16 June 2012

The graffiti reads:
"We want our bodega back!"
"No more yuppies in NoLita!"
People snap pictures.
Buy more clothes.
Buy more desserts.

I remember the hub-bub of SoHo.
Going to Mom's studio to play under the desks.
Whispering my adventures to Peter, my bunny buddy.
Building houses out of discarded paper drafts and design refuse.

I remember walking with Daddy or Sage to go pick up lunch for the office.
Skipping over the cracks and hopskotching over the cobble stone streets.
Eating all the bread samples at Dean and Deluca.
Looking at the displays of thickly iced cookies and heavy sweets.
Hoping I deserved one.

I remember it being crowded.
Always people on the block.
Selling puppets, artwork, bangles and beads laid out on scraps of velvet.

I remember everyone in a hurry.
I remember my sandals.
I remember the sun in my eyes.
I remember the park on Mott street.
I remember...

I don't remember the garbage.
Or the rudeness.
I don't remember all the big stores with long lines.
I don't remember the fat tourists.
I don't remember the entitlement.
I don't remember...

It was there.
I am sure.
It has always been there.
That's New York for you.

No one lives her anymore.
They just buy here.
They buy into the idea of living here.
They like saying the words.
If they really lived here-
they would be just as broken as me.
They would be just as embarrassed as me.
If they really felt the heart beat in the concrete
like I did when I was young
as I do now
this would not be.