She
In the late 19070’s she sat in a three story walk up Brooklyn building; made of wood, her paint chipping from old age. She needs a 4x4 to hold her up; but still a reliable source to the outside world. She kept me warm during the brutal winters, and provided us with just the right amount of sunshine during the glorious summers.
She has played a critical part of my growing up. Showed me what it truly meant to struggle. Displaying homeless families asking for money, clothes or a place to lay their children for the night. Exposing the intimacy of their plight for everyone to witness. She displayed the treachery that existed in the world me very early on. Men beating their women in the middle of the street. She showed all of the indignation of the people in that neighborhood.
She put into perspective where it was I lived, the condition of the families of my neighborhood. These families were either on the poverty line or a tad above it. Most of the demographic had little or no formal education. She showed no mercy with her levelo of exposure. She gave away everyone’s secret sruggle. The lady selling herself for food, maybe rent, or was it drugs. Who knew. She thrusted me into that person’s plight. She showed me the women fighting to keep her youth, dressing like a hooker thinking the attention she was getting was positive affirmation of a beauty she once held.
She was where I went to see into Myrtle Avenue’s soul. The smells of the fried food stores that sometimes served as dinner, the salsa music blaring from the windows of every other building, or was it the passing car. The ringing ice cream truck slowly rolling down the block. The children playing, yelling and fighting all at once.
She was what ignited my imagination. I would sit for hours watching life go by. Imagining what the future would look like. Hoping for different outcomes for each person that passed by. The talented alcoholic laborer everyone knew. Would he sober up one day and open his own business, or die an alcoholic? Would the Chinese restaurant across the street learn and add cameras to their establishment to avoid being robbed as often as they did? Would the food market remain the same for the next six months? The world of Myrtle Avenue seemed so vast and never ending at that time.
She sat underneath the radiator of the three story walk up. With a metal cover over the radiator and sitting cushions on top of it, it was all we needed for comfort. It was there I sat and watched the world display all of the wonderful characters it had to offer. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t get a splinter from pushing her up. I’m sure she had seen better days but during my time with her it was evident she would need to retire soon. The depths of what she showed me had no filter.
She loved the seasons’, giving life to summer with it’s unique smells and treats. Perfecting Spring with just the right amount of colors. While there weren’t any trees on Myrtle Avenue, she provided me with the view of the bevy of colors the sky would turn during each season.
The glistening of the snow mounted on the parked cars in the streets illuminated the entire block. She made the snow look as if you could see each snow flake perfectly drawn; the way we envisioned it as children.
She made me seek something outside of the view she provided me through the years. At a very young age, she provided me with perspective, hope and a yearning for something more.
I’m glad I wasn’t there when she retired, I think it would of been a very emotional thing to deal with. The laborers of the neighborhood came up with her replacement. As with most of the things in the building, she would be taken to the local junk yard and used for scraps.
I will always be forever grateful for the hope she provided me with and the lessons I couldn’t get anywhere else.
Thank you Window, you will never be forgotten.
