Until I Hear The Bricks Cheer

I live on a used to be island, a used to be cultured, a used to be a steal.

I live somewhere in between New York’s shadow and Jersey Cities’ toilet.

I live at the bottom of a bowl dressed in streets and pavements.

I live in Hoboken, the city with a long list of hobo’s and a long list of overpriced condos.

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I live in Hoboken, my mom lives in Hoboken and my mom’s mom lives in Hoboken separated by only a couple of apartment buildings that are filled with other moms. I procrastinated taking the journey to my father’s house because even though he lives in Hoboken... it's the other side. I remember the days when I was a lot shorter than 5’8 and I only wore a bra to give the illusion of breasts. I remember I tried to figure out where the old Hoboken ended and the new Hoboken began. I wanted to see if the past faded like a gradient. I never fully figured it out but I always knew when I left what was and entered what is.

There’s something so comforting and familiar standing in my mother’s apartment building, especially during the summer. It felt like projects came alive. The bricks seemed to sing and the wind seemed to dance. I could always hear the light rail behind the apartment building before seeing it because the train track began to shake. There went the whistle, then the wind stopped it’s dance so that the train could speed through leaving nothing but shaking tracks.

There was a playground to my left; Home to the Kids Joy. Their laughter carried over to me and stuck to my skin. Maybe it was my sweat. For a second, I forgot how hot it was. So hot that a little girl’s laugh somehow got stuck to my back. The projects are filled with life. Parents, aunts, and uncles sitting in fold out chairs gossiping about something they probably shouldn’t gossip about. Barbecues that produced an endless amount of burgers and a speaker that played September by Earth, Wind & Fire. I have never seen so many people so excited to sweat together. It’s contagious. For a moment, the world is covered in an orange tint. Something warm and carefree.

I walked by teens on their bikes. I walked by people with smoke in their lungs and beer in their hand. I walked by a baseball field filled with fake green grass where kids swing their bats and caught a ball. I walked by grandmas leaned up on a pillow that leaned against a window sill. I waved at mine.

Bricks decorated the streets , sheltered us from threats, and cheered our names to remind us we are alive. The farther I walked the less brick I saw and I mean old brick. The kind of brick that’s lived longer than me. The kind of Brick that holds so many stories. That kind brick has been pushed into the corner so it wasn’t long before I stepped out of the warmth into a sea of glass windows.

The new Hoboken held its new people up high. Buildings were high enough for the clouds to swallow the heads of its new people. Clouding their vision, smoothing out Hoboken’s rough edges, wiping it clean leaving its people oblivious to the world Hoboken used to be. Under the layers of condos and private schools used to the homes of the people who couldn’t afford to live in a cloud.

The closer I got to my fathers house, the closer I got to the clouds. On the way I saw some stores I had never seen before and some I did. I enjoy it up there. Being able to afford a cloud, something my parents never had. The luxury to see Hoboken through a clouded lens.

I will never feel

as comfortable

as warm

as I do when I take off the lens and

hear the bricks cheer

the wind dance

the tracks shake

the kids laugh