A NEW TOWN

You can get anywhere you want to go in New York City by bus or train. I never owned a car, but I know every avenue and every street, and how to get there. Everything and everyone I know is here, but today, I am leaving for a new town.

Goodbyes long since unceremoniously said, I had lived in the same 'hood all my life. It was never easy, but it provided everything I needed. I settled in the back seat, for the six-hour drive ahead.

Riding endless hours on subway trains, the view was mostly soot covered, gray, dimly lit walls of tunnels, alternately looking down at the roofs of cars, trucks and buses, all clamoring to navigate obsolete streets designed for a third of the current traffic. The city has an unrelenting sound of its own. Horns, sirens, buses and music gave it a 'life'. It was always there, like a heartbeat.

Sentimental last glances are not my thing, but even with my eyes closed, I could sense where we were. The elevated train screeched to a halt at the Amsterdam Ave. station, I opened my eyes to see 'my' corner, "Poppy's Bodega". I conducted business there for years, and never had to go inside. This is where friends meet, news is exchanged, business is conducted. Someone else has already taken my place. I wondered if I would be missed. There was an empty sadness inside me. We went on, navigating morning traffic. Stopped for another red light, I looked up and saw the sign for 'Roosevelt Ave.' My middle school was there. I hadn't thought about it in years, I left in ninth grade and never looked back. Memories of happy times on the playground with friends, basketball and teasing the girls filled my head. "Was THIS sentimentality?" I wondered. "It sucks." I closed my eyes.

Encounters with the law were common. I had some issues and did a little time, for mostly minor stuff. It was a part of growing up. You came back and picked up where you left off. Outsiders call it street smart, here it is just survival. Sentimentality did not exist.

Survival is an accurate word. I learned very early that friends and family can be gone in an instant. My older brother was killed by a stray bullet while riding his bike. My Mother never recovered. She worked two jobs to support us, but it was never enough. Her health faded. I was fourteen when I started making money. The only way I knew, the only way there was. I made friends with the 'money makers.' I learned the methods, rules and attitudes of 'goods and services.' I learned quickly and was good at it. I rose in the ranks.

By the time I was twenty, I had my own territory. "Poppy's" by the train station, was where I started. Commuters were a constant parade of customers, a nickle here, a dime there, they got theirs, I got mine. Locals respected me because I had a reputation for being fair.

We stop to pay a toll. A fee to 'leave' the city. And a fee to 'enter.' The thought was amusing, I laughed to myself at the absurdity. As we claimed the ramp to the highway, the sun shone brightly into my eyes, I turned away for a moment, but the warmth was nice. There is never sunlight for long in the canyons between the skyscrapers, the brightly lit Avenues make the transition from day to night almost unnoticeable. Contrasted to dark side streets, where other forms of business take place. Miles of open space, trees, fields, more trees, an occasional exit sign, no people, there was a certain freedom about it all. We continued on, for hours. I took a prepared sandwich from the bag on the seat. It was dry, and stale. Food was never very interesting, you ate it to stay alive. I wondered if it was worth it. Something suddenly slapped me in the face! It was my Mother. She died several years ago, but I often hear her words, and sometimes they are, a slap in the face. "Don't you DARE talk like that, Son, life is a gift, and you thank God for every day you get." I silently whispered, "I love you, Mom." I finished the sandwich.

I began to find these new places interesting. Seemingly endless fields, the only inhabitants were big black cows (I later learned they are called cattle). In my city ignorance, I didn't know this is where burgers come from. Heads down, peacefully eating, I wondered how they got so big eating grass. They were peaceful, there was no bullying, no posturing, no competing for the same spot. This was a very different world.

We exited the highway. There were two gas stations, and a fast food place. It was unnatural. A few miles more, we approached a small town. Small stores in small buildings, people walking, cars but not traffic, the street was clean, it was very bright, the sun shone everywhere. It was a very mini city. It even smelled different. There was no exhaust, no smoke, no stench of decades of urine and garbage saturating everything. "Actually, that is pretty cool." I thought. I remembered someone once came to our school and talked about a "Fresh Air Fund." I had no interest and tuned it out. This must have been what he was talking about. There was something else that unsettled me. It took awhile, but I realized, "It's quiet!" There were no horns, sirens or buses, I don't know how I felt about it, just something else left behind.

More trees, more fields, it was already boring compared to the city.

We turn onto a side road. A few minutes later, I see a large sign, "NEWTOWN CORRECTIONAL FACILITY". I closed my eyes and turned away. I remembered the words "...You are hereby sentenced to life in prison...."

I was grateful for all I had seen.