Francette Carson
A letter to the Editor of One Twenty-Fifth
From a Black Girl in Harlem
Dear Editor of One Twenty-Fifth,
African Americans’ human realities are impacted by systematic social and political racism, and it has an effect on the expression of art created by African Americans. Therefore art is often produced under the “white gaze.” On the Corner of 127th & 5th, is a story with an angle of vision to show a social scene of modern life in progress without the influence of writing with the “white gaze” lurking over my shoulder.
The theme reflects the economic, social, emotional forces impacting the lives of urban people amid the cultural changes in Harlem. The contrast of personalities and experiences between two adolescent girls set the scene for an exploration of the neighborhood and dysfunctional behaviors of their neighbors and families. The subtle impact of migration, differences in raising of black children, social and emotional ills affecting our families and, community are explored. The progression of gentrification and lack of foresight regarding possible displacement and loss of cultural identity is reflected in the narrative.
It would be beneficial to many if, my story is published. My peers will be sure to read and reflect. The city official may glance through the story and be reminded of the working-class residents’ existence and their desire to preserve their culture and engage within their community. The real estate developer might read this story while researching the culture of the neighborhood and realize they are stripping us of our cultural identity. The story may be read by one other artist of color that decides to create from the heart and be daring enough to cater to their race.
On the Corner of 127th & 5th
A life off the oversized steps of the six-story brick tenement building on East 127th and 5th and on to the concrete sidewalk would render amusement for the day. The summer of 2019 was her family’s return to New York after living down south on their great grandmother’s farm for the past five years. They moved from the countryside of North Carolina to a rent-controlled apartment, her mother sub-leased from a distant cousin. Joy a thirteen- year- old girl, spent most of her time observing and drifting off into her own thoughts. She was eager to return up north, it offered more possibilities of excitement for her to observe from afar and one day be a part of. Her eleven-year-old brother wanted to play video games with his cousins and go to grandma’s house for Sunday dinners. Her mother was searching for a better job, quality education, and more money. They lived on a distressed block in central Harlem amongst working-class New Yorkers, surrounded by high rise condominium developments, specialty coffee shops, and upscale restaurants, which were too expensive to think of entering.
Joy was forbidden to leave the invisible cage surrounding the stoop until “Ma Dear” short for “Mother Dear” returned home from work. She positioned herself on the steps, awaiting the chance to grasp hold of a tiny fragment of intoxication from the melodramatic events of the day. She settled down on her buttocks with her feet perched in between her thighs secured by her long black skinny arms. There were several intermissions throughout the day to grab a turkey and cheese sandwich and to watch the lineup of her favorite television shows; Blackish, Grownish, House of Payne, and the Price is Right. The breaks fractured the day into manageable pieces of time.
The hours devoted to the community riffraff flew by as she sat hypnotized by the theatrical scenes portrayed by her neighbors. The neighborhood was comprised of interesting and intriguing individuals. She noticed Mr. Cowboy strolling down the street. A small man with a big persona. The massive cowboy hat was tilted forward covering his eyes. His black jeans gripped his legs, which may be the reason he walked so slow. He tucked his pants into his alligator boots and placed his hands on the oversized metal buckle of a rhinoceros that shined bright and guided your eyes to the center of his body. It was late summer, and he still wore his black leather bikers’ jacket, which appeared to weigh him down. He traveled up and down the street, carrying a boombox on his shoulder. When the time was right, he stepped back close to the edge of the sidewalk, placed the radio on the ground and, proceeded to give a high impact performance to the music of Chris Brown, R. Kelly, or Michael Jackson. He twirled, jumped, and did splits for hours at a time. The kids laughed and jumped up and down, danced and, sang along with him. At the end, he signed autographs, picked up his boombox, and headed towards Lenox Avenue. He was the neighborhood superstar.
Joy’s neighbors’ mere existence heightened her level of curiosity. The underlying cycle of dysfunctional behaviors reared its ugly head in the element of surprises through the actions of those she lived amongst. Something, Joy was not privy to until one mid-afternoon in August, when she stepped off the stoop to take a short walk with her neighbor. Crystal swung open the enormous black door separating the hallway from the front stoop. She wore a bright yellow halter top and a pair of red picnic checkered tight short-shorts. The shirt gathered around her ample breast, and the shorts rose up to her thighs, revealing a little too much peanut butter brown flesh. She was only twelve but had curves like a woman. Crystal had her monthly friend since she was nine years old. She believed she was a woman and behaved like one. She was free to do as she pleased. Her mother sat in her bedroom, drinking coke sodas and smoking cigarettes all day.
“Hey, Joy, walk with me to the store.”
“I can’t, my mom’s not home yet.”
“The store is around the corner, next door to Sylvia’s soul food restaurant.”
She grabbed Joy by the hand and pulled her down the steps.
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. You have a few hours before your evil stepmother returns.”
“She’s not evil, and she’s my real mother.”
“Whatever, come on.”
Joy surprised herself and took a stroll to the corner market.
There was a drastic change in scenery. Several blocks away on 125th, the streets are flanked with retail stores, fast food chains, and in the surrounding area upscale restaurants, and coffee shops. The lower end of 125th is filled with braid shops, hair stores, fast-food franchises, and a few mom and pop establishments struggling to remain present. The center of Lenox has a supermarket, several liquor and convenience stores, barbershops, beauty salons, and a pharmacy. These businesses are repeated every few blocks or so.
Sylvia’s is the jewel of Harlem. The soul food restaurant has a strong community presence, is a gathering place for Harlemites and a destination spot for tourists. Joy and her family’s first night out in the city was dinner at Sylvia’s and a movie at Magic Johnson’s movie theater. Sylvia’s restaurant serves as the imaginary line between working-class residents and wealthy upper-class gentrifiers.
Joy’s grandmother would go way back to when she migrated north in the early 1930s during the Harlem Renaissance. She told stories about the rent parties to raise money for people to pay their bills, get their men out of jail, send for family members and, pay for their kids to go to college. Grandma would always say “got to get the butter from the duck“ when there was a need to raise money to pay bills. They gathered and traveled from one home to the next and each house party was better than the previous one. The jazz clubs were filled with wealthy black businessmen, lawyers, doctors, activists, and creative folks; writers, artists, dancers and, musicians. There were lounges and clubs every few blocks, and people lined up waiting to get in. New York had changed. The community was being designed to cater to people that could afford expensive apartments and restaurants. The upper middle-class hipster is at the forefront of the emergence of a new culture, the “Urban Renaissance.”
Her mother constantly talked about the changes in Harlem. The revitalization of the Brownstones and landscape surrounding Harlem’s culture. The resurgence of the popularity of restaurants and lounges. The celebrity chef Marcus Samuelson’s Red Rooster restaurant, Lenox Sapphire Harlem, Renaissance Harlem, Corner Social, lined the streets of Harlem bringing back vibrancy to the place once referred to as the “City of Paradise, Black Mecca and, Sweet Harlem.” Joy overheard her mother talking to her friends about how she plans to visit these fancy restaurants, and visit the National Jazz museum, National Black Theatre, and of course the historical Apollo Theatre. She intends to engage in the vibrant culture surrounding her once she lands the good job she’s been looking for.
Joy tries to take in her environment while keeping pace with her friend. Crystal swayed her hips with a rhythmic bounce as her feet hit the pavement.
“Why are you walking like that?”
“Why do you talk like that?”
“Talk like what? I talk like you.”
“No you don’t, you talk as slow as I walk, and you sound country.”
“Let’s cross the street. I’ve been saving this outfit for today because my boyfriend Sam visits his grandmother on Friday. He may be outside when we’re on our way back. Do you have new summer clothes?”
“Yeah, but I can only wear them when we are going somewhere.”
“I guess you’ll never put them on because you never go anywhere. Oh, hurry up, girl. I see Robert.”
“I thought you were looking for Sam.
Robert stood on the side of the corner store with his three friends. He was over 6 feet tall and had facial hair. He had to be older than 12. She slowed down her pace once they were within eyesight of the boys. Crystal was bouncing and twisting her hips and throwing her hair like she was doing a new dance. She cut her eyes and brushed her shoulder against Robert as though it was accidental. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the store with her. Joy was left standing on the corner with Jaquan, Terrell, and Cameron. Terell wrinkled his nose while squinting his ugly beady eyes staring at her. He twisted his mouth and said.
“You better not say nothing to me, you black skeleton.”
Joy raised her middle finger up at him, leaned on the side of the store, placing her hands across her chest. In North Carolina, they had the community pool, roller skating rink, and weekly teen dances to attend. They didn’t stand on the corner picking trouble. Crystal came out of the store with a Hostess honey bun, a bag of barbecue Lay’s potato chips, and an orange soda.
“Why didn’t you come in to get something?”
“I don’t have any money.”
She grabbed Robert’s hand. Buy my friend a soda and chips. Curtis glanced over at Joy for several seconds and replied, “NO.”
” I’m not letting you come to my house.”
“Yes, you are; after I bought you all those snacks.”
Crystal took off, running up the street. Joy put her feet into gear and ran behind her. They arrived back on 127th, Crystal went into the building, where Sam’s grandmother lives.
“Who is in the hallway?” A deep voice yelled from behind the door.
“Is Sheila home?”
“No. She went to her grandma’s house. You girls can come in and wait for her.”
“No, thanks, I’ll come back.”
“I thought we were walking to visit Sam?”
“Ssh, Sheila lives downstairs. We could have hung out with her until Sam came outside. His grandmother doesn’t like me. She’s jealous because I’m cute.
Crystal dashed through the hallway and out the door.
“Mr. G is a pervert.”
“What?”
“He likes to touch young girls. He takes Sheila and her friends driving on his work van. He makes them sit on his lap, and he drives over bumps. He parks and wrestles with them.”
“How do you know?”
“I went with them one time, but I will never go again.”
“If you ever go to Snookie’s house on the third floor in our building, be careful. Her foster father sneaks in her room at night. She said he pumps on her. He’s old and creepy. I’m Snookies’ only friend he’ll let in the house when her Nana’s not there. He better not try anything with me. I told Snookie if he does, I will kick him in the balls. Let’s go to Sherrie’s house; we can do whatever we want. Her mom stays in her room, and her dad is always working. She has a crazy family; her mom is her mother and sister. Her dad is her father and grandfather.”
“You are not making any sense.”
“Yeah, it’s true. Her father was married to her grandmother; until her grandmother killed herself because she caught him kissing her mother.”
“I think we should head back home. I don’t want to get into trouble. My mom doesn’t like us out when she’s not home. She will ask me where I’ve been and when she say “tell it slow Jim” it means, I better not lie. “
“You are so scary, stop worrying nothing is going to happen to you and your mom is not going to find out. My mama does not know half the stuff my sister and I do. My auntie told her, my sister is pregnant.
“How old is your sister?”
“Oh, she is much older. She’s 15.”
“I have to hurry home. My mom would kill me if she knew I was off the stoop. She says the cities up north have too much going on and south is a much slower pace and safer for children.”
“Why did you guys move here? “
“So she could find better work, make more money, and enjoy black culture at its finest.”
“Well, I will never move down south because nobody stays a child forever, and grown folks like excitement. I know I do. I can’t wait until I’m grown.”
Joy recalled her mother’s words.
” Don’t you go off the porch.”
She sat on the stoop for the remainder of the afternoon, fantasizing about her mother getting a job paying a lot of money. So they can move into a deluxe apartment in the sky, far away from people like Mr. G, Snookie’s foster father, and Sherrie’s father. In the morning, she would sit on the rooftop, drink sodas, eat cookies and, read a good book. Later in the afternoon, she would go downstairs to the residents’ pool and take a swim. In the evening, her mother would take them to one of the trendy restaurants for dinner. They’ll go to Harlem Shake on Friday, Red Rooster on Saturday, and Corner Social on Sunday. Joy would go with her mother to Harlem Restaurant Week and Harlem Fashion Week. Then she would feel like a real “New Yorker.”
