The missing neighbors

I went to Greenpoint, Brooklyn after a long time. The Greenpoint Studio, where the artist’s husband carries his lunch box to work, used to be our nest.

It’s quiet outside. What happen? Where have all gone? The store that gave my husband beers and snacks on credit without hesitation, across the street closed the door some time ago. Now, a stranger is renovating it. It is pretty fancy to look at it glance.

The neighborhood is changing rapidly. I may ask if there is Joes next-door who is a source of information, but he has already died. I would ask. Sandra who waits for the postman on the day of the welfare check used to look out if I pass while supporting a pillow at the window and say, “what’s up? Jay, a front of the house also used to sit in the car and tell the atmosphere of the neighborhood with loud voices coming out of his huge body, but neither the car nor the person disappeared. Come to think of it, there is no Alex who used to sweep in front of his neighbor’s houses every in the morning.

I was crouched in the house all winter and when I visited in the summer the neighbors disappeared. Did they run away at midnight because they could not pay rent? Did they take the money that the landlords offer them and go back to their hometown? Latino neighbors could not see any sign of moving away. On the contrary, it is full of excitement for a new life of young and fresh white strangers who flock from all over the place.

In the winter of 1984, my husband I moved to Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It was quiet because it was winter. However, as spring passed and got warmer, the neighbors sat front of the house and began to make noise. It was no use trying to persuade them to be quite, yelling and calling the police.

Radio sounds, kids bicycle ride sounds, the barking of dogs’, adults yelling in particular the motorcycle sounds continued until early 90 's when crack drugs reached their peak. It’s been a nightmare for us. 

Countless single-mother whining children grew up and left for their mates. The old people left the world. But where are the middle-aged neighbors? Anyhow they were my neighbors who became fond of me.