Authentic Brooklyn

 

Now that I have access to a keyboard I can be more expansive in my descriptions. I wanted to tell you about an incident that happened while on the way up to Shoshana's, at the very start of the vacation. I was almost to her apartment, in fact I could see the building when this car stopped in the middle of the street in front of me. There was room along the curb but it stopped plumb in the middle of the one lane of traffic. A woman got out of the passenger side, closed the door and stood there. The car remained stopped. It began to rock back and forth, quieted, then rocked again. The rear passenger door opened and a flip flop was thrown onto the pavement. Another flip flop followed. The car rocked again and a huge black woman emerged, one leg at a time from the back seat. She fitted her fat feet into the waiting flip flops then hoisted herself upright. The cars behind me were honking but the woman paid no mind and sauntered over to join her friend on the curb.

I dunno, I kind of enjoyed the show. It was like, classic ghetto [ironic disdain] or something. Not that the kids live in the ghetto. Au contraire. They live in Renaissance Lofts, an old beauty college converted to condominiums, though Shoshana and Amir are only renting. It's an up and coming part of the city but bad neighborhoods are close by. Although still within walking distance of the Big Lake it's not advisable to do so, like we used to when they lived in Wrigleyville.

It's interesting; one couldn't really say that there's a neighborhood there, where they live now. That's Shoshana's biggest complaint about the move. Every necessity is close to hand, but it's all insulated and characterless. Where Jonah lives in Brooklyn, by contrast, is neighborhoods (plural) on steroids, all overlapping. Williamsburg is a trendy part of the city now. What makes it trendy is that it's still affordable, relatively speaking. I never saw his East Village apartment that he was so proud of.

“So why move?” I asked.

“Half the rent,” was the answer.

Looking out his kitchen window my first question was, “What's up with all the Ohio flags?”

“That's Puerto Rico [duh].”

On the weekend the men set their chairs on the sidewalk (there are no stoops to speak of in this part of town). The women have their own gatherings but seemed much busier, what with children in tow. There was one elderly matron who had a wingback armchair against the curb, her subordinates distributed around her, either standing or seated on lesser thrones. We passed that way again, after dark. The people were gone but the armchair remained, with no rain in the forecast. Jonah paused to admire its upholstery.

Young children playing on the street, running up and down laughing, or riding their bikes (New York sidewalks are wide enough to accommodate life). That was mostly in the early evening, before or during the “blue dark.” All but the youngest children seemed to be occupied somewhere during the days. I know that summer school was in session. Jonah and his roommate both get their coffee from the office so it was up to me to find my own. I passed the junior high school in doing so and saw the kids waiting to enter. There were crossing guards on the corners, as if a New York kid didn't know how to cross a street, bless their hearts.

So yeah, the age groups congregated together. Only once did I see a bunch of restless adolescents that looked like they might be trouble. Then again, they didn't look that tough. I'd wager there was respect there. From Jonah's fire escape you can see the projects. I'm sure there's respect there too, but I wouldn't visit unless I had to (or had a guide?).

My first morning out in search of coffee I went the wrong way. If I'd been more perceptive the day before I'd have turned right on Bedford Ave. but I continued on down toward the East River and turned left, under the bridge. New York is always in transition. There's still industry along the river in Williamsburg, both functioning and defunct, as well as vacant lots that Jonah calls “rural Brooklyn.” I found the Bridge Deli and poured two coffees and a hot chocolate from the machine. There didn't seem to be any creamer so I turned to the guy who'd been standing at the counter playing with the store kitten and asked for milk?

“Sukar?” he looked confused.

“Leche.”

“Ah...” he pointed to the cooler next to the coffee station where I found an open gallon.

“Gracias.”

“OK”

I thought it was cool. I'd actually had a chance to use my very limited Spanish. Alright, I've had other opportunities which may or may not be recorded in The Reluctant Trucker but I always get a kick out of it.

Eh, the coffee was good and Shoshana said the hot chocolate was some of the best she'd ever had. I didn't want to tell her it came from a machine. So on Monday I went back to the Bridge Deli despite that I'd since realized my logistical mistake. I'm glad that I did. I'd already seen several Hassidic Jews with their ringlets, including a couple guys in their fur hats on the Sabbath, despite the heat, but it was cool to see a school bus with Hebrew on the side, no English, and the little boys with their little ringlets inside. They're kind of like Jewish Amish, in a way.

There had been an attractive young Latina sitting on the step (not stoop) when I'd set out that morning. She was still there when I returned. I thought I'd use my Spanish again and said, “Pardon.” She came back with a Brooklyn, “Hi, how ah ya?” I saw her again the next morning, our last in New York. On my way back into the building she asked, “Did you just move in or something?”

“I wish,” I thought, but said aloud, “No, I'm visiting my son.” We chatted briefly, wished each other well, then parted.