benevolent intentions

Why does it feel like the neighborhood wakes up at midnight.

The Amtrak rushes by to Chicago, Pittsburgh, Cleveland and you haven’t quite figured out the schedule but it always choses the exact moment when you’re falling asleep to rattle the rails.

The Amtrak runs its course, the reverberations of the rails recede into the noise of traffic, and then you fall asleep to the low wail of sirens as they run here and there, down Woodward and up Brush, until their rise and fall lulls you to sleep.

Sights of the lower North End

Walking down Bethune St in August, there was always a basketball game going. Now its 15 degrees and the park is iced over, you occasionally see the neighbors sitting on the park benches with their dogs. Remember when there was a DJ here every weekend for the afternoon barbecues? And you were angry, oh you were mad, cause the neighbors were gathered here, mask-less, eating their burgers and singing along to Outkast. During a pandemic you would mutter, every time you walked down Smith, past the chain link on the edge of the packed basketball court. Don’t they know there’s a god damn pandemic.

But now, deep in the Michigan winter, what you would give for any indication of joy on the North End. You walk back from the iced-over park, and down Woodward towards the Amtrack rails. Up the icy stairs, fighting your overeager dog to keep from slipping.

You look down the Amtrak rails, the perceived culprit of your insomnia. It’s peaceful now, at sunset—the buildings in the distance glistening in the orange light. You walk down the tracks, your dog setting the pace as she plays in the snow. Eventually, she gets cold and starts shivering. You turn back.

Back at the big blue house. You make your way up the uneven steps, give a reproaching glance to the pumpkin on your stoop that you’ve been letting rot since November. It’s not like anything matters right now anyway.

Thoughts on the lower North End

I always thought I would be happier than this.

You go through the first 20 something years of your life thinking “things will get better than this.” But here I am. What if this is it?

You nestle further under the blankets on your stained blue couch.

What if this is the best things get. What if you never see another concrete change? What if this is simply your life and you either have to be happy with it or suffer? After everything, all of your hard work, here you are.

Here you are. In your big blue house with your little blue-nosed dog, and your deeply blue state of mind. What if this is all you’ll ever be?

Maybe this isn’t how you planned to use your hard-earned college degrees. Maybe you didn’t plan to still be alone. Maybe you had forseen a more rewarding social life—it is a pandemic after all. Maybe, in some corner of your mind, you had thought that you would be happier than this.

But today—you watched the ice glint on the park benches at Bennett Park. You watched the sun set over the city skyline. Tonight, the sirens rushing up Woodward and down Brush will lull you to sleep.

I was so blinded, enamored by your sun-soaked skin that I held on, after the love was gone. I shaped my life around you, I had dreams of your grandeur—your growth, in place of my own. And I shriveled. Time after time, I went to bat for you; time after time, I was left detached, disowned. Your words were just that, and although I knew they were empty, I chose to believe them anyway.