Hope

                    I love my city. 

I spent all of my twenty-four years getting to know her.  I grew up on 6th and Chew.  I had my first kiss in the alley off Tillman.  Central Elementary playground is where I won my first fight.  I am even in my Little League hall of fame.  Never could I imagine not living here.  I truly love my city and my city loves me.  I also love my lady.  It is true that our affections do not go back as far, but they do run as deep.  Now that she finished graduate school and accepted a position 3000 miles away, I am forced to choose.  Stay in the only place I ever want to call home, or follow the woman I love.

I remember the moments our eyes met - it was two autumns ago.  She was attending an all-women university - one that my friends and I traveled to every now and then to scout new talent.  She and her intermural soccer team were practicing for a match with their crosstown rival.  Clearly any team with the bare minimum of coordination and skill were going to hand this horribly untaught squad a brilliant loss.  Still, what this team lacked in talent, they more than made up for in beauty.  As my father would say, “They were foxes.”  It is common knowledge in my city that this university got the ladies - quality ladies - future lawyers.

One woman in particular caught my eye, she was tall and beautiful.  She had long blonde hair that kept falling into her eyes as she tried to focus on keeping the ball in front of her.  Face flushed from effort, dried grass and dirt clinging to her uniform from hustle.  I shot a sly glance at my friends as I made my approach onto the field.  My friends would say I am a man of confidence or at the very least - a man with no fear of rejection.  But I had a good feeling about this one.  I knew it when our eyes met - she was the one.

It seemed my charm intrigued her and my polite self-assurance convinced her to allow me to show her around my city.  She recently moved from California to attend graduate school here. Her name was Hope.

Hope and I began as friends and gradually became something more, much more.   Never in my life have I experienced anything like her.  Her beauty was obvious, her passion intoxicating, and intellect formidable.  In her eyes held an allure - one of an old soul that can naturally draw out the true nature of a person.  We were together for a year when she put forth the question of me ever leaving my city.  I knew her future would call her to different parts of the country, and deep down, I knew I was willing to go to start a new life with her.  Yet this is my home and until now, I had never given a thought to ever leaving.  Still I hoped maybe the next set of seasons would convince her to stay.
            I knew she loved it here, in my city and in my arms. 

She loved to meet me at Cedar Beach Park every Saturday morning.  Cedar Beach is where one goes for the premier pickup basketball games.  She sat on the bleachers wearing my high school basketball jersey.  She said the royal blue and canary yellow made her eyes pop.  I knew she just wanted to make it known that she represents me, and I her.  She gazed on with pride, biting her lip as she watched each long distance three I threw up fall with fair accuracy.  Standing and cheering as my squad displayed dominance through our effortless teamwork.  I loved to glance over and see her smile shining through the crowd - looking on in wonder as I held my own against the stars of my city.

Rival factions from every part of town came out to represent.  The legendary old heads - men that littered our high school record books and filled our gymnasium with state championship banners.  They remained game credible by infusing just enough youth to chase down their errant shots and to get back on transition defense. There were also the high school stars who thought dunking and fancy ball handling equaled talent enough to win.  Hope was amused by our on-court city boy banter.  She would always smile and say, “City boys are all talk.”

She took to city life fast.  She too became a regular at all the regular spots, dive bars after ball games, hole in the wall sandwich spots after long days of studying.  My city set the scene for our relationship to grow.  We enjoyed picnics for two on the parkway, community barbecues, and long walks through historic neighborhoods. 

Our expeditions introduced her to the culture of this town and further acquainted her to its essence that was so deeply ingrained within me.  Yet, Hope loved the little things that made our town unique.  Of all that I showed her, she was most excited about the corner store.  It thrilled her to know a twenty-four hour store existed that one could buy milk, single cigarettes, a Jamaica paddy, a variety of knives, and throwback Jordan’s.  My city was set to win her heart.

I knew her ambition set a course that would put my beloved town in her past.  I thought to myself - it’s only a place in the world, there should be no question - clearly I choose Hope.  It’s just my home is tied so close to my identity, and leaving would be to abandon that which shaped all that I am.  This question seemed to activate a higher sense of consciousness - one that shined a new perspective on life. 

This new-found perspective cast a shadow that allowed me to view my home in a different light.  I started to observe that the city I love was becoming different, much different.  Was it my youthful ignorance that convinced me that my everyday life was rewarding?  I stood by and witnessed as my city fell into decay.  Could it be that I was just now learning of the condition of her heart?  Or was it Hope and her promise that illuminated the fact I may be in love with the idea of my city- an idea created by my own blind affection?

These thoughts discreetly circled my mind as Hope and I set out on our nightly walks.  One of these nightly walks took us down Hamilton - the site of my city’s famous old mall.  Hamilton Mall stretched twelve blocks and during the time of my town’s opulence, it boasted some of the finest department stores in the country.  Now only mom and pop shops which offer merchandise of questionable quality lined these historic blocks.  The new Town Center is on the outskirts of town draped in marble, full of fancy restaurants and designer stores.  Still, the old mall has my heart.

We walked hand and hand as I described the architecture of the old buildings that stood tall, proud, and empty.  We passed statues of great American war heroes, memorial plaques of the men who founded my city and even the church that concealed the Liberty Bell during the Revolutionary War.  I told her stories about how my parents would bring me down to Hamilton for parades, and how one could see the Christmas lights from miles away.  I found myself describing Hamilton Mall as if it was a dear family member that had since past.

The fact was the lights have faded, the faces were changing and those historic buildings were slowly disappearing.  I feared it would not be long before I would not recognize my own town.  The distance between the essence I fought hard to preserve and the reality of her condition was becoming strikingly vast.  The tide was beginning to wash away all that I held dear.  In these walks I began to discreetly make peace with the decision I have quietly come to. A week before Hope was set to leave - I brought her to a place most dear to me.  A place I have never brought anyone. 

It was Father’s Day and I carried along a dark crimson rose. We walked to a spot on Ridge, between 2nd and 3rd Street, and placed the rose on the pavement aside another.  I told her that this was the spot my father took his last breath.  I expressed how much I loved my father, and explained that he was not a good man.  He was a man responsible for pumping poison into the veins of my city.  He had profited off the degradation of this proud community.  I told her how a store owner on this block rose up to defend our city’s honor.  How he shot my father through his heart on this spot nine years ago today.  A jury of his peers agreed this man’s intentions were pure.
            Still, he was my father and I loved him. 

My father once told me that only what one truly loves can truly hurt them.  What he did not say is, even when what we love besets our heart - the love remains like the scar remains, deep, apparent, and everlasting.   She looked at me as tears began to sneak down her cheek.  She raised her left hand and caressed my face, rubbing her thumb down the length of my ear.  She then asked again if I would come with her.  It had been a year since she first asked me and until now, I never given her a response.  I then simply replied, “I will.”

My chest burned with the sense of anointing as we embraced and exchanged affections.  I felt eyes glaring upon us and glanced across the street.  There stood the man responsible for my father’s death, fixed in front of his laundromat.  I vowed to myself long ago there would be no reprisal, and each year only on this day - we stand at attention across from each other. Positioned like soldiers on a demilitarized zone.  This time he saw Hope and me together.  I looked him square in his eyes and smiled.  He dropped his head in reverence or in shame - turned and walked back into his store.  Hope noticed the attention we paid one another and asked who he was, I simply replied, “Just a man I know.”

By now the neighborhood people began to walk up and greet us.  Although my father was feared, he was also loved.  Like him, I too am loved - yet I gained my respect from building my community, from bringing it together.  Hope once asked me why I shake the hands of all the men I see, and hug the elderly ladies I know.  I had no answer at the time but then it dawned on me - I shook the hands of the men who built this town, and embraced the women who have kept it.  They are what make this city great and now that my departure was confirmed - I realized I was saying goodbye. 

She flew out a week later to get us settled in our new apartment on the coast of Northern California.  She accepted a position at a law firm and was excited about her new opportunity.  I planned to drive out there a few weeks later.

On the morning of my departure I arose to the most beautiful day I could remember. The sun burned bright and the tall buildings cast seemingly endless shadows upon streets below.  A cool breeze carried fresh air through the city.  I felt an eerie peace in my heart - an emotion that brought a mixture of joy and sorrow.  Today was the day I said goodbye. 

I loaded the remainder of my possessions in my car and set out.  I planned one last procession through this beloved city.  The route brought me past the Boys and Girls Club I loved, the old row home I was raised in, and then Vesuvio's - my favorite pizzeria for one last slice. My final stop was 2nd and Ridge - I was stopping to say goodbye to my father.

I approached that hallowed ground and bowed my head. This would be the last time I would stand on this street to honor him - I was never coming back.  In that moment I felt a familiar glare press upon me, and a quickening pace approach from behind.  A loud gunshot rang and echoed off the brick buildings that lined the block.  Hot metal pierced my back, tore through my heart, and exploded through my chest.  I collapsed to my knees as the dark crimson poured from my body and rapidly begun to pool on the pavement below.  My blood seamed the cracks of the sidewalk and began running into the gutter. 

I lay there dying - struck down by the city I love.  I struggled to take my last breath as I thought of Hope.  I thought of her smile that breathed new life into me. I thought of her love and its promise.  Hope set me free, but Hope could not save me. I could never escape the shadows of those streets. I could never be free to love another - that concrete collected my heart and pulled me beneath her.   I was never leaving.