At half past four, the west side was full. People stood shoulder to shoulder, elbowing their neighbors three people deep, unfurling blankets and shaking them repeatedly. It was like an army of toreadors awaiting a bullfight. The pristine sea of green sat beckoning, but the police stood with their thumbs looped through belt loops and no one challenged their authority. Closer to the library the crowd was thinner but the tension just as palpable. The scratchy, amplified voice of authority announced the countdown and the upcoming film. Then, with “ladies and gentlemen, you may now…” the voice was drowned by the sound of people trampling across the grass for the spot they’d set their sights on and in less than a minute the entire lawn of Bryant Park had disappeared under a patchwork of blankets. I walked to a spot not far from the border, snapped my blanket until it floated down into a full rectangle, and sat down to wait.
An hour later the girls began to arrive. Though some of my dearest friends, only one had celebrated my birthday before. Glutonously attacking the fizzy drinks, salty snacks, and Magnolia cupcakes we were bursting by the time the narrator began explaining why the WWII refugees of Europe were streaming into Casablanca.
I first saw my favorite “classic movie” the same summer that I got my first kiss. It was showing at the Ohio Theatre downtown, and I went with my mother. Afterwards, I called my boyfriend and told him that he had to see it. Two weeks later, he gave me the kiss and the movie for my birthday. Still, he’s not the boy that comes to mind when I hear “As Time Goes By”. The magic of the first screening hasn’t faded — I still hope that Rick gets on the plane with Ilsa because “of all the gin joints in all the world, she walked into” his. But in the end, I know that “this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship” for the men on screen and the continuation of five beautiful friendships with the girls on my crumb-covered blanket who were able to join me on my birthday.
