Author's note: I wrote this additional chapter to A Catcher in the Rye as an English project, and decided to share it here. Please review and tell me what you think. Enjoy
Suddenly, I got this helluva crazy idea that I should go back to Central Park. I swear, sometimes my head just tells me to do these things, as though it's my destiny or something. Since I had nothing better to do, I walked from the hotel to Central Park. I would have taken a taxi, but I was starting to get real short on dough.
I got kinda tired from all of the walking. I mean, you walk a lot when you live in New York City. It's not like in Pencey, where all you do is hang around in the same little neighborhood. I barely even go out of the school grounds. It's like a damn hellhole. Not that New York isn't a hellhole either, but at least it's not entirely filled with phonies. You can find some interesting people here, if you know where to look.
So at last, I got to the Central Park entrance on 72nd street. Why that one? I have no idea. I could have just used the one near the Plaza, but I probably forgot to stop. My mind was kinda busy, thinking about old Jane Gallager and all that. How could she have gone out with a guy like Stradlater?
I walked slowly. It's not like I had anything better to do. I went down the slope that leads to the duck pond. I don't know why in the world people call it "the duck pond", when it's actually empty half the year. People are crazy. I strolled around it, and decided to go to the statue of Alice in Wonderland. I absolutely hate that story, and so does Phoebe. And if a kid like old Phoebe doesn't like a story, then why would any other kid?
A bunch of tourists were taking photos of each other by the statue. That kills me. Those tourists are always walking around with a new Yankee cap on their big fat head and a camera around their neck. I can spot a tourist from ten miles away. I couldn't understand why they would go to Central Park on that particular day. I mean, it was so cold that even I, a true New Yorker, felt like my hands were going to fall off. I sat down on one of those benches around the statue. You know, the ones with peoples' names on them. Mine said: "In loving memory of Freddy." I was cute, but nothing too memorable. I sure wouldn't want my bench to say that. If you're given the opportunity to write something on a bench, why not write something crazy? That way, when someone sits on it, they'll remember your name. I wish my parents had bought Allie a bench when he died. Now that would have really honored him. Why can't my dad spend his dough on other things than cars, and my mom on other things than her lousy cigarettes? Speaking of cigarettes, I was getting pretty damn hungry for one. I stood up and right as I was going to head back to the south of the park, I felt a gentle pat on my back. It made me jump. I get scared to hell when someone just comes up behind me and pats me on the back. And guess who it was? One of them lousy tourists with their cameras around their necks. Except his wasn't around his neck, it was in his hand...and he was practically handing it to me.
"Photo?" he asked me with his strong European accent.
"Um, sure", I answered, taking the camera from the guy's hands. I felt like I was going to barf again, I really did. The whole thing was just too damn corny. It took me hours to take their goddam photo. The kids would always close their eyes, and they never smiled at the right moment. The end result must have been pretty sad to look at. I love polaroids and all, I really do, but this whole situation was just awful. You can't understand how relieved I was when the tourist guy thanked me in his own language (or at least I think he did). I felt like I had just escaped from a tribe of crazy chimpanzees. Seriously, humans need to invent one language for each other to communicate in.
So after about ten minutes, I reached the place where there's the big meadow. I really needed to sit down and take a breath and all, but the lawn said that it was closed for the season. Damn, I thought. I hate winter. I reluctantly began to walk towards the Central Park Zoo. I don't think I had even been there during the winter before, but all I know is that it was pretty depressing. Apart from another group of those lousy tourists, I was the only one there. I didn't want to spend the rest of my dough to see a bunch of lame animals that were probably as freezing as I was, so I left.
Right when I came out of the zoo, I spotted a horse-carriage. It was a nice one too, with its big black horse and red velvet top. There were also golden tassels on the sides. I always thought that those were kinda swell. They reminded me of some swanky red carpet premiere or something. It always comes down to the stupid movies, doesn't it?
I don't care much for horses, but if old Phoebe had been with me…oh how she would have loved this one. Even I felt some sort of connection with him. His long mane gave him a majestic allure and he seemed particularly nice. There was a bucket filled with oats next to the animal, so I grabbed a handful and fed some to him. He chewed really loud, a bit like me sometimes. Allie would always say that I had the noisiest chew in the world. I miss that kid. The truth is, I would only do it to tick mom and dad off. They really hate that kind of stuff.
Suddenly, I heard someone shout. "Hey, you wanna take a ride or not?" I turned around and saw a man of about sixty years old, with wrinkles and a mustache and all. At first, he kinda scared me, because we were all alone and he was holding a whip in his hand. I was stupid enough not to know that the whip wasn't for me: it was for the horse.
"So, you wanna take a ride or not?" he asked me again.
"No thanks, I'm good", I answered.
The guy seemed disappointed. It must've been hard to get clients at this time of year, especially in this glacial weather. I'm lucky I had my hunting hat on, otherwise my ears would probably have froze to death by now. I felt bad for the driver, so I decided to start a conversation. I had to do something.
"What's his name?"
"Whose name? The horse's? It's a she – Marion."
That was a pretty fancy name for a damn horse. Now I really wish that Phoebe could have been there with me.
We didn't bother telling each other our names. That's not what matters in an interesting conversation. I was truly starting to like this guy. Any stupid phony would have asked me my name, why I wasn't at school today, what my parents' jobs were, etc. But this man didn't have time for that kind of shit. I told you you can find interesting people in New York; all you gotta do is look for them them.
"I like your hat", he told me. "It gives you a really neat look. And it's a relief from all those tourists and their Yankee caps." I think he could read my mind. Too astonished to answer him, I waited for the man to keep talking. "Have you ever been hunting, son?"
"Never. Living away from my parents and all, it's hard to do those kinds of activities. And it's not like they would teach me how to hunt at school or anything." I paused and remembered something. "But my brother Allie, he knew all about hunting. Bears, birds, rabbits – it's a shame my dad never took him. Parents these days, they never have time for anything."
"Allie seems like a good kid", replied the man wisely, scratching his bald head as he spoke. "My son has a house up in Vermont, perhaps I could take you and your brother hunting there someday. Wouldn't that be nice?"
That sounded like a helluva good idea. I almost accepted, until I realized that this would not be possible. "My brother Allie died a while ago, of leukemia", I explained. I was really sorry for the guy at that point. I mean, he had just invited us to do something really cool, something that I'd always dreamed of doing. Plus, I had never even been to Vermont. Rejecting his offer made me sick again.
There was a long pause. It wasn't one of those awkward pauses, though. It was a thoughtful pause. I swear, people can say it lot through silence.
"Look, I know you probably spend more time in Central Park than I do, so you've gotta be able to tell me this: when they empty the pond, where do all the ducks go?"
I had decided to break the silence, because I was the one who started it in the first place. Plus, I was really dying to get this previous question answered. I even almost forgot about my craving for a smoke.
"Well, I guess I've never really thought about it. They could go pretty much anywhere, you know. Perhaps they're freed in the countryside, perhaps they're killed, or perhaps they're just kept in a farm nearby. But the question you should be asking yourself is: when it's springtime, is it even the same group of ducks that comes back?"
The guy had really got me on that one. I had never asked myself that question. To me, it was obvious that it was the same ducks, since they resemble each other so much. But how long do ducks live anyway? It couldn't have been the same ducks that had been there ever since I was little.
"I think the group of ducks changes", I said slowly. "Just like your friends change, your family members change and everyone else changes too. Hell, you and I even change!"
The man and I talked for a little longer, until I asked him what time it was. When he told me that it was two in the afternoon, I told him that I had to leave. Time goes by so fast when you're having a good conversation. As I turned by back to leave, I heard him call out.
"Kid, what's your name?"
"Holden", I answered. He was one of the rare people to whom I just couldn't lie.
"I'm Marcus. It's nice to have met you, Holden."
I waved goodbye and made my way out of the park. I didn't really know where the hell I was going, my mind was just too busy again. I was thinking about the ducks. Had Jane changed just like they did? Would Phoebe ever change as well? I sure didn't want old Phoebe to change, and I hoped she never did...ever.