The ripples came from where I was going, but I had no clue where exactly it was they came from.

In the picture they were as still as skyscrapers, immobile, locked in space. They would move later, of course – they were moving now, as I looked at the picture – but, for now, I wanted them to be only of this moment. It’s possible they had been there each time I crossed the bridge. That I’d just never noticed them. It’s possible there was a simple, earthly explanation for the ripples: a passing boat like the one I rode behind as a child, wobbling along on two water skis tied together at the tips. But on this Thursday, with one-fifth of the week to go, an uncooked meal waiting at home, darkness settling, I wanted these ripples to be unique. Of only this moment. And so they were.

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