Wrote this listening to:
Future- Diamonds Dancing
Tory Lanez- Say It
This is how it began.
I was walking back home.
Not the real home. The temporary one…
When I saw two guys playing catch. They looked innocent. They were smiling, laughing at each other and I watched from a distance. Creepy right?
They brought me home. They reminded me of summer afternoons on 42nd street. Alex and Alvin would rip the small pupusa smelling apartment apart to find their baseball gloves and rush downstairs to begin a 3 hour long session of catch.
This is how they bonded. They could throw around a baseball around for hours. The conversation would begin with school, drift off into friends, and of course end with life and girl advice.
I know all of this because Apartment 2A had a fire escape. A fire escape that did me really well growing up. It was used for so many things, we were even able to fit a mini pool on it once. Good times.
When they played catch, listening from two stories high was always what I was doing.
I never participated. Well sometimes.
I preferred to watch.
This isn’t about them though. This is about home.
Skyscraper home. Rude people home. Yellow taxi home.
The home where my business becomes the whole blocks business.
I miss it and thats why I write.
Today I spoke to Alexis. We weren’t on good terms for a really long time, but being in Brazil helped him a bunch.
We made a list..
There were about 40 things on the list.
Things we would do as soon as I got home.
Making this list made me realize that I love New York more than I knew I did.
The air you inhale is different, I miss the red steps, I miss SoHo, I miss getting off Atlantic-Barclay Center station and heading to the mall while bumping into people that were going to watch the Nets game. I miss being able to walk up the block to a funeral home, corner store, church, tattoo parlor, a Little Caesars and a plethora of those creepy shops that sell everything a bruja needs to ruin anyones life.
Sitting in Sunset Park is my favorite. You’re on a perfect hill and can see most of Manhattan in the distance. You go from lighting candles on September 11 to sitting there on a date telling yourself over and over that you live in the best part in the world.
42nd Street is my favorite part of New York.
Not times square, but my 42nd Street.
The block parties, the old men waking up every morning to wash their cars and play ALL of the salsa albums they ever owned, the bond with the kids who used to run through the fire hydrant water with me, Hector… the guy from Good Food Grocery who told my dad everything–but also gave me a 50% discount to make up for always getting me in trouble.
I miss home.
I miss my best friend and all of her pets. I miss stoop nights and purple skies.
Great conversation that lead into tears and lengthy hugs. We aren’t really affectionate, but we have some moments.
I have been writing this in many different segments, so images of home pop up randomly in my head.
I miss street art, the Brooklyn bridge, the hotdogs, ice skating, nights on the turf.
I’ll be home soon. 17 more days.