The Window

I grew up on the north east corner of 17^th and Delaware Avenue in a small six unit building that sat on top of a hill. The building was painted beige and every window had bars on them. Across the street on the south east corner my little bro’s best friend lived in the front house of a duplex. In the twenty plus years we lived there they never had each other’s telephone number. All they ever did to get a hold of one another was open up a window and yell out each other’s name. On the south west corner was Woodlawn Cemetery, our playground. Across from there on the north west corner were a row of tiny one bedroom bungalows. We lived in the corner apartment and had corner windows and views of the entire street, from 16^th street, the Cemetery and all four corners. My Stepdad was known for posting himself at the living room window. He leaned out of it all afternoon watching the action going on. We never had an air conditioner. We slid open the windows and an enormous breeze filled the two bedroom apartment. My bedroom window faced Delaware Avenue.

It seemed that I was grounded my entire High School years and in order to make up for not being able to go out at night with my friends I ditched school. At times to be with my first boyfriend or to hang out with my friends. I made out with my boyfriend at his house while his Mom was at work, gathered with my friends and had impromptu parties at someone’s house and drank a lot of Crazy Horse forty ounce beer. My homegirls and I attempted to learn to smoke cigarettes from my friend’s older sister as we sat around her kitchen table. Sometimes a bunch of us piled into one of the older homeboy’s car and drove up Pacific Coast Highway and partied in one of our many spots along the coast. I had from eight in the morning to three in the afternoon to do whatever I wanted and I did. It was easy to finally reappear at school after being gone for weeks because I had discovered the erasable pen. Whenever I decided I was going to attend school again I wrote down on a piece of paper that I had read for a half hour per my homework for English class and asked my Mom to sign off. After she signed and in the privacy of my room I immediately erased the couple of lines to now read the excuse for being absent. My Mom eventually caught on and a vicious cycle started. She did everything she could to tame me. Nothing worked. If she grounded me, I ditched. When she took the phone away from me (I don’t mean not allowing me to use the phone because she did that as well), she would actually either take the phone with her when she left the house or hide it. The times she hid the phone I found it. I did my best detective work back then and always found the phone (she thought I would never look in the hamper, but I did). After a while I had saved up enough of my lunch money and bought a phone at Thrifty’s. As soon as she and the family left the house I plugged in my phone and spent hours talking with my friends.

Due to my never ending punishment, my weekends were spent sitting on my bedroom floor writing to my homeboys in prison, Victor, Boxer, Spider and Porky. At times I wonder how I didn’t end up a reporter. Not only did I keep the guys in prison up to date on things happening in the neighborhood, I also included stacks of pictures. I always had a camera with me and because of that my photo albums were legendary. To show they appreciated me, I regularly received beautiful art work.

The corner I lived on was the shit back then. Everyone hung out on the corner of my building. The weekends were busy with music and the Grave Yard Crips playing dice on one corner and the homeboys and homegirls making their way down from 16^th street to either kick it on the corner or make their way over to another hang out spot, the dead-end at 21^st street. My bedroom window was pretty popular. It was more like a drive through window. Everyone tapped at my window day or night. The building was pretty old which meant the windows were old and whenever anyone tapped, the entire window rattled. On the nights when all my friends got together and hung out they always made sure to come by my window and keep me company as I sat on top of my dresser and rested my forehead on the rusty bars. Or, if they were in a hurry someone always yelled out, “MARI!” as they passed by to let me know I was thought of.

Throughout the years my window saw a lot of action. It was at my window were I learned of my boyfriend Alfredo being shot as he was on his way to my window, of countless death’s, messages that had to be delivered and Alfredo and I getting to know each other better as he sat on my front door steps and I sat on top of my dresser.

X

P.S.

When I become very rich, I am going to buy my old building and build a home on that corner.