An Unpleasant Place
There are times I look out my window and I can’t help but feel defeated. It’s as if this place sucks the life out of you. The streets are littered with trash and the sides of buildings are lined with bulky items waiting to be picked up. Chronics ride their bikes in and out of the street looking for their daily fix, their drug of choice may be ice but they’ll take whatever they can get their hands on. The couple upstairs in yelling again, fighting over the same ol’ BS. Kids are playing on the street all day, unattended. Parents either too drunk or high to give a damn. Some working two jobs to make sure they got a house to come home to. Kanuku Pl. reminds me that we are poor and everyone around us is in the same boat.
When my dad went to prison, my mother and I were evicted out of my childhood home. She split. Since then, I had moved into my grandma’s apartment on Kanuku Pl. My dad has since been released and now sleeps on a couch in the living room. Our little home is nothing to brag about, cream colored walls, floor tiles that resemble faux hardwood with the occasional mouse scurrying across. The vibe of our home changes depending on what time of the month you stop by. The first week or two is great. We eat family dinners, we turn on the A/C and leave the TV on. By the third week, we have most likely maxed out on our food stamps and search in the cabinets for canned goods. At the end of the month, we are pinching pennies and digging in our pockets for any loose change.
The walk to the mailbox is a painful experience for most here. There could be bills in there; collectors of debt, money they don’t have. With their money woes, you’d be surprised to see the cars some of these people drive. SUVs and lifted trucks with big sounds, rims and tires. I figure the higher the truck, the closer to God. Maybe it’s easier for him to hear their prayers from up there.
Kanuku Pl. comes alive in the nighttime. Flashes of blue and red lights cut across the darkness whenever emergency vehicles pull in. One night the police, another night an ambulance or firetruck. The whole street comes out to see what it is, who it is. Glowing, watchful eyes peep through windows. Some step out of their houses still dressed in their sleeping clothes and take the opportunity to light up a cigarette as they watch the show. Anyone could be next.
But this is home and as much as a hate it, I feel like I can’t leave. It is a constant reminder of what not to do in my life. One day, just one day, I hope to get out of Kanuku Pl. This is not my last stop.