Gay Kids, a Chestnut Vendor, and a Tornado
Imagining Love and Magic in Central Park
Imagine there’s no countries It isn’t hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion, too… ¹
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” sang Alvin as he flounced down Central Park West. “Look!”
Blaze followed Alvin’s pointing finger, spotting the mini whirlwind zig-zagging down the sidewalk. But he refused to be amazed. “First, I told you to stop calling me Toto, and second, we’re from Ohio. Remember?”
“But it’s a cute little tornado, and it’s turning into Strawberry Fields! Oh, my god!” Alvin gathered up imaginary petticoats and raced toward the park entrance in his jeans and ski vest, Blaze clunking behind him in hiking boots, embarrassed but used to it.
“Ow!” complained Alvin as Blaze bumped into his back.
“Your fault for stopping so fast,” Blaze said as he rested his chin on Alvin’s shoulder, pulling his stocking cap down against the chill. The whirlwind danced around a glazed circle, touching down every few seconds to kiss tiny tiles. It swept up autumn leaves, which swirled around to outline its borders in red and yellow.
“Look how beautiful!” Alvin whispered into Blaze’s ear. He wasn’t sure if he meant the mosaic memorial to John Lennon or the tiny tornado hovering over it. Blaze looked around to make sure nobody was too close, then grabbed Alvin’s cheek and pecked out his own quick kiss.
An angry voice interrupted him. “Stop, thief! Stop, I say! You stole my chestnuts!”
Blaze felt his cheeks catch fire as a stocky man ran up, smoothing down a white apron and wagging a finger.
“You! You boys! Help me!” He threw himself into the whirlwind.
Blaze shrugged and jumped, trying to catch fistfalls of wind. Alvin danced around the circle, laughing as the tiny tornado released its treasures, dropping leaves, candy wrappers, coffee cup lids, and a few brightly colored plastic strips that looked suspiciously like …
“Ew, used condom!” yelled Alvin as he held one drooping between thumb and forefinger.
Blaze laughed. “Drop it, fool,” he said as dark brown spheres started plunking against his cap and rolling about the tiled ground.
“Ow!” shouted Alvin as one rapped his nose and bounced off.
“Never mind, boys,” said the black-haired man, clasping each of them by the shoulder. “Thank you for helping make that hooligan let go of my chestnuts.”
Alvin turned and practically curtsied, which made the man laugh. Blaze groaned, almost out loud. “You’re welcome, but … I don’t understand? What are you thanking us for, and what hooligan?”
“You see?” said the man, sweeping both arms around the air. “Nothing left! Our little whirlwind has given up the ghost. No more treasures will he be stealing today!”
Blaze blinked, Alvin simpered, and the man led them to a bench a few feet away. “No, no! Leave those,” he said as Alvin bent down to scoop some of the polished brown orbs off the ground. “Let the pigeons eat them.”
He pulled something from under his apron, settling his weight on a park bench. “Come, warm yourselves.”
Blaze accepted a white paper bag. The heat startled him, toasting fingers he hadn’t realized were so frozen. He smelled char, smoke, and something else …”
“Mmmm!” said Alvin, digging into his own bag. “Hot roasted chestnuts? I’ve never had one. They smell so good!”
“Is somebody going to tell me what’s happening?” said Blaze. “What WAS that back there?”
“It was magic, silly,” said Alvin, running his index finger over Blaze’s cheek. New York magic!”
Blaze opened his mouth and let Alvin pop a shelled chestnut into it. “Mmm! this is really good!”
The man laughed and extended his hand. “I am Hovan,” he said, shaking Alvin’s hand first, then grabbing Blaze’s. “I saw you running down the street chasing the whirlwind just after it stole all those chestnuts from my cart. Look how the ground is covered!”
“But what the hell?” said Blaze. “A real tornado? Why don’t either of you look surprised? Tornados don’t just run up and down New York streets! Um … do they?”
“This is Strawberry Fields!” said Alvin, inching closer to Blaze and throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Imagine! Anything can happen here. As long as you dream it. Right, um … Hovan? Did I say your name right?”
The man laughed. “You did! Not so hard, eh? My first name is easy for Americans, I think. But perhaps dreaming is hard? One of you boys is a dreamer and the other is the practical one, no?”
“Guilty as charged,” said Blaze. “I’m applying to Columbia for next year. Physics. To understand how things REALLY work.”
“And I’m doing poetry at NYU,” said Alvin. “Or at least I hope so. Because I believe in magic. I do!”
“That’s why we’re here,” explained Blaze. “Campus tours tomorrow and Wednesday. With our school. We were up at the Natural History Museum with classmates, but we left because …”
“Because they were being dicks!” said Alvin. “Pardon my français.”
“We wanted to visit the Lennon memorial again by ourselves,” said Blaze, stomach jumping as he remembered the insults that drove them out of the museum. “So we could, you know, talk about it without getting made fun of. We never expected a magic tornado!”
“Well, I won’t make fun of you,” said Hovan. “That’s part of the magic of this place. No matter who you are, you belong here. Even me.”
Blaze lifted an eyebrow as Alvin snuggled into him, whispering, “Brrrr, warm me up, baby.”
“Stop embarrassing me,” hissed Blaze.
“Yes, even me,” said Hovan, looking Blaze in the eye. “Back in Istanbul, I’m an engineer. I spent years learning how things really work, but I had to leave because of something that happened a very long time ago, before I was born.
“Why?” asked Alvin.
“But here?” Hovan went on. “I roast chestnuts and sell them to tourists.”
“That’s terrible!” said Blaze.
“It’s not so bad. I like chestnuts. I like tourists too. And I love magic.”
“Come on!” Blaze said. “That whirlwind was not magic!”
“Are you so certain? Did it not cause you to kiss your boyfriend in public, even though you were afraid?”
“Boyfriend!?” squawked Blaze. “I never said anything about …”
“Peace, young man. I meant no offense. But … listen to me, please?”
Blaze and Alvin both leaned forward.
“I can explain to you exactly how these little whirlwinds form in New York City streets. They’re rare, but not completely uncommon. Once in a while, exactly the right conditions happen, usually around the steamy exit of a standpipe when the air is cold but the sun is shining hot. Then, ali baba!”
Blaze nodded. “Physics, not magic!”
Hovan kept talking. “You’ll be able to study the chaos theory behind their formation, young man, but you’ll need a couple years at Columbia before you can work out the math. Today, you can chase one down the street and help me break it up without understanding what a partial differential equation is.”
Alvin jumped up. “And understanding the math won’t make it any less magical!” He held out his hands to Blaze.
“Exactly,” said Hovan.
He stood and walked beside the boys as Alvin pulled Blaze along in something like a dance. “Just like understanding psychology can’t make John Lennon’s song any less magical.”
The three of them stood and gazed at the memorial.
“Imagine,” sighed Hovan. “Imagine there’s no countries. Nothing to kill or die for.”
“Why did you have to leave Istanbul?” asked Blaze. “Why do you sell chestnuts?”
“You know my name is Hovan, but you don’t know what that means. It isn’t Turkish, it’s Armenian.”
“The genocide!” gasped Alvin.
“But that was forever ago!” said Blaze. “You aren’t that old.”
“Forever is a very long time, young man,” said Hovan. Then he looked at Alvin. “And genocide is a loaded word. I used it one too many times in poems I wrote about my grandparents. We aren’t allowed to grieve our dead that way, you see.”
Blaze took Alvin’s hand and squeezed. “So, now you sell chestnuts.”
“I sell chestnuts and I write poetry,” nodded the man. “And I meet tourists sometimes when the magic works out exactly right.”
A loud voice interrupted the quiet conversation. “Alvin! Blaze! Who said you could leave the group! Let’s go, the bus is headed back to the hotel in 10 minutes!”
Blaze looked over his shoulder to see his guidance counselor shooting darts out of her eyes.
Hovan reached under his apron again and handed the boys a small card. “Call me next autumn when you get settled. My husband and I live a few blocks from Columbia. He’ll cook for us and we’ll talk about … poetry.”
Blaze stood, wanting to let drop Alvin’s hand but clenching his teeth and refusing. The two of them smiled at Hovan and walked toward their classmates.
“You see,” Alvin whispered. “I told you we weren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto. Told ya magic was real!”
You, you may say I’m a dreamer But I’m not the only one I hope someday you will join us And the world will be as one ¹
James Finn is a former Air Force intelligence analyst, long-time LGBTQ activist, an alumnus of Queer Nation and Act Up NY, an essayist occasionally published in queer news outlets, and an “agented” novelist. Send questions, comments, and story ideas to [email protected].
This story is a response to Prism & Pen’s writing prompt Reap the Whirlwind.
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¹ Imagine lyrics © Lenono Music, Songwriter: John Lennon