My feet are freezing cold, going squishy-squash
with every frantic step. Damn! Now my sneakers are really wet! Don't run.
It doesn't look cool. There's a couple of girls up there, and you're gonna
look silly rushing past them. You might have to even say 'hello'. Just
play it cool. You're not gonna be late. You can make time once you get
under the bridge. Run, even. No one will notice. Damn my feet are wet.
I hate it when my socks are wet like this. All day! I'll be sitting in
class with wet socks and sneakers and cold feet. And my hair. I'm gonna
look like a real doofus with water dripping off the tip of my nose like
I just stepped out of the damn shower. Why can't I get up earlier? Why
can't I eat breakfast? And why don't I have a damn umbrella?! This sucks!
That was me, maybe 25 years ago, walking to
school. Yea kids, we used to walk to school. Now I'm really starting to
sound like an old geezer, but it's true! Today, my kids don't even walk
one block to the bus stop. But we - me, my brothers, my friends, our neighbors,
all of us - walked to school. And it was kind-of a long walk.
We lived on Evergreen Ave, a good block and
a half up from Watsessing Park. So we'd walk down, meeting right around
the park entrance at Maolis and Glenwood. Someone would be up ahead a few
hundred yards, or trailing back a few hundred, but you didn't wait. You
either caught-up or stayed behind. No waiting - the clock was ticking.
Straight across the park about 600 yards to the bridge.
The bridge was cool. There'd always be someone
hanging on the bridge... maybe someone who didn't really plan on making
it to school that day. Maybe someone smoking a joint, or a bum from the
park drinking a beer at 7:30am. Always someone. And you'd cross over, looking
down into the brook as you went. Maybe a new piece of a shopping cart,
or an empty six pack, or someone down there screwing around doing who knows
what. Maybe you'd notice some new graffiti. Lots of Led Zep stuff; and
The Who. And lots of local nicknames. "Kye" everywhere; and "Lunk", my
older brother. A few steps more and you walked under the other bridge.
Both bridges were considered "the bridge", but this was the metal one going
under the tracks. Stomp your feet, let people know you're coming and you're
not afraid. Sometimes there'd be people up in the "cage" above - a little,
metal fenced cubby-hole tucked-up above the bridge, and directly beneath
the underside of the tracks. Spooky little cage. You had to be really hard-core
to be hanging up there that early on a school day. No daylight up there.
So you'd walk across and come out on the other side, and you had crossed
the bridge.
I wonder what school's gonna be like today?
Oh yea, it's gonna suck because it's raining and my sneakers and socks
are wet, and I'm freezing. But anyway, you keep walking. Up the path. There's
the PAL on the left. Dumpy little building. Had a boxing Ring at one time;
and a pool table. Smitty can box. I'm a Smith but I'm not Smitty. Some
good pool players came out of there too. It's closed now anyways. Besides
that was when we were younger. The basketball court's still there. Mostly
black guys use that now.
Up the path. I can see Bloomfield Ave about
another 500 yards ahead... or is it 1000? I don't know. It doesn't matter.
I'm walking, and I gotta get there, and knowing the exact distance isn't
gonna make it any better. I can see the town hall out there towards the
left. Cars are rushing by up on the Parkway to my right. And a big puddle
right in front of me. Dance around it. Do it fast enough and maybe only
my sneaker-toe will get wet. Nope. All wet. Keep walking.
Bloomfield Ave. The light. Wait. Who else
is here? That girl, and that girl, and that guy, and oh yea, there's those
guys over there. All of us converging. Drawing angles. Cross to Franklin
Ave or whatever the hell the street is. Don't really need to know the name
of the street, just that it'll take me there. To that big brick monster
of a school. More convergence. Cross. Cut. Cross. Dodge the cars. Wait.
Don't wait. The trucks. There's the Short Stop. I'd be going there when
I got older, late at night/early morning after partying too much. High
on God knows what. Eggs on a skillet. Joke around with the cool waitress.
She knows we're high. But I don't go there yet.
Still got a good... I don't know, it's up
the hill. A pretty good walk still. More people walking. Avoiding some
- a cool nod "what's up" to others. I look like crap all soaking wet. And
these damn sneakers and socks are gonna bug me all day. Wet. I hate the
rain. Wish I had some different pants. Or a cool jacket. But I don't. So
I'm cool with what I have. Well, not really, but it fits. Well, it doesn't
fit really, but it kinda "fits-in". I think. No, it doesn't fit-in, but
it's a "look" I guess. Jeans and a shirt and a sweatshirt, and sneakers.
Yea. But the jeans don't fit. Damn! These things are like floods! Ha ha!
Floods! And it's raining! What a riot. Man I hope I don't see Maureen.
I'll look like such a goon. I wish I could talk to her. Why can't I say
anything? Shit! Is that her? Slow down, you're gonna walk right into it,
man. But I'm late! But I can make time... damn, how can I make time...
You gotta break to the right man. Just do it! You can't see her; it's raining.
Pass-em. Go! Good. You're past. Wasn't her. Now get moving. Up this hill!
Walk man, you're gonna be late! What time is it? I should get a watch.
Ha ha! A watch! Me? On my wrist? Ha ha ha ha! Man, I'm lucky I got a damn
belt and wet sneakers. Watches aren't cool, and I wouldn't
know what kind to get. Who would wear a watch anyway? Hey, that kid's
got one. Ask him. "Hey, you know what time it is?" Ok thanks. What'd he
say? Oh, ok, translation: you're not late. Hey, he's still walking and
he wears a watch, so I can't be late.
Ok, almost there. There it is. Here's the
Tech. Some mean dudes in there. Hanging out working on cars already. Don't
mess with them. They got mustaches. Ok, I'm in. Got a minute to comb my
hair. Got a flat black comb in my pocket. Dry my
hair with some stiff paper towels in the "Lavatory". What the hell
is a lavatory anyway? Well, I made it. My sneakers and socks are wet; I
look like crap; I walked a couple of miles in the rain, and it's not even
8 o'clock in the morning yet. Hello, South Junior High!
Go to Pete's Homepage
Go to Pete's Acting page
Go to Pete's Fire Safety Music page
Go to Pete's Youtube Channel
Go to Pete's Facebook page
Writings by Pete:
East Orange Life: