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Something Outside my Window

by Jay Cordero 3 years ago in humanity
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A journey of the beautiful Bronx

The Tree outside my window

It's a beautiful early summer day; the sun shines bright, and the cool wind sweetly wipes away the sweat droplets forming on your forehead. You walk towards the bodega. As soon as you step on the block, you hear in the distance the faint sound of lively bachata music; slowly, it gets stronger, permeating the streets with melancholic melodies of past loves and betrayal until you get to the bodega. Both the guy, Pedro, and the bodega cat or Mr. Manager, as you call him, greet you at the same time.

"The usual?" he asks, as Mr.Manager rubs his soft gray fur against your bare leg. You squat down to scratch behind his ear until he purrs at you.

"Turkey sandwich with cheddar cheese," Pedro says as he packs your sandwich in a paper bag. He stuffs a few extra napkins in the bag. He knows you always ask for them. You take the paper bag and pay with a smile on your face. This is home. You thank Pedro and wish him a good day. You then say goodbye to Mr. Manager, who follows you until you're at the door of the store.

You walk towards the park, which is only a few blocks in front of you. There are cars of all colors and types like small red Toyotas and navy blue Hondas. You read the license plates as you walk; most of them are from New York except for one, which is from New Jersey, the "garden state" as the plate states. You become distracted, looking at license plates, searching for one that is from out of state until your neighbor stops you.

"Hey," She says, her smile spreading from ear to ear, "How's your mami?"

"She is doing fine. She's working right now." You respond.

"I'm glad." The air is filled with silence for a couple of seconds until your mom's friend tells you she has to go. She's going to cook some sancocho, a traditional broth dish with different meats and vegetables from the Dominican Republic, for lunch, and that is going to take her all morning to cook. You wish her a good day with the same energy and warmth as she gave you. The pleasant exchange left you smiling. You think about how nice it is to live in a neighborhood where there is a strong community. This reminds you of the home you left behind when you were a little girl.

You see the trees dancing with the wind. They invite you to join them while their leaves and flowers ruffle in the sky without a worry in the world. Their beauty and grace captivate you. Once you enter the park, you step on the soft ground covered in grass and dandelions. There's a narrow path towards the center of the parkway. However, you decide to keep walking on the grass. After all, it's not every day that you go out and walk in the grass anymore.

You walk for a while, letting the sun warm up your skin, you can feel the heat of the sun rays as it travels from space towards the earth beneath you.

"Jay," your mother calls from a distance. Suddenly the world around you starts to crumbles down. Everything is disappearing, the grass, the cars, the dandelions. Only a single tree, a blue curtain, is left behind. Then you see the frame of the window, its rusty metal sitting there. Then everything slows down, and you realized you were just daydreaming while looking out of the window.

"Jay!" Your mother calls again. She comes into the room and finds you sitting in bed, just staring out of the rusty window. "What do you want for dinner," She asks you.

"Hmm," you think about it for a second, "Turkey sandwich with cheddar cheese from the deli downstairs."

"Great!" your mother laughs loudly "I won't have to cook. You laugh with her.

Maybe you are not outside with the beautiful trees or the singing birds. However, you have a community and family that loves you. You have a window that lets in the sunshine, and a curtain to cover it when the days are gray.

My favorite place to daydream


About the author

Jay Cordero


Ever since I was little I loved stories; they made me feel connected to something bigger than myself. This is why I am working towards becoming a writer. I want to be able to replicate the bliss I feel when reading for my readers.

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