The crowds, oh you should see the crowds. They flock. It’s not just people from the city, not just from the suburban isles. They come from everywhere. It’s a tradition. The 92nd Annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The chilled November winds shooting down Central Park West. The earmuffs and scarves and mismatched gloves, the cocoa for the kids, coffee for the parents and whiskey for the brave. The low autumn light as it ambles through Central Park’s yellowing line of bending and twisting maples, the parade’s oldest spectators.
Charlie Brown and Thomas the Tank Engine and Mickey and his whole gang, Spiderman and Pikachu and Kermit the Frog, an Angry Bird or two, the Energizer Bunny and the Pillsbury Doughboy and the iconic Macy’s Star, the titular Turkey and all the rest. None can match. All pale.
She’s the biggest. It’s her first and only year. The size, the majesty, the hundreds of color-coordinated hands holding tightly, an entire boy scout troop and then some, all proud to be a part of the greatest float of all. Cynthia Bryant. The one and only. None can compare. She is massive, sides bursting with thousands upon thousands of gallons of helium, a whole city block dwarfed, the sun struggling to peak around her bulbous sides. She is everywhere. You can’t ignore her. They all feel cheated by the rest. Bryant is the lone attraction.
Of course, it was always a possibility. But who likes to think of it? Why would she? The millions of eyes on her, some impressed, some in awe, some lost in disbelief, but all enraptured, all dreaming of the day they too could float above the city. Except for him. He wasn’t in awe. All he could do was wait for the perfect time. The turn and reveal, the moment Cynthia Bryant would go from local legend to national phenomenon, NBC anchors left speechless by her size and grace, her beauty flashing through the homes of the Turkey-basting nation. He waited till then to pop her, to thrust the pin deep and true, to shrivel the envy of all to nothing. He just couldn’t help himself.
Alan Fucking Youst. Continue reading
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