Charles
Journal
Charles
 In smaller, conservative communities like Peekskill, NY, even with a visible liberal population, misconceptions about HIV still persist. Lately, I’ve been stepping outside the box—exploring ideas I’ve considered but never tried myself. One of those new ventures involves joining a focus group dedicated to engaging, educating, and protecting one another. It’s not just about personal growth; it’s about fostering a supportive community.
Despite progress in HIV awareness, the stigma surrounding the virus is still prevalent—especially in smaller, conservative areas like Peekskill, NY. In places like New York City, San Francisco, and Provincetown, misconceptions about HIV transmission have largely faded. But here, some people still believe the virus can be spread through saliva or casual touch—despite clear evidence that HIV is primarily transmitted through unprotected sexual contact. One of the key topics that has caught my attention in this group is PrEP (Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis)—a medication that prevents HIV-negative individuals from contracting the virus. I initially thought PrEP worked like condoms—that you simply take a pill right before intimacy with an HIV-positive partner. But I’ve since learned that it’s actually a prescribed medication taken consistently for effective prevention. There are different versions, including one specifically for women, but in all cases, individuals must be HIV-negative and obtain a prescription for PrEP to work as intended. Encouragingly, advances in HIV treatment have made it possible for HIV-positive individuals on medication to maintain an undetectable viral load, meaning the virus cannot be transmitted to a partner. While this reduces the necessity of condoms in some cases, safer sex practices remain an important consideration for overall sexual health. This journey of learning and participation has been eye-opening for me, and I’m embracing my role in these conversations like never before. Stepping outside my comfort zone has led to discoveries I never expected—and that’s a good thing.
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 Nestled right on the shores of the Hudson River at Riverwalk Greenway in Peekskill, the Planetariummonetarium stands as a unique and intriguing art piece. With its quirky appearance reminiscent of an alien from a 1950s horror sci-fi movie or something straight out of Jonny Quest, it captures the imagination and curiosity of all who encounter it. Visitors to Peekskill invariably find themselves drawn to this fascinating structure, standing within its embrace, photographing its distinctive form, and peering through its kaleidoscopes at the myriad of images they reveal. Created by Serge Onnen, a French-born Dutch artist now based in Brussels, the sculpture is more than just a visual delight. On any given day, one can witness people exploring its interior, engaging with the kaleidoscopes, or simply enjoying its whimsical charm. Among the many messages inscribed inside, one in particular caught my attention—a heartfelt note from Michael, seemingly addressed to someone no longer present. The images glimpsed through the kaleidoscopes are undeniably captivating, offering a delightful visual experience that complements the sculpture's overall allure. So, if you ever find yourself in Peekskill, make sure to check out the Planetariummonetarium. It's just a stone's throw away from the Metro-North Station, waiting to enchant you with its otherworldly charm.
   Ever had a moment where a stranger’s face suddenly carried the weight of familiarity—where the shape of a jawline, the tilt of a head, the quiet intensity in someone’s eyes ignited memories of a person you once knew, once loved? That moment found me at C-Town, our only downtown grocery store in Peekskill, NY—a place that pales in comparison to the well-stocked shelves of Trader Joe’s, Stop & Shop, and ShopRite in the suburbs. But here, we make do, carving out something resembling satisfaction amid limited choices. And then, amid the mundane shopping routine, I saw him. Or rather, I saw Saleem—except he wasn’t Saleem. Yet, the resemblance was undeniable. A tall figure loomed over the vegetable section, his eyes scanning the store with quiet awareness, like an observer rather than a shopper. His gaze was controlled, subtle, yet all-encompassing—watching the ebb and flow of people moving through the aisles. For a moment, he didn’t seem like an ordinary customer. Was he a contractor delivering stock? A visitor merely passing through? I needed confirmation, so I moved down his aisle, pretending to browse while stealing glances. And then—yes. I liked what I saw. I carried on with my shopping, picking up the essentials I had come for. But when I turned back, he was gone. A strange panic rose in my chest, as though my very soul depended on one more glimpse. A part of me needed to see him again, to chase that fleeting moment where our eyes might meet and speak a silent language only we could understand. Then, suddenly—I found him. Relief washed over me as I followed him to the checkout. I stood just behind him, close enough to feel the lingering presence of this man who had momentarily taken hold of my thoughts. Perhaps it was irrational, perhaps it was nothing at all—but standing there, I felt something like fulfillment. Even if it wasn’t truly Saleem, it was enough. Peekskill exists in a strange space between intimacy and isolation. We take what we can from what’s available, finding solace in the familiar corners of our town. And yet, even in the most ordinary places—like the cramped aisles of C-Town—life surprises us. A chance encounter can stir something deep within, reminding us of love, of longing, of the quiet power human connection holds over us. Days have passed, but the memory of that moment still lingers. I return to C-Town now with a quiet hope—that maybe, just maybe, I’ll see him again. That maybe, in this small town where we live and survive, another fleeting moment awaits.
 The faces of San Francisco in a multitude colors, defines a city that is arguably the more diverse than other in America. The color of a person's skin should never be an issue when it comes to getting along, employment, marriage, or friendship. In my experience, among all the places I've ever lived, San Francisco stands out as a city where color is never an issue. Peekskill comes close, maintaining a similar atmosphere of inclusivity and acceptance. However, there's an exception within my own race, particularly amongst the older generations—those born in the 1940s and early 50s. This boomer generation seems to engage with race in a way that is more pronounced, sometimes shaping their entertainment choices, their cultural preferences, even their assessments of others. Some of them won’t watch a film unless it features a predominantly Black cast, and they might see you differently if Prada appeals to you more than Tyler Perry. And this raises a peculiar question: is Heaven segregated? One has to wonder—do our earthly divisions persist in the afterlife, or is it the great equalizer, washing away the things that separate us? If some within my own community cling so tightly to racial identity as a defining factor, do they imagine that celestial neighborhoods operate by the same invisible social rules we manufacture here on Earth? I’d like to believe that, in its purest form, Heaven is absent of division, an infinite space where barriers dissolve rather than harden. After all, on a quiet morning walk along the Riverwalk in Peekskill, race seems to fade into the background. We smile, we greet one another, and in these moments, the only thing that matters is the shared experience of simply being. Maybe Heaven is a little like that.  Peekskill closely resembles a miniature San Francisco, with its hills, its bay, and its diverse population.   There are no crimes to report from Annsville Creek, a tranquil area of town where Canadian Geese convene their goslings. As I approached the Latin Deli and Grocery, a tall, slender man shuffled ahead of me—his steps painstakingly slow, almost deliberate, as if he lacked a cane but sorely needed one. He slipped inside just before I did. I was there for a quick lunch, convinced my meeting was at noon—until I checked my phone and realized I had miscalculated. An hour to spare, and my stomach had decided it couldn’t wait for the catered spread. Hunger ruled the moment. As Luis prepared my order, the same man who had entered ahead of me began his retreat. But something was off. Instead of heading to the counter, he angled straight for the door. That’s when Rosa—the store’s sharp-eyed owner—abruptly abandoned her phone at the register and sprang forward, cutting past me like a storm brewing in human form. Her voice was firm, unshaken. “I told you before—if I caught you stealing beer again, you’d be banned for good.” The man feigned innocence, his protests flowing fast. But Rosa wasn’t buying a word. With practiced authority, she grabbed his coat and yanked it open—nothing. He doubled down. “I have nothing,” he insisted. Rosa, however, was relentless. Then, like an expertly played game of hide-and-seek, the truth surfaced. A second man joined the search, and there it was—the hidden beer, tucked neatly inside the thief’s sleeve. Rosa wasted no time. She snatched the contraband, practically shoved the man through the door, and as if sealing his fate, tossed a dropped quarter after him. “You’re banned. Forever,” she declared. I stood there, stunned—not at the act of theft itself, but at the sheer force of Rosa’s presence. A Latina woman unafraid, unapologetic. A force of nature in her own right.  The morning sunlight illuminated the verdant slopes of Bear Mountain, creating a picture-perfect scene on a Saturday morning. It was an ideal day for sailing.   Indeed, I discovered a sailboat on the Hudson River to capture in a photograph.   Watching the newborn goslings of Canadian Geese strolling with their parents is a delightful spectacle. These adorable creatures meander through the grass, undoubtedly feasting on insects and enjoying their newfound freedom. Their cuteness instills a desire to embrace them, yet their vigilant parents ensure that this remains a distant dream. Any attempt to get too close is met with defensive aggression; the father's head drops, he hisses, and charges to protect his offspring. It brings joy to see these geese return from the South after winter to breed and nurture their young in Peekskill. Though their droppings litter the grass and sidewalks, as long as one is mindful not to step in it, it is a manageable inconvenience. In spring, despite the chill brought by clouds and rain, Peekskill's beauty transforms and surpasses even the height of summer. The cooler temperatures and less oppressive humidity offer a refreshing change, making the town appear more enchanting than ever. There is always that one melody you happen upon by chance, one that lingers within you, grows alongside you, and evokes such joy that it radiates from your face, visible to everyone even as they perceive it only through the silence of your headphones: such is composer Stelvio Cipriani's "Mary's Theme."
  The Bear Mountain Bridge, located between Bear Mountain and Anthony's Nose, spans picturesque Hudson River in the scenic Hudson Valley near Peekskill, NY. The rain falls gently over Peekskill, NY, a phenomenon that has become quite familiar during May. It is as though a second winter has stealthily slipped into spring, bringing a chill that permeates the mornings, making them feel colder than the depths of December and February. It feels paradoxical, for May should usher in warmth and renewal, yet here it seems to be an echo of winter's embrace. The drizzle, reminiscent of San Francisco's persistent rains, enriches the earth and enhances the natural beauty of the city. There is a certain tranquility in the way the rain nurtures the landscape, breathing life into every corner and crevice. On a recent walk along the Riverwalk, I encountered a woman with her dog. She introduced herself, possibly as Wendy. As we passed the boardwalk, she stopped me to ask if I read the Peekskill Herald. I confirmed that I did, mentioning that I am a subscriber and read it frequently. Her face lit up with joy at my response, as she was promoting the Herald, urging every person in Peekskill to read it where her friend works. Wendy, it turns out, is quite involved in local activities. She has written letters to the Herald, voicing her concerns about the lack of cleanliness of Peekskill compared to the immaculate cleanliness of Beacon. Frustrated by the lack of response from the Mayor and council, Wendy feels that her efforts to address the city's cleanliness have gone unnoticed. Our conversation stretched on longer than I had anticipated, as all I wanted was to walk, take pictures, and clear my mind. Yet, there I was, listening to Wendy and empathizing with her plight. After some time, I managed to make a graceful exit and continue my walk, which turned from a short stroll into a longer journey as I ventured past Lent’s Cove and into the Village of Buchanan. The rain continued its gentle descent, and as I walked, I reflected upon the unexpected encounter. Wendy's passion for her city and her determination to see it thrive was admirable. Despite the chill and the rain, the day held a certain warmth—a reminder that in every corner of Peekskill, there are stories and individuals who care deeply about their community. Rainy day people don't mind if you're cryin' a tear or two
Rainy day people always seem to know when you're feeling blue High-stepping stutters who land in the gutters sometimes need one too Take it or leave it, or try to believe it If you've been down too long Rainy day lovers don't hide love inside, they just pass it on -Gordon Lightfoot  Water cascades down a cliff from McGregory Brook, near where Penelope Pond and Dog Park are today, in the blue-collar Finktown neighborhood of Peekskill, NY. Death is life’s only certainty, yet each loss feels uniquely personal. News of tragedy spreads swiftly, but when it strikes close—taking someone we cherished—it unleashes a tidal wave of emotions that defy explanation. The grief of losing a loved one is unlike any other. Proximity magnifies the pain, making it feel almost unbearable. Memories flood back, and the reality seems surreal. Heartache becomes inescapable. Past experiences of loss don’t prepare us. Grief changes over time; what once felt manageable can now seem insurmountable. Even writing about it is a reminder of its depth. Watching a loved one slip away in hospice is agony. Anticipation of the loss fractures the heart, leaving behind uncertainty and paralyzing sorrow. The absence feels impossible to navigate. Though death remains a mystery, its impact is undeniable. Grief is a painful journey we must walk—one step at a time, carrying the love and memories of those we’ve lost. Forever keeping a sick loved one in our hearts.  A portrait of Pope Leo graces the marble steps beneath the altar at The Church of the Assumption in Peekskill, New York.  A small-town charm is everywhere in Peekskill, NY.. It's nice to have a friend you can see from time to time, someone with whom you can truly let down your hair—even if you don’t have any. To let life's serious side fade away and simply revel in the moment. Such friends are rare and precious, and sometimes, expressing how much they mean to us is even rarer.
I have a friend like this; someone I met today in her office. She holds a special place in my heart, and I always cherish our time together laughing, talking, sharing stories shaped by our diverse backgrounds. She hails from the Dominican Republic, while my roots trace back to the backwards pockets of the South and the streets of San Francisco, where I found myself. We always enjoy our time so much that we’ve decided to make it a weekly tradition. Perhaps we’ll take a leisurely stroll through Peekskill at lunch, savoring an hour of walking and talking. Though Peekskill may lack the pretzel and hot dog stands of New York City, the abundance of delis on Main Street makes it feel almost like a walk through the Bronx. Ah, Manhattan—always on my mind. A city that never fails to stir nostalgia and longing, weaving itself into my thoughts no matter where I go.  The Church of Assumption, Peekskill, NY The sky is overcast, devoid of sunshine, casting a brooding spell upon the world. Yet, I find myself in a contrasting mood—perhaps I should be brooding too, given that my rent is set to increase by 7% in July, a burden that grows heavier with each passing year. There are moments when I toy with the idea of marriage, recalling past relationships in San Francisco, as a potential solution—two incomes might alleviate the financial strain. But was I truly happy in those relationships? No. Despite the reduced expenses and the surplus of disposable income, happiness eluded me. I yearned to embrace life fully, and such conventional relationships stifled that desire. Hence, that kind of bond is not destined for me. One must remain faithful to oneself. Reflecting on my journey, I realize how far I have come since this time last year. I am blessed in many ways. This morning, I noticed the quarters I had left at Mary’s feet on Union Street were still there—a small yet poignant reminder of continuity amidst change. After my run, stretch, and walk, I paused at The Church of Assumption to light a candle and offer a prayer, grounding myself spiritually before heading home to immerse myself in work. Today, a boy I can't honestly say I love came back. He had been visibly struggling, his frame as slender as a reed. Yet, for now, things are looking up for us, a glimmer of hope in the midst of life's turbulence because after all he is a friend.  |
AuthorCHARLES PEARSON
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