I was on a bike ride down the hill. It was finally getting colder. It felt like I had pennies in the back of my throat. I shivered in my unzipped coat and slowed as it parachuted larger. But the incline pitched steeper, and I kept pedaling. I wanted to see how fast I could go.

That morning, I had reached out to an old friend. I still hadn’t gotten a response. In recent summers, we planned to see each other in the winter, but now November was almost through and the chance of a reunion was slim. I shut off my phone. 

It’s rare that I lose my bearings in Providence, or that I go somewhere unexpected. But Prospect Terrace caught me by surprise, even after passing the dome of the Christian Science church that shadows it just a few pedals before. 

I stopped there for a beat. Heads, each one in a pair, turned to stare. I had gone where couples go on dates. It was a special night. There were two-person picnics, two-person blankets, two-person tubs of cold pasta salad—everything they did, they did in tandem.

A woman with wiry, sepia hair and a witty smile turned and frowned as if I had spoiled her night. I might have been panting loudly after biking for a bit—it had been a sedentary semester and this was my escape—but for all she knew, I was there meeting my other half. I could have been waiting patiently. Or I was single, making peace with a quiet life. After all, she was only with her partner, two pieces of one life.

With nowhere else to go—it’s really such a small park—I moved toward the Roger Williams statue, the state’s founder set in stone. He was so funny: standing there all pompous with his head craned back like the garish sun offended him, pushing out his palm before his belly as if to shush the city. Under the granite arch of the terrace, he stood still as a mountain, as if I’d said don't move a muscle! and he wanted to make me laugh. 

I moved closer to him, propping my bike against his stone encasing. I saw beyond the people making out on a caving bench. Apples, now rotten, had been thrown over the fence. Gnats pixelated the evening sky. The skyline blocked the sunset, but every time it passed behind a building’s floor with blinds furling on the windows of either side, the light shone through, and I felt it hot on my face.

The day got darker, though I didn’t realize it. People left, but I didn’t mind. I didn't check the time. Clouds blew over the hill; I stuck beside the city.

A man stood beside me, beside Roger Williams, but he didn’t seem to notice us. He wore a plaid flannel shirt with a baseball-capped skull and crossbones on the back. He hugged a woman from behind who wore tall cowboy boots and stared at the Omni’s pointed roofs. She counted the penthouse windows. They had two children—the smaller one walked their dog while searching for his sister. She hid behind a young, grimacing couple and wore long and fuzzy socks. Their parents paid them no mind.

“Can you step aside for me and my wife?” the man asked me in a bothered voice. 

“Of course!” I said, choking on the smoke of his cigarette, smiling so he thought his messy love pleased me. I coughed so hard my eyes watered, making the sky glitter as it lost its color, coming back in purple, darker and darker. And every time I thought the light was gone, it came back. I kept coughing. 

I moved to the other side of Roger.

I looked up at him: chiseled jawline, heavy hands, pebbles and freckles smooth on his gray stone face. What a guy. He was made here just to stand by himself. 

My coughing was making a ruckus. I self-consciously faced the people in the park. Only those who came with no one smiled forgivingly. Do people only go places to feel less alone?

I wasn’t there out of necessity—only by chance, I reminded myself. I spent five minutes looking downtown, nodding my head, tracing the buildings with a soft and steady gaze. Five minutes wasn’t long, but I thought it was enough. I took out my phone. The sun was gone. My friend still hadn’t gotten back to me. I don’t think my friend was going to get back to me.

Prospect Terrace—you’re sitting there watching a sunset that's blinding or half-hidden by a tree. Either way, you can’t see. Then the sunbeams fade to darkness, and the city, rippled and bright just a second ago, distorts entirely. 

I was left with several others at the park, but, one by one, they left. I leaned against Roger’s weathered capsule. He has lived through so many sunsets, his head turned away from each one. 

Maybe the things I would share with a dead man are the thoughts I should keep to myself. The couples stared at me as I peeled myself away. 

I shot my empty coffee cup in a trash basket on the way out. I think I may have missed. Or it went in clean then bounced back out. I didn’t bother looking back. I biked as fast as I could back up the hill. It was a special night.