Never Alone

When you can't sleep and its almost 3am what do you do? I listen for signs. Signs that everything is going to be OK. But I never hear anything. I don't feel that warm feeling of confidence and security. I hear the wind travelling through my open window and past my feet. It's cold out there and the night is young.

"HEY! Honey, you got a cigarette?" I hear down at the corner while reaching for my blanket the breeze wizzing through the horizontal blinds. "What?" Carol my neighbor next door answers.  She seems to have similar sleeping habits as myself. "A cigarette!" The invisible voice yells again. "NO." Carol says under her breath just loud enough for the unseen voice to hear, "I don't smoke." Carol goes inside and slams the door behind her.

The voice coming from the corner is still there, it is cold outside but she doesn't seem bothered not having her cigarette. The unknown beggar crosses the street and I get a better view of this stranger. She is young and blonde under dressed for the weather and alone. As she crosses the street a car driving through slows down glances at the beggar as she crosses the street and then continues on its way.

Another car approaches and this time parks. The beggar makes her way towards the car whose owner lives on the block but rarely speaks. The beggar approaches the cars passenger side and speaks to the Neighbor. She reaches in the car taking something from his passenger seat and walks away. She has her cigarette now I think to myself.  The beggar walks down my block and exits out of my site.

It's cold outside and the night is young but the block is hot. Another stranger approaches the Neighbor and he points her to the next block over. There must be plenty of "cigarettes" down there I think. The wind still blowing needs to blow all this street trash away. The Neighbor exits his car and heads inside. He has a stiff demeanor and limps when walking as if his knees refuse to bend. The wind really needs to blow away the trash around here.

Its almost 4am and my sleep has finally caught up with me. My eyelids are loosing the battle and another busy day appears to be at its end. I'm still listening, hoping that I'm not alone. Wondering if I am the only soul who sees the wrongs in front of us. It seems to be so easy for others to turn a cold shoulder to the evil in fornt of their face. Ignoring those that need help. I think I need a cigarette.

Superstar

Everybody wants to be somebody. Far to often in the inner city this means you want to be a professional athlete and if you can't play sports you better know how to rap. But what if you can't do either?

It was a beautiful day in the city. A light breeze, low humidity, and payday. The kids were out of school, running on the sidewalks, parents sitting on their stoop laughing, drinking, and living in the moment. Not a care in the world, as it should be on a day like this.

Deshawntay's mother who just picked him up from daycare yells at the top of her lungs, "Get back ova' here Tay, don't you run in that street!" His ball had just bounced across the street coming to a stop under a parked Ford Explorer. A burly man steps out of the vehicle with a smile on his face walks around and grabs the ball. He walks across the street towards the daycare the sun still shining reflecting off his hand toward my window. As he hands the ball to Deshawntay's mother she thanks him and he walks back waving to everyone sitting outside the daycare.

It was the driver! How could I forget realizing this was the same truck that Mr. Boots had entered the previous day. How could this be? He was a criminal a drug dealer supplying Mr. Boots and associates their narcotics. This man middle aged, well fed man appeared to be the complete opposite of what a drug dealer is supposed to look like. Mr. Boots and friends wore baggy pants, baseball caps, hoodies, the standard urban city attire. The driver wearing loafers and polo shirt tucked into a pair of ironed jeans appeared to be the complete opposite, more uptown than downtown.

As he walked back towards his vehicle Tommy, who lives in the corner house across the street arrived home from a hard days work. He was a contractor who rehabbed houses while rehabbing his own house when work was slow. The Driver gives Tommy a dap before he heads inside after a log days work. As the Driver leans against Tommy's pickup several people slowly gather around. One a female driver pulls up in the same make and model vehicle that the Driver uses, a Ford Explorer. She waits before exiting, then one of the young men standing with the Driver approaches, removes a bag from the vehicle and places it into the Drivers vehicle and enters the Explorer the women just exited. The driver enters his vehicle along with Mr. Boots who hands over money for the bag and they both exit, the Driver never touching the bag. The driver switches vehicles and leaves in the truck the woman exited. The remaining crowd proceed to discuss a matter of random topics before walking off in random directions with one leaving in the truck the driver arrived in.

Everybody receives an education. Outside or inside you learn what you are taught. Inside you learn math, science, maybe a foreign language. Outside you learn how to survive, you learn how to put food on the table. If you start inside you'll have an opportunity to go onto college and receive a higher education. If you stay outside you better go on to be a superstar if not there's always the block.

Life

Is life short? When I was a kid it seemingly took forever for me to grow up, and then I did. At least I think I did, I mean those around me believed I did. But, if I am "grown" then why don't I feel it? When I was a kid I chased the ice cream truck, and dreamed of the day I didn't have to go to school anymore. Reality sucks.

As I sit by my window I see a familiar face turning the corner.  Wearing blue jeans, white tshirt, a knited cap and TImberlands.  It was Mr. Boots chasing an ice cream truck.  This man is chasing the ice cream truck. Yesterday he reached into his boot to pay the driver.  Today he is a kid eating ice cream and laughing with his friends.  His friends, all seemingly younger than him take jabs at his childlike running.  "Nigga you a grown ass man chasing a truck?" At the same time a younger friend of Mr. Boots runs across the street to meet a couple just getting a bicycle.  This couple in worn cloths appear to be a bit downtrodden and lost.  Mr. Boots' associate interacts with the couple a few seconds while reaching into his back pocket.  In a split second the bicycle couple drop their payment into Mr. Pants hand and he drops the goods.  "Nigga is that icecream any good?" The friend yells over to Boots. "I think imma get me some."

It's like we all want to grow up, but nobody prepares us for what it's like once we do.

Unemployed

In between filling out job applications where the only response has been don't call us we'll call you, I have been spending a great deal of time gazing through the many windows of my house. Wondering is there more to life than working and dying.  What is in between?  What is my purpose?  I have had about every job there is but no career. I feel as if the only thing I'm good at is lying in bed and filling out job applications. I always thought that I would somehow change the world. In college my grandmother told me, "Make sure they remember you!" I don't think they do. But I do want to be remembered.

So while staring out my window I witnessed something in between the incessant amount of delivery trucks, fire engines, and people. I witnessed a man I have seen plenty of times before during my most recent stint of unemployment. But this time was different. He entered a fairly new vehicle, uncommon in my neighborhood and reached into his boot handing the driver a wad of money larger than two fists. What was I witnessing? Parked in front of a daycare and opposite a public school was what appeared to be my worst nightmare. Immediately after the driver accepted his money he handed Mr. Boots a package. This one much smaller than the previous but just as illicit. Drugs. In my neighborhood. How surprising.

When we die there is always an obituary.  What will my obituary say?  Will it be lengthy or a brief, one hundred and forty words or less?  Somehow I need to be remembered. My life story has got to be longer than a status update.