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yesterday i got off work around three. rode my bike to my apartment and decided to walk through downtown in the hot sun. coconut scented sunscreen was all over my face. the air was warm and still, i forgot how near the sea was. the sun on my face felt hot, i knew i was protected this time. white eye in the sky
powell was cluttered with mothers and children. italian and french. tourist maps littered the sparkly sidewalk in front of h&m. i shuffled inside and took a quick peek. the store was overflowing with suburbanites in their best outfits. gays in bootcuts and faux d&g sunglasses. i saw a set of young girls, their eyes overly lined. i imagined them sucking in their cheeks and taking pictures of themselves for their internet profile. that was their reality. different, edgy, bad. their mother appeared. i felt the tension between them. she was dressed in her daughters taste. cheap and adolescent. nothing about them was true. i turned the corner down ellis, en route to use my crate & barrel gift card i've managed to carry around for almost a year. i had to part a group of guys in their uniforms; red beanie, plaid shirt, skinny levi's, red keds. i didn't meet their minimum requirement i wondered when they decided it was okay to buy the bright red sneakers. who approved such fashion? what would be their next desire?
i stood in front of the apple store, listening to the competing performances on market street. a tall, lean, black man with a rough face and big pretty white teeth. he was smiling with his drumsticks beating on home depot paint buckets. he was really living. the whites of his eyes were yellow. across the street was someone my age, from a completely different world. equipped with amp and guitar. there was a constant flow of people pushing and barging their way through the cramped sidewalks. oblivious to the sounds. turning and gawking at the human beings laying on the sidewalk asking for some help. i had waisted enough time downtown.
i took the escalator down to cut through the bart concourse and emerge on 5th street. i contemplated entering the mall and dashing through bristol farms and helping myself to a couple pineapple chunks and some fried shrimp from their food buffet, avoiding eye contact with anyone in a red gingham. sampling is stealing. i was down to business now, it was about speed. no more observations, pit stops. the stairs leading back up to market street were lined with disposable food containers. jamaba juice, wetzels pretzels, panda express. i knew there were people who came to visit my city, never entering the outdoors, the truth never to be seen. all the comforts of their life, their safe life. the grit and grim were all avoided as they stuffed their flabby faces with familiar mall food. i was more than anxious to be back above ground. the sun returned to my face.
walking quickly i passed the chronicle building. i couldn't help but think about my father. his job at his newspaper, how much longer it would last. didn't they see it coming? is this capitalistic meltdown their excuse? did they think they could ignore this emerging generation that doesn't have time to open up a paper the size of a tablecloth? this generation of eye liner, red tennis shoes, plaid shirts and sucked in cheeks? "its a natural cleansing" i had said before. these are my parents. that is their home. their jobs. they didn't choose this.
after strolling through the long soma blocks i arrived at ashley's alleyway. the donut shop on the corner, the tax ninja offices, the hum of the freeway. under the scaffolding i say forty ounce beer bottles lined up, a few steps further urine puddles in the uneven sidewalk. unconsciously i inhaled the sour stench. the real city. the day was perfect. i imagined having a block party here: a ghetto blaster, card table, folding chairs, sangria. i had the picture so focused in my mind i walked past her front door.
"you're the one who turned left as we were leaving my place". i was terrified of sixth street. i could handle the cuts of larkin, hyde or leavenworth. that was my ghetto, this was hers. it was different here, the streets were wider, the blocks were larger and i had horrible memories of past encounters. i knew the tenderloin. what corners are bad. when to jaywalk, when to cross the street. sixth street was new to me, someplace i avoided. apprehensive and suddenly stoned we walked down sixth. the sidewalk was scattered with people holding clear plastic cups with red juice inside and paper plates with mashed potatoes and chicken. the true residents, this is their home. a little boy ran in between us, followed by an angry mother. her face was hard. she turned to her friend. "gimme that there belt off your jeans". ashley and i walked faster. she turned to me and asked if i heard that, saw that. that's how people grow up. we both knew there were worse things.
waiting for the bus to come felt like eternity. seconds were minutes, minutes hours. sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the wall and his legs straight out was a man, eyes spun. in front of him was his counterpart. she stood above him, her back bent in half, face next to his. wrinkly ass crack for all to see. five feet from us i would hear her rasp at him. we knew this was a safe distance, not too close or far. we knew we had to appear use to this, immune. someone walked by grumbling, yelling. he sat his half eaten paper plate on a freshly painted green garbage can. the woman turned and retrieved it, fed it to her mate. his eyes rolled into the back of his head, asleep, shaking. "THEY CAN'T TAKE OUR FAMILY" she was screaming. she turned around, back still bent in a half, eyes staring out into nothing. she took steps close to us, but veered towards the nothingness next to us. she screamed out into the street, or at someone invisible in front of her. "YOU FUCKED MOTH BALL YOU FUCKING MOLESTED MY MOTH ASS MOTHER FUCKER MY SISTER YOU MOLESTER MOTH BALL FUCK". A man walked by, equipped with leather boots, a large green trench and the face like he was dead. zombie. she pivoted her bent in half body and hugged him as he walked by. it was all so natural, almost graceful. he let her hug him, and she shreeked "my brother!". how did her voice sound as it did? how was her throat so scratched and dry? they choose this life. a bus came, but not the one we waited on. a man with a plastic cup with red juice entered. i felt the uneasy vibes wave out at me from inside the bus. the red juice came flying out. i watched the liquid as it was airborne. i saw it glow in the sun as it was slowly pulled down to the stained sidewalk. the woman turned to a small latina lady, holding fruits and vegetables tight in their pink plastic bags. she approached her, mouth open, slobbering. "MY SISTER" the broken lady screamed. she hugged her, the embrace was short. the latina woman quickly pushed her off and boarded the bus. it was safer there. i noticed an indian woman, dot painted bright red. she was next, the other sister. smart and quick she relocated behind us. my pulse was racing, i felt the beads of sweat accumulate on my nose. an ambulance came racing by. the noise of it all too familiar. i wanted to cover my ears and dull the blasts but embraced it instead, let it dull my sense of what was happening. i thought about what i would do if she came to us, to hug us, to attack us, to touch us. would i be a part of this world, belong here, be her brother? would i choose this? or be the moth ball fucking molester? she turned back to her mate, i was saved. he regained his consciousness and muttered out to her "baby this our life this is REAL this is the shit movies are made out of and it is fucking really happening". the bus sat there, stale. i looked at the driver. his sad eyes, unknowing what to do next. we didn't know what happened on that bus, we never will. the 14 finally came, we boarded. so did half of the bus behind us.
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