A Walk Down Broad
"The goal is to buy incense" I repeated as I walked past an old man sitting on the green of the sidewalk, casually yet sweetly asking for change. Recounting in my head how many quarters I saw in my wallet the last time I cracked it, I gave him a kind remark while assuring him I’d be right back. It was the first time I set foot in the post office my father worked in before I was born. My mother would muse about it as we drove down the heart of Broad Street when I was too young and could only listen. He was still present there - I imagined every day he must’ve touched the wood-slatted door opening to a pale blue mailroom with linoleum floors that looked like they’d never been buffered. I stare just shy of the mailman’s eyesight towards the back of the room where all the wooden slots sat open and still. And wonder if he was still here, would he come see me in the front where I stood, still a girl needing to get something settled. I think of that as the old man thanked me for change.
A half block down where old lottery tickets and cigarette butts lie in the crux of overpainted doorways and coffee shops is an African shop filled with soaps, authentic African clothing and the wears of our people. A year or so ago between the displays of organic oils and handmade soaps smelling sweet, on the lookout for shea butter, the owner’s son felt me up. Alone in the store I froze; not knowing whether to run, scream, fight back or stand up. I stormed out as fast as I could: ashamed and questioning whether my floor length black skirt was cause to reason. I drive past it on occasion and wonder what would I have done differently as the cardboard cutouts of women hawking detox juice smile back.
I remember the day I sat in Firehouse Theater, the week of my birthday and my mother nearly dying for the second time in three years. I sat in the front row with my Canon in my lap, hearing Johnnyswim and Marian Mereba for the first time. This is where I watched my brother spill his lyrics all over the audience like honey, girls throwing screams as I caught his picture. It’s where I snapped two of my favorite pictures, one of a man I’ve only met twice but we share that Virgo vibe. I try to block out the look on the doctor’s face as he handed me the DNR form days earlier and the glare from my aunt as I ask her what should I do.
I reminded of all of this as I stroll down the dusty strip of Broad Street on a Thursday afternoon. Then I remember the incense.
