The Story I Need to Tell

*an attempt at verbalizing the heart. Part 1 of 5 parts to follow:)

part 1: the streets

Driving to work I pass large groups of girls jumping rope along the sidewalks as their older brothers play basketball at the Clinton St. Park. One solo girl fights hard to stay in the game taking place on the court. Fire hydrants bursting water out as I drive by with open windows welcoming the brief relief from the sweatering heat. Boys with corn rolls, girls with beads dangling into their faces: running through the bleeding water running like a river down the street. Bikes flying around the corner across a busy street, cars screeching to a halt to barely miss the grinning six year old darting in front of them. Corners busy with sales of illegal drugs, sidewalks cruised by white women willing to accept any small payment for their bodily services. Fiends begging for bus and food money; receiving the charity they dart around the corner to the local ‘grocer’ that sells their substance down a dark alley way behind the brick wall that is falling apart. Fancy BMWs and Lincolns cruising slowing by, rolling down windows at remote corners to reveal men in business suits that seem to know this neighborhood too well.

I park, and notice the immediate attention I’ve drawn. The man standing by my window thinks I’m one of the people in the rich cars driving in from out of town. I shake my head ‘no’, and he apologizes while he walks away. I step out of my car. A few steps later, the next man eyes me up. He assumes I’m one of the other white girls looking for a bit of extra cash. Again I shake my head ‘no’. Pull out my keys, unlocking the old raggedy church on the corner of Broadway and Berkley that no longer resembles a church due to a fire from decades ago, and the lack of finances to keep it running. It is now deserted. Meant to be demolished, but there isn’t even money enough in the city to tear down the condemned buildings. I walk in, turn off the alarm, double bolt the door behind me, and slightly jump as two mice scatter into their homes. Sitting on a chair facing the front street where I can see twelve people lined up waiting impatiently for their morning dosage from the ‘pharmacy’. I take a sip of my coffee, smile, think to myself, ‘I’m living my dream’, and get started on my day of work.