Homesick

The obvious reason why I journey (2 hours & 15 minutes train ride) to Bensonhurst near sunset is because I'm homesick. The building blocks of my personality were fastened in childhood, in Brooklyn. To me, Brooklyn was less gangster/gritty. Instead it instilled a breadth of fleeting solidarity among my ex-friends and expired crushes, culminated with moments of retreat in my teenage life. There are spots I have romanticized: Bay Pkwy, Caesar's Bay, and 25th Ave.

Right before the sun sets I would buy a dollar cup noodle and eagerly sit on the lone bench at 25th Avenue and watch the sun's fading rays tuck behind the opposite train platform. The glare of the sunset penetrates the windows of the D train slowly pulling into the station. The pacifying tickle of the gentle breeze lulls me towards a reverie of summer. It reminds me of carefree days, well almost. I had to deal with the garrulous voice inside my head. If the train takes its sweet time I would watch the pigeons decide on when to take flight. I observe the stillness of the train platform washed in gold-amber. I hear my hurried slurps as I deliver steaming noodles to my mouth. In the winters this was my only source of warmth. The silence on the platform--all but a few discarded newspapers from hours past when there was life--reminds me that I'm the only one there. I'm alone and waiting. Waiting for someone or something. During this centurious wait, a sea of memories would wash me away, and I welcome it. I put my headphones on and listen to a fruity, sappy song that returns me to the high school afterschool days.

During my senior year I would disembark at 25th Ave to pursue a shortcut home. I would weave in and out of foot traffic, my fellow high schoolers--Asian gangster guys and girls who moved in packs--would be chatting it up and procrastinating their homework until their bedtimes. During my high school days, I always dreamt of being accepted into an Asian gangster clique and wear Northface or sleep around with handball chicks who amplified slim bodies in skin-tight outfits. I will always be intrigued by youth and its floundering stages where a teenager finds and shapes himself.

Cavallaro handball court was a site of memories. Prepubescent friends who would inspire me by tossing foreign slang; my ineffectual crush on Cheryl; shirtless handball matches with Cavallaro-peeps; and what quasi-friendships would result from my afterschool visits to play handball. Now that I think of it, I was more energetic, frenetic, and invigorated (and exhausted) during my senior year. Handball was a large part of my life and ego. I got a physical workout and I got to feed my ego by every win. Hm, I don't think I remember anything about handball anymore except for serving regulations and serves, oh and occasional "Push" to continue the game. I remember some ex-Cavallaro kids who peddled drugs and some wiser people who abstained from temporary highs. Thomas and I shared kindred moments there when we reflected on Brooklyn life. It's amazing how JHS kids can arouse such antiqued vigor and sprite in me (/us).

Caesar's Bay was the location for many haphazard film shoots, photoshoots, and clandestine "dates" or hangouts that festered during my teenage life. My homeboi Joe and I would travel through the uninteresting Cropsey Park and navigate deadly streets to get to the actual Bay. After going through the underpass which reeks of pigeon sh*t and echoes the rumble of vehicles, we would grab a bite at Wendy's where post-high schoolers lucied a job by social network. We would waffle for about an hour or so and look at our burgers disappear. Then we would weave through the vast parking lot leisurely. Joe loved to go to Best Buy while I wanted to get bargain jeans at Kohl's. When I'm with females I would take them for a lighthearted stroll along the bay, on the promenade where we could catch the expected sunset. When I look at the depth of the bay, when I stare at the winding banister, I realize how lengthy life is. But I never bothered to walk the entire bay, fearing the abyss of memories I would be consumed in.

Bay Parkway does not preserve as strong a romantic atmosphere partly because of the filth, excess of strangers on the block, and loud traffic life. My memories are less defined on this stretch of streets, but there's a sense of loneliness once it's past 9pms on summer nights. I would play my guitar on a bench and croon to occasional wayfarers who appeared heavyminded.

Once I make a left onto Bay 35th Street from Bay Pkwy, I escape the jungle of vehicles and pedestrians. I enter a familiar route back home. I used to live one block down b/w Bath and Benson right across from PS101. There was a sense of security living in front of a public school building--heck I even knew the security guard for some weird reason. I would often exercise and rendezvous with my ex-neighbors Raymond (who is probably 14 now! how he has grown!) and Sue in the school park. My closer neighbors included Jennifer and Angela, two wee ones my landlord attended to. I would always play my guitar for them when we lounged on my porch (wonder if they'll play guitar in the future). My four other neighbors included Sal and his older brother (future cop) who always played whiffleball; Mrs. Russo (I would have short convos with her while she smoked her cigarette on the porch) and her daughter Diana, a musician whom I would hear singing and playing guitar through my paperthin bedroom walls; and a few Chinese neighbors. Oh my God how could I forget Ken and his Dad David a few houses down. During nightfall, Raymond's mom and dad would pass me. It always struck me as funny that his mom was 5'10" and his dad was 5'6"! Jordan was another dude who walked by, but we were mere acquaintances. I'm sure that he looks down on me. I remember having a crush on this girl Tina who would visit her cousins one house down. I always thought she had moved into that house, ahahha. I was conveniently located near my friend Jessica's house. I would vacillate to and fro for bbqs, house hangouts, and small favors. At that time my apartment rent was terrific--$1000+; it forced my entire family to relocate to NY, NY. But I forged four years of my teenage life there in a small bedroom. But I did have a nice, bright living room-dining room. The kitchen was less generous. Oh my God, my parents had a blast because their room was huge! Sadly the walls started molding which pressed us more to move. I enjoyed my bedroom because every night I would fall asleep to the orange glow of the streetlight right outside my window. Now when I look right outside my window there's pollution and a stream of honking vehicles.