Brooklyn

Charlie, my very dear Ocean Grove and beyond friend, you asked what I find in Brooklyn that keeps me in Brooklyn.

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She came out of the elevator, Martha, whose babies’ daddy was a big celebrity, extraordinary drummer and composer who played with Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, Duke Ellington. We’ve known each other more than 40 years. We spent one Christmas Eve together at Anthony’s apartment upstairs. He made seven fishes. That was fun.

She’s a Buddhist, lifelong Buddhist. As a 94 year old Black woman, she’s been through the worst our country has inflicted on Black people. Today, she decries the loss of affirmative action.

She was skeletal. “My son just died, Lou Gehrig’s disease.” I was breathless. Her tears fell; her heart was breaking, mine, too.

“My son, Darvin,” the photo on the wall in her apartment. “He chose this white sofa; you know, I’d never have white. He’s a Hollywood type, an actor, dramatic, handsome, like his daddy.

“I keep this cabinet closed; people call me ‘the funny lady.’ This, this here is my beautiful altar. Here’s where I meditate, where I find some peace.”

I saw her today. She hugged me. I wept.

—-

I just took Mollie for a walk and ran into Karen and her dog Taco, who’s been with her as long as Mollie’s been with me, nearly 13 years. She works full time in the City, sometimes at home. We like each other. She bakes cookies for Tico. Mollie never takes cookies from her, yet smothers her with kisses. Karen loves dogs, is distant with people, maybe shy.

“Taco has cancer. There’s a tumor on his heart.”

“What can I do? Can I give you a …?” She leaned in toward me.

——

I also met Mona and her happy dog Jackie. What makes that dog so happy? Mona’s an angry senior; stooped, sloppy, toothless (always having work done), smart, tactless, actually, offensive. “I’m just being honest. Ya want me to lie?” Neighbors avoid her, say she’s a racist. I doubt it. She insults everybody.

She wags her finger, “I’ll come after you if you don’t call me!

When I had Covid, she left a pot of homemade chicken soup by my door.

—-

Thirty-nine years old, “Tino, like the Vodka,” he says. A totally unexpected heart-to-heart just happened standing in the cold with our pups. He’s an atheist living in Bklyn; this cost him a lot.

Born in a tiny conservative section of Rhode Island, his parents raised their three kids to be dutiful evangelical Christians. And, he obliged until he went to high school, had friends different from him, read books other than scripture, and had very pleasant experiences only whispered about. He asked questions; he tried. The answers just didn’t work for him.

His family turned their backs on him; his mom stays in touch.

“Yea, it hurts a lot to see my brother and sister still there.”

What courage!

—-

That’s just four experiences in a very brief period; characters I have come to know and care about—even Mina with the chicken soup.

I know people in Ocean Grove have challenging, some harrowing stories. But the Ocean Grove people are more like each other than my Brooklyn neighbors. The age, financial position of Ocean Grove people, combined with the appreciation of quiet, small-town living attracts similar kinds of people.

The city offers a multitude of jobs, religious facilities, educational opportunities to people of all classes, cultures, ages, faiths, non-faiths. It’s that diversity that fills my soul with love and empathy and life.