Nueva Brooklyn #4
Updated: Sep 21
A 'Brooklyn Zoo' Story
Brooklyn New Wave
Flipping the script on the famous question, "Where Brooklyn at?" Seriously... where is Brooklyn... at? Where we at yo'?! Like a monster under the bed, lurking, waiting for an opportune time, is what gentrification has been to Brooklyn and its siblings. This unwanted beast, now boldly struttin' 'round every New York neighborhood, fat and happy on the souls of natives. Brooklyn, we keeps it a buck but this week's tale has a different cadence; a story in morsel form for the palate… in a more… digestible fashion. Enjoy your nibblies!
Remember that buffet spot on Fulton and that poppin' Chinese joint on Smith? The one on Smith between Warren and Baltic and China Hong on Smith and Warren. Remember the 99 cent stores that were so generously sprinkled throughout Brooklyn and the rest of the City? They fo'sure were clutch! Remember the piragua cart that stayed pullin' through yo' hood... where are they—where they at?! Where is the corner store that held your cellphone during school and gave you madd food for little money? Remember the pastelillos in the case next to the register? Where are they?! Remember the home you grew up in... where is it? Where dem New York bagels, toasted wit cream cheese for $1.50 at tho?! If you was really hungry, you got an everything bagel with butter, cheddar cheese and bacon for only $2.50 at Ziad's. For real tho, where our stuff at!!!
Gentrified but Never Spiced or Deep-Fried!
"People moving out, people moving in. Why, because of the color of their skin?" sings Rachel. In the dark she scarfs down Ramen. "Having a roof over your head and eating is more important than being able to see, right? I mean... it's only dark for a certain amount of hours... I don't need Wi-fi. Got my phone. I got a flashlight—I’m guud!" Staring blankly at long shadows cast by street lights, Rachel finishes her dinner, flipping her Styrofoam bowl and chopsticks into the sink.
Myriam struggles to manage several shopping bags after doing compra. Her hips and arms sway as she muscles the groceries. Out of breath, she clasps her inhaler. Bringing the pump to her mouth, Myriam presses down on the canister. She inhales deeply. The first of the month came and went, and so did her Cash Assistance and Food Stamps. This month's compra came by way of pawn, bracelets and other jewelry passed down and gifted. Her 9 to 5 and side-hustle of hairstyling ain't enough. Nearing home, she passes a slew of unfamiliar bars and eateries despite having lived in the neighborhood for years—foreign places, faces and smells! Transplants refusing to move deliberately block her way to enjoy rolled cigarettes. They stare with disgust and a contemptuous smugness. Weary and longing for her evening café, Myriam avoids curbside patrons locked in empty banter. She takes a short cut down a desolate block.
Sunlight lays across vacant warehouses conjures strange shadows as Myriam navigates broken glass and used condoms en route to her block. She's greeted by freshly raised scaffolding obscuring the skeletons of luxury apartments. "Scheduled for Fall 2017" reads a sign posted at the worksite. A soft voice, interwoven with chaotic drums carried on a hiss calls out to Miriam from behind the façade. She’s startled and inches away from the construction site clutching her crucifix. She mutters a saintly prayer. Crying out, the voice bellows, shaking the scaffolding and the building's foundations. "Release me, for I have laid in darkness under this wretched debris and rubble for ages!
"¡Ay Dios!" Miriam screams, dropping her groceries and running away.
TaQuan stands at a window of a one bedroom that he shares with his mother, two younger siblings and his cousin. Thoughts louder than thunder roar, "When is it my turn?" as he picks at chipped paint. Roaches climb the side of a dresser for the remains of a mayonnaise and cheese samich left by accident.
"My dreams ain't matchin' my reality!"
Refusing to abandon hope, TaQuan peers outside, desperate for anything to refute his reality. He focuses on roommates loading a moving truck across the street. His daydream is interrupted by his cousin, "Aye, yo' moms want you in the kitchen." 24/7, and ain't no rest for the weary in this place. No room for self, no room for thoughts or reflection, just struggle and fight in these Captive Wilds!
A landlord turned slumlord, an unresolved infestation of rats and roaches, paired with no heat or hot water for months forces Brandon, Kyle, Timothy and Cameron, all roommates, to break their lease. The spacious apartment was "love at first sight" for the four creatives. All was well until it wasn't! It was one thing then another—then multiple unaddressed issues landed the roommates in court against the landlord.
Brandon circles the U-Haul carrying a medium-sized box with "fragile" written in big, bold letters. He loads it onto the truck. Timothy grabs the box, schlepping it deeper into the U-Haul. The four continue to pack the truck until dusk. Collecting the keys from his roommates, Brandon plods to the residence, slipping them into the mailbox. Stressed, tired and hungry, the four cram into the U-Haul and drive off, proposing to never encounter such an experience ever again!
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