We Saw You Old ManBlack and white. The blue sky frames the area as far as I can see. The kids on the bus are quiet. It's too early for the whoops and hollers that I can expect to hear on the way home after school. Winnie, the bus driver slows down to pick up the last kid, than shuts off the aisle lights and drives on. No cars on the road. The icy air comes through the cracks in the windows.
As Winnie pulls around a bend in the road, blue and red lights blind us all. Everyone on the bus sits forward and stares through the windows. Men in uniform look cold and flustered, flagging us to stop. A car accident. A normal occurence, figuring we live along one of the most dangerous highways in Washington. But something was different about this one. No ambulance was there. No fire fighters to use the jaws of life. And the only car with a dent has been pulled to the side of the road.
What we can't see, we can't wait to know about. A policeman motions Winnie to start up the bus and drive on through, and all the kids press their faces against the windows. I take a deep breath, and cannot let it out. The mangled body I see on the ground is one I recognize. A purple bike folded in half, the tires flat and stripped. A pool of blood runs from a small pile of death, draining off into the grass on the side of the road. All the kids gasp as the bus picks up speed.
And Now There Is Starbucks
The Seattle Central District is where I'm from. Surrounded by Cherry Hill, Madrona, Leschi and Rainier Valley. The most racially and ethnically diverse place in Seattle. Once home to Jimi Hendrix, Quincy Jones, Sir Mix-a-lot, and Bruce Lee. And me. At a time walking down MLK Way was very dangerous. Everyone had a gun. Everyone was scared, and everyone was struggling financially. That was my time. I remember it all. Even if I was only 5 years old. I remember my neighbors, Frankie and her Cadillac. I still recall the smell of her house. It smelled of curling irons and old base board heaters.
I feel blessed to have started out in such a place. A place where happiness was still found in the middle of chaos. The police were corrupt, and the city ignored the crime that was slowly eating away at our small community. This forced my parents to move. Even though I was happy, they knew that wouldn't last much longer. So we moved to Beacon Hill. I remember feeling scared and concerned about this, because we spent so much time walking in and out of houses that were not ours, and I felt completely ripped away from everything I was used to.
I remember when the Church down the street was burnt down by the neighborhood gang in the middle of the night, and a flock of doves came bursting out of the roof just before it collapsed. Oh, I remember the big trees during the day flickering the sun all over the side walk where I drew with large pieces of pink chalk. I still see myself going next door and sitting on my friends porch in a one piece swimsuit and moccasins, biting my fingernails and laughing at anything and everything. These are my earliest memories, and my most cherished.