ghost town: before and after

greenwich village, december 1994. condensation fogs my glasses like momma’s kettle as i run to the corner store, snow crunching hard candy under my boots. patchwork clothes rise and fall with my heaving chest, a jigsaw puzzle sewn too tight to unravel. bennie’s overalls, erma’s scarf, papa’s tweed. ruddy-faced, i smile at the gray sky, an empress and her new clothes.

mr. lee opens the door before i knock, rubbing tomatoes faster than a shoeshiner on wage day. i am too mesmerized by the lollies to notice how he hides the stained sleeve behind his arm when another customer rings. penny pops glint like jewels; mr. lee catches me drooling and smiles when i sneak a coin from erma’s allowance. the doorbell chirps its two-note song, sending me off to the playground.

jackie is sitting on the seesaw, fiddling with the blue beanie i knitted for her. she counts to ten while i search the pockets of my overalls. (mrs. blume called jackie her star student, after all.) sheepishly, i hold out the gift. she smiles brighter than christmas lights, hugging me and licking the strawberry penny pop like lipstick. we make snow angels, staring at chimney smoke and imagining a world past the chainlink fence. before i leave, jackie presses a box in my hand: a bracelet threaded from rainbows. for you, she says. so you won’t forget this christmas!

i come home, flushed, frostbitten, and flying on top of the world.

/

greenwich village, december 2014. passerby stop outside storefronts, clutching lattes in one hand and designer bags in the other. the graffiti has been painted over; blank walls subdue the colors writhing like snakes. polished windows and picket fences gleam pretty in the snow. (even the sky is the color of a dewdrop as snowflakes fall. i can hear it weeping.) i hide under the scarf, searching for the musk of home. papa’s spiced leather, momma’s pumpkin pie. storebought cotton stings my nostrils, and i am left gasping for air.

no weeds sprout along the sidewalk anymore. trees grow centered in little squares and i feel dizzy as mr. lee is nowhere to be seen. monogrammed displays sear the backs of my eyelids. where is the awning i spent so many years under? where are the handpainted signs i stacked against the crates? his smile is fading from my memory. (why does it look like a grimace?) “hey!” heart leaping, i turn around. an empty window stares back at me. rubbed away, the letters Lee’s Corner Store.

it is christmas eve and i am stumbling across the city, feet searching for a childhood lost under the asphalt. flyers nailed to brick walls and no chainlink fence to be seen. a woman in sunglasses brushes my shoulder. “oops, sorry.” jackie pauses as i search her eyes. does she remember? she squints. “do i know you?” you used to. snow melts bitter on my tongue and my throat swells too thick to swallow. gingerly, i unbutton the bracelet from my wrist and tie it around hers. “no.” her confusion is palpable in the frosted air.

i whisper to the snowflakes dotting the ground like flowers. they are already melting, already wilting on the pavement. but i used to know you.