Living Up to Everyone's Expectations

I no longer fall asleep to the lullaby of the sirens. Children playing hopscotch in the streets and chasing each other in a game of freeze tag is just a memory. Everything seemed so alive and attainable. The taste of Nathan’s famous one and only hot dog still lingers on my tongue, once loaded with extra ketchup and mustard. It’s only found in Coney Island, where the streets fill with Hispanics, orthodox Jews, and Russians, all impatiently waiting for their turn to ride the wooden cyclone. And eating French fries until nightfall with my dad always let me feel safe. While we’d watch the pedestrians pass by in their colorful array of clothing, with no intention to impress anyone. Now I stare into the eyes of clones that walk, talk, and dress identically.

Weekends spent at the boardwalk riding my old school roller blades, falling over the chipped cracks of wood. Grandparents lounging in their lawn chairs, couples exchanging vows of love, young children building sand castles, parents locked into their conversations, wandering with no place in mind to reach. Only to catch up on gossip, and news they might have missed over. All I want is to have one last chance to push all the buzzers to my six-story apartment building, and not get into trouble. Running down the corridor, as my friend and I hear our echo from all the laughing.

Reality fades to fancy as I open my front door. All that my hazel eyes can see is the neighbor’s back towards me, as the smell of his decaffeinated coffee drifts my way. Everyone is living the American dream with their imaginary white picket fence and their evenly cut lawn. I search for the blue scrunched up New York Times bag, but instead my hand grabs a clump of grass. I find the newspaper sprawled on the blacktop driveway wet and torn-the delivery guy has poor aim.

Even the two door gray ford Taurus we had back then seems so distant. In place of it stands a remodeled medical office, where we’d park our car. Across my lifeless and serene street stands a red polished corvette (not ours of course) tempting me. If I could turn the clock back now, I’d give it no second thought.