Occasionally I unexpectedly recall some household item I was forced to leave behind two Novembers ago when we moved our lives in a tiny van from Brooklyn to Richmond, Virginia. Today, inspecting the area rug in the living room, I lamented the loss of my sea foam green Kenmore vacuum cleaner, a Christmas gift from my father presented to me the year I rented my first home with my first boyfriend. I remember carrying the vacuum down the stairs of the apartment building to find that the van was already over packed. I could hear my cheap Ikea furniture cracking and splitting under the unevenly distributed weight. Joe's huge, broken Dutch bicycle, his musty, ragged trunk, a useless computer monitor, and boxes of shit from his last house that had never been opened or organized -- these had found a space, but not my vacuum cleaner. I would have to leave it behind.
The wind is still very strong when it makes its way up through the southern Brooklyn neighborhoods from the ocean. Either my eyes watered or I began to cry, but the wind stripped the tears from cheeks as soon as they shook loose and rolled over my lower lids. I wiped my face needlessly and smiled in vain when I told my neighbors, a young Pakistani wife and her mother-in-law, yes, she could take this of mine too. She had asked for nearly all of my furniture on the sidewalk that was to be discarded.
To thank us, or more accurately, to thank me, the Pakistani women invited Joe and me for cream tea and cumin biscuits in their front room. I had never been inside any of my neighbors' apartments and today, while her busy husband was at work, was the first time the young wife had ever spoken to me, at the bidding of her mother-in-law, who saw much use in the household items that I could not take. In the hallway I had often shared a quiet smile in place of "hello" with the plump old woman as she paced and prayed. She was my favorite neighbor.
Joe had never been in a Muslim home before and foolishly shook both women's hands upon entering. The women winced and withdrew immediately, though politely as possible. Through the window I could see the sun was setting and I became nervous. We were going to arrive very late in Virginia. Another annoyance, another inconvenience. I looked around the strange front room as Joe babbled some nervous half-truths to the two women, giving reasons for our abrupt departure. My old couches and tables looked small and shabby. I felt embarrassed. I felt my cheeks blush when I looked jealously at my old vacuum cleaner. Joe said we could replace it, but I didn't care. I wanted to keep it. He had let me down again.
The wind is still very strong when it makes its way up through the southern Brooklyn neighborhoods from the ocean. Either my eyes watered or I began to cry, but the wind stripped the tears from cheeks as soon as they shook loose and rolled over my lower lids. I wiped my face needlessly and smiled in vain when I told my neighbors, a young Pakistani wife and her mother-in-law, yes, she could take this of mine too. She had asked for nearly all of my furniture on the sidewalk that was to be discarded.
To thank us, or more accurately, to thank me, the Pakistani women invited Joe and me for cream tea and cumin biscuits in their front room. I had never been inside any of my neighbors' apartments and today, while her busy husband was at work, was the first time the young wife had ever spoken to me, at the bidding of her mother-in-law, who saw much use in the household items that I could not take. In the hallway I had often shared a quiet smile in place of "hello" with the plump old woman as she paced and prayed. She was my favorite neighbor.
Joe had never been in a Muslim home before and foolishly shook both women's hands upon entering. The women winced and withdrew immediately, though politely as possible. Through the window I could see the sun was setting and I became nervous. We were going to arrive very late in Virginia. Another annoyance, another inconvenience. I looked around the strange front room as Joe babbled some nervous half-truths to the two women, giving reasons for our abrupt departure. My old couches and tables looked small and shabby. I felt embarrassed. I felt my cheeks blush when I looked jealously at my old vacuum cleaner. Joe said we could replace it, but I didn't care. I wanted to keep it. He had let me down again.
