As my taxi drove in late at night from LaGuardia to Vivian’s apartment, I stared out the window, trying to tune out the talk radio that the cab driver kept chuckling at. I was fumbling around in my backpack to find my cell phone, when suddenly I looked up and realized that we were already near Central Park. A flash of color caught my eye as we turned the corner – orange banners, all throughout the park. The Gates! But I thought they were supposed to be gone by the time I got here? Maybe I had the dates wrong!
I was immediately thrilled because I had read so much about this amazing public art exhibit, and was so disappointed to learn that I would miss them by only a few days. When I got to Vivian’s, I told her that the gates were still up in Central Park, which of course, she already knew. As it turned out, the official closing date was February 28, but it would take two weeks to actually disassemble them all and remove them from the park.
Shoe stores be damned! My first excursion in New York would now have to be Central Park! Viv and I walked over to the exhibit first thing the next morning. We had no idea how many of the gates would still be up, but I was happy to see even one. As we walked through the park, Vivian was amazed at how many were still standing – she said there seemed to be just as many as when it first opened, but with only a fraction the tourists, which made for a much more enjoyable stroll.
As we walked along and took the same pseudo-artistic photos that millions of others must have taken over the prior weeks, we saw one of the volunteers for the exhibit standing guard in her grey vest. We chatted with her and learned that, of the original 7,503 gates that went up, there were still about 5,000 standing. She told us how much the platforms weighed (a lot). And she shared the interesting factoid that Germans made up the largest population of foreign visitors to The Gates. I think she may have made that last one up, just to impress the German woman who was also talking to her, but I didn’t mind.
And then the coolest thing happened: she asked me if I had a swatch. At first I thought she meant the über popular Swiss watch, and I was about to tell her that I used to have one, but it got stolen in the robbery. But before I could explain, she pulled out a little orange square of fabric from her grey vest. Oh – that kind of swatch! She then handed me a piece of the actual material that was used to make The Gates! I own art!
Viv and I thanked her, and continued along our walk. As I turned the orange swatch over and over in my hands, a bit surprised at the rough texture, I was overcome by an emotion that was a strange mix of joy and melancholy. At first, I wasn’t sure why. I looked above me and became almost entranced by the gentle flapping of the orange sails. There was just something so wonderful about that color, bright against the clear blue sky. And then it hit me: Orangehat. Oh god, how I miss him.
Ever since our divorce papers were filed, I haven’t seen him on the train. We left things so… unfinished, but at the time it seemed like that was the best thing to do. Now somehow, standing in Central Park, clutching the orange fabric, I couldn’t help but think of what might have been.
Upon my return from New York, I vowed to give my marriage one last shot. With that singular goal in mind, I forced myself to take the early train on Wednesday to find him. I had to let him know once and for all how much I loved him.
I was running a little late since my body is not used to catching the early train, so I had to make a mad dash to the platform as I saw the train roll in. I struggled to catch my breath as I scanned the crowd of people waiting for the train doors to open. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t spot an orange hat anywhere. This was always his train, so why didn’t I see an orange hat? Come to think of it, why didn’t I see any hats at all? Oh no.
On this, one of the first warm days we’ve had in four months, the hibernating commuters had chosen to shed one of their winter layers. But – how would I find him without his hat? I’d never seen him without it!
When I got on the train, I didn’t take a seat, determined to seek him out in one of the other cars. For the whole trip downtown, I walked from car to car, back and forth, scanning the seats for any sign of Orangehat. What did I remember about his face? Did he have any distinguishing scars? A tattoo on his neck? A beard? I couldn’t remember! But he wears an orange hat. An orange hat! ORANGEHAT!!!
I couldn’t find him anywhere.
All day long at work, I thought about him – everything reminded me of my ex. I was in a meeting reviewing our 2005 corporate goals and the man sitting next to me didn’t say a word – he sounded just like my Orangehat. I bought some peanut M&M’s out of the vending machine and a bunch of them were orange and oval – just like the back of my husband’s head. When the elevator stopped at my floor, a group of people got off and walked ahead of me really fast – just like O. used to do. It was killing me! The ghostly memories of my failed marriage haunted me.
When this painful day finally came to a close, I left the office and quickly headed over to the train station. As I looked ahead of me, I saw an orange hat bobbing in the crowd. ORANGEHAT! I found him!
I started to run toward the hat, which shone like a beacon of hope in the night. When I finally caught up to him, I grabbed his arm, determined to not let him slip away this time. But my heart sank when I discovered that the man in the orange hat was not my husband, Orangehat, but the homeless man who often stands on the corner by the station.
“Little help here, people! Little help on a cold Wednesday! C’mon folks – little help!”
As I let go of his arm, he turned to face me, and looked almost as confused as I did. I didn’t know what to say, I was just dumbstruck.
“Your, your hat. But I… I thought you-“
“What? You like my hat? It’s yours for $10.”
“No, you don’t understand. No. I… I have to catch a train. Sorry.”
“Little help here, people! It’s a cold Wednesday! Little help!”
I rode the crowd of commuters like a wave, letting them push me toward my track. I felt empty. I don’t even remember getting on or off the train, but somehow I ended up in my apartment.
He’s gone.
I’m too late.
It’s almost spring.
I tucked the orange swatch under my pillow as I went to bed last night, hoping for one last dream of a marriage that might have been. But I suppose I can still take comfort in knowing that we had the kind of relationship that most people will never have. And we’ll always have Central Park.

Filed under: Orangehat Chronicles on March 17th, 2005