Take Me Back to Brooklyn, Take Me Home
Here’s me turning back the clock to 1980s Brooklyn
The train shook and soared above ground. Summer swathed us in sweat; we peeled our sticky thighs off the subway seats and fanned our faces with the Daily News, Penthouse tear-outs, or whatever piece of paper we pinched off the ground. It was the kind of August where we’d sneak into movie theaters to feel the chill of the dark room and the smell of butter and popcorn we couldn’t afford to eat. We huddled close, posing as one another’s blankets and feigned the sleep of children even though we were adults fresh out of the womb. But there go our eyes in an hour and fifteen, blinded by the sunlight. Hands were curtains shielding us from the burn, the forever heat.
We were children who never slept with our mouths open. We rested on top of the sheets, one foot off the bed. Ready to run.
Sometimes, we’d shuffle to Sunset Park and feel the cut grass between our toes or the wet pavement from the pool water streaming through. Our eyes bloodshot from the chlorine. Our ears good and clogged, saving us from the nonsense everyone was spewing. Peddling their sad comeback stories, we wondered how could you have a comeback when you’d never leave?
Us girls had a pool going, a dollar, maybe two — quarters we nipped from our mother’s…
