The Yankees won another world championship.
The 2 decided to go local,
and that's why I was late to school.
Honest.
A drugged out dreamer
left over from the sixties
slept on the steps of a church.
His bare feet were dirty and cracked
Teenyboppers standing on the triangle
lost their voices
while they waited to catch a glimpse
of the back of his head
There was a street fair down the block.
The smell of burnt corn and Indian food
permeated the neighborhood
Peruvian men played wind instruments
to the tune of My Heart Will Go On.
Ambulance sirens woke a sleeping baby
until her mother cooed her back to sleep
while watching the street below.
A long line of limos
silently crept up 5th Avenue.
Maybe it was the president.
Maybe it was Puff Daddy.
cool.
An under-appreciated artist
put the finishing touches on a mural
dedicated to a slain immigrant.
Graffiti.
14 people died today
and 37 were injured.
23 new babies were born
4 of them to one mother.
It was just another day in New York.
1.
An ever-present drone slowly penetrated into my thoughts of freely frolicking in green meadows, chasing butterflies like I did when I was seven. The chirping of birds and the childish giggle that sprang forth from my mouth were slowly being drowned out by the buzz that rivaled the annoyance of a four-year-old asking "Do you wanna hear the most annoying noise in the world? EENNNNHHHHH…."
I forced myself to open my eyes. I was disoriented for a moment, but the sounds of the M5 bus passing under my window brought me back to reality, and the fleeting images of my dream were washed from my brain. I fumbled for my remote, which rested on the floor next to my bed. I hit the POWER button after a few failed attempts and listened to the news on New York One.
"The New York Yankees won yet another World Championship last night in Yankee stadium after a long fought battle with…."
I awoke with a start. I frantically looked at my watch as I realized I had fallen back asleep for an hour and a half. New York One was still on, but I hurriedly turned it off and grabbed whatever clothes I could find on the floor, grabbed my backpack and gym bag and hurried to catch the train.
I exited the subway and literally sprinted to school, pausing at a DON'T WALK sign at 94th Street and Broadway to drop some spare change in a bum's cup.
I walked into my first period Latin class late. Upon a questioning glance from my teacher, I shrugged my shoulders and stated:
"The 2 decided to run local for no reason. That's why I'm late." As I sat down in my seat and opened my backpack. I pulled out my Chemistry notebook and hoped that my teacher wouldn't notice, because, I realized, I had left my Latin books and notes at home, sitting on my desk.
2.
"Oh my god, I totally failed that test!"
"How'd you do?"
"I got a……..B!"
"Come to the bagel store with me?"
"Can I copy your homework?"
"I need to smoke. Come with me?"
"Wait, what was our homework again?"
The words slowly drifted in and out of my sleep. It must be Adhoc, because the swamp is never this noisy. I squirmed on the sunken couch and pulled my North Face jacket over my head. Maybe I could make the noise go away. I had been up 'til 2 AM last night (or was it this morning…?) writing an overdue history paper. My only free was after Latin, and I had spent it trying to sleep. I knew that a basketball game awaited me at the end of the day, so I was trying to sleep.
Groaning, I got up and sleepily made my way to AP Spanish. I chose a seat in the back of the room and hoped that I wouldn't be noticed….
History was next. We watched a movie; I slept. The lights came on and my head snapped up. 5A. Time for lunch. I grabbed my wallet from the pocket of my jacket that lay on the couch and made my way to the bagel store. I ordered something and forgot what it was by the time I had to pay. With my tin foil ball in hand, I sat on one of the cold metal chairs outside the store and smoked away another little bit of my health. I licked my cream cheesed fingers and stamped the butt into the ground and blindly made my way to religion. I argued points that I didn't believe and then it was time for me to change into my uniform. I paused in the hallway, blinking, and trying to remember what happened in my double math class. I sighed and gave up. I went down the stairs into the swamp and retrieved my gym bag from behind the broken couch.
"Are you going to practice?"
"When's the bus leaving?"
"Are you going home?"
"Tell coach I'm not coming?"
"Do I have time to run to Dag's?"
I changed in the bathroom and smoothed my uniform so that I looked decent, even though I knew I would be playing in a game that no one would watch.
3.
I woke up to the sound of angels singing. Slightly confused, I lifted my head and peered into my coffee cup. Two shiny quarters and a penny smiled up at me.
"Off to a good start…" I murmured as I struggled to sit up. I didn't see who left the coins in my cup, but I didn't care, because it meant that I could eat breakfast today. I got up and shuffled over to the man who stood in the silver telephone booth on wheels. I clutched the quarters in my fist, holding on to them real tight so that they couldn't go anywhere. I waited in line real patient, and then I gave the guy my money, and I asked him for a donut. He looked at me funny, like he didn't want to give me food.
"Come on, man! I gave you my money, gimme a donut, man!" I complained loudly. I snatched the donut from his slimy hand and I sat back down on the stairs to the church. I ate my food but I was still hungry.
My feet hurt. I looked down at them, and I saw they were all cracked and bleeding. Maybe it's because some shithead stole my shoes. I thought.
Sometimes I wish I could remember how to write. I used to be able to, a long time ago, but I don't remember anymore. There's a lotta stuff I don't remember. Too many drugs.
The past years of my life were kind of like when you wake up in the middle of the night and you're cold so you fumble for a blanket on the floor and then you fall back asleep and in the morning you can't really remember if that really happened or not. That was kind of like my life.
Man, I really need a smoke. I thought. I tried bumming cigarettes off people passing by, but most of them didn't bother to stop. I saw some kid with a basketball uniform on, puffing away.
"Hey, man, can I bum a smoke?" I asked weakly. He looked over at me and pulled one out from his pack. "Light?" I asked, the taste of nicotine making my lips tremble. He lit my cig and went down into the subway. I sat down on the stairs and puffed happily. "Good kid, good kid…" I said to myself.
4.
The roar was deafening. The triangle that was squished in between hordes of traffic was filled to capacity. Few people even spilled out into the on coming taxicabs and limos. A camera crew and surgically enhanced host were strategically placed in front of a crowd of teenagers that looked like they could have been pulled out of Anytown, USA. (Which, of course, was why they were there.)
A harried mother, young and with dark circles under her dull eyes, quickly disappeared into the subway station, her two year old girl screaming at the top of her lungs, wanting that toy mommy, the pretty dolly with the frilly dress. The girl's bare right foot wagged freely, her left covered in a white and pink Barbie sneaker.
"THERE THEY ARE!!!!!" came the hysterical cry.
Suddenly it was pushing, pushing everywhere. Panting, feverish girls, clawing desperately at a goal they thought they could reach, tried to push each other towards the open limo. They all wanted to see their lust objects, sexy and perfect in every way, just like their magazine bibles said.
The disillusioned host turned away from the window in spite. The crowd for that day's audience was being instructed on when to clap and when to smile and when to cheer. Are you gonna tell them when to fart too? He wondered to himself. He would have continued in his sardonic thoughts, but he was distracted by the countdown from an underpaid stagehand which was telling him that soon he would have to slip into the persona that all of America knew as his, the host they tuned into every weekday to see if the #2 video could horde enough votes and pleads to knock the #1 video on it's ass.
"3….2….1…."
He forced a happy smile and started to read the cue cards, internally counting down the minutes until he could leave the studio and get some food at the street vender, selling roasted peanuts to hordes of uninterested tourists.
5.
"Peanuts!! Roasted peanuts!!" I turned my nose up at the smell.
"Gross." I muttered. I walked along the street fair, stopping to look at silver jewelry for my mom, and maybe some dress socks for my dad, after all, 3 for 10 bucks isn't bad at all…I thought. I bought some overpriced food and burnt my tongue on it. I cursed and looked for Italian ices, or something that would soothe my scorched mouth. I passed by some Native American men playing instruments, and then 3 blocks later, I could have sworn I passed the same men. They were playing some song, the one from that movie where the poor guy loves a rich woman and they all die in the end because the boat hit some ice or something….I don't remember, I saw it with my girlfriend, which explains why I don't remember it.
I was standing in line for more food as a lady passed me with a little girl passed out in her stroller. I noticed that she was missing a shoe.
"Ma'am…" I said. She didn't bother to look my way. I shrugged my shoulders and muttered "fine, be a bitch, see if I care, your loss."
I sat down on bench by the park and watched some little boy with black hair chase after pigeons. He seemed pretty smart for a two-foot-tall terror. He would sneak up behind them, and then screech at some unnatural pitch and pounce on them like a cat does with a kitty toy. His nanny seemed more interested in speaking her native tongue with a fellow au pair. Judging by their gesticulations and facial expressions, they were gossiping.
My cell phone rang. It was my girlfriend.
"Oh my god, I'm in Times Square and I'm on TRL!! OH MY GOD!!!" She shrieked. That was about all I could make out before I went deaf from the screams that surrounded her. Then I lost the connection. I made a mental note to tape MTV the next day, to see if she was just deluded as usual or if she was actually on TV.
6.
When she reached home, Caroline (she stopped calling herself Carrie because she felt it was too childish.) felt her shoulders slump. She peered down at the slumbering daughter that she helped bring into this world two years and four days ago. It was then that Caroline noticed that one of the brand new Barbie light up sneakers she had gotten her daughter for her birthday was missing.
"Damnit." She muttered under her breath. She quickly removed the shoe and hoped that the memory of a two-year-old was not very good. Caroline started to remove the child from the stroller, but decided that she liked the peace and quiet and left her where she lay. Caroline made herself a cup of jasmine tea and curled up in front of her large window and watched the street below. An ambulance followed by two fire engines roared up 5th Avenue. Jarred out of her daydreams of when she was free and careless in college, Caroline looked over at her daughter, who was showing signs of waking up. Panicked, Caroline wheeled her daughter into her bedroom and murmured a lullaby, the words of which she had half forgotten, until she was sure the baby was slumbering once more. Caroline returned to the window to find her tea ice cold. Defeated, she threw it down the sink and turned on the 12 O'clock news.
"Rap mogul Puff Daddy is in New York today…." The generic voice droned on, as Caroline watched a long line of limos go up 5th Avenue with feigned interest.
"Maybe it's Puff Daddy…." Caroline murmured to herself. She fell asleep.
7.
"Yo man, turn that up!" Tanique shouted from her perch on top of the wall. Thomas obeyed her command, and the voices of P. Diddy (the artist formerly known as Puff Daddy) and his latest protégé filled the alleyway.
Tanique jumped off the top of the wall and knocked over a can of paint in the process. She turned the can upright, looked at Thomas and waited to be told what to do. Thomas just shrugged his shoulders and picked up another brush and filled in the finishing touches on his mural.
The saddened face of Amadou Diallo stared back at him, surrounded by words of dedication and love. Thomas didn't know why he felt compelled to create this mural on a random alleyway near his home, but he did it anyway. He had no connection with the slain West African, yet he, like many others, had been touched by the tragedy. Unlike many of the touched, however, he did not blame the NYPD, he just saw it as another tragic event that took place in the large city in which he lived. But Thomas had always been philosophical like that. He never saw things as they were, but only as they affected the greater world that surrounded him.
Tanique materialized at his side. "Is it done?" she asked, the awe in her voice apparent.
"Yeah, I'm done…" Thomas' voice trailed off.
"It's beautiful, Thomas. Let's get outta here before we're in trouble."
Thomas nodded and threw away the paint and placed his brushes in a bag that he slung over his shoulders.
A few hours later, there was a knock on Thomas' door. As usual, no one was home, so he answered it, slightly bewildered at who it could be.
A stern voice greeted him in an unfriendly tone.
"Are you Thomas Marshall?" it asked.
"Uuuhh, yes?" Thomas said, slightly unsure of what was happening.
"Place your hands behind your back please. Thomas Marshall you are under arrest for the crime of graffiti. You have the right to remain silent. If you refuse that right, what you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided to you…." The voice faded as Thomas got lost in his thoughts. How could he be arrested for creating art in for all the public to see? He wondered.
Before he was led out of his apartment he found his voice. "Wait, can I at least turn off the stove?" The officer scoffed at him and forced him down the stairs. Thomas kept his head held high until he exited the building, when he saw TV cameras and reporters all waiting to see who this criminal was. Thomas then hung his head in shame. Shame for the world, shame because he had committed a crime, shame because the public did not understand tragedy. Shame because he knew that he would see Tanique once he got to the police station.
8.
"This just in: a fire has spread in a Harlem building due to a stove being left unattended. Fatalities include a family of four, and ten others are reported to be injured at this time. We will have more information for you later in the broadcast."
I changed the channel in disgust. "I hate that new CBS anchor." I muttered. I turned on NBC, to see what they had to say.
"Fourteen people died today and thirty seven were injured. There were nineteen new family members born today, and one lucky Queens mother gave birth to four healthy babies. All in all, it was just another day in New York!" Chirped the anchor.
I turned off the TV.
My muscles ached and my Latin homework was undone. I changed out of my basketball uniform and sat down to battle with Virgil. My cell phone rang. It was my girlfriend. Again.
"Hey what's up, how are you? How was the game?" She asked in one breath.
"Fine, it went well, we won." I said, feigning exhaustion as an excuse to hang up. It worked. I think it's time to let go…I thought. She annoyed me more than anything else….
My head jerked up. I had fallen asleep on top of Virgil. I started to look at the clock and took the hint and crawled into bed instead. School could live without me tomorrow. Right before I fell back asleep I reached over and turned off my cell phone, so I couldn't be awoken by my new ex girlfriend. Sleep was far more important.
I dreamt Virgil became my ex's new boyfriend.
