stanton st / rivington st / kenmare st / delancey st / lewis st / broome st / eldridge st / 1st ave / 6th st / 1st st / suffolk st / attorney st / baruch dr / grand st
9.22 miles
my faux vintage map has been wreaking slight havoc on my walks, as streets have been supplanted by housing projects or schools or parks, or simply no longer exist, or other ones do. concluding this walk, i have seen most of the lower east side. it is perhaps my favorite neighborhood, but i am shamefully conscious of the fact that the reason for this may be its half-gentrified nature, quaint, beaten down in parts, well-graffitied, yet increasingly expensive in parts, yet artful, diverse, in all parts.
similar to an adventure last evening to the queens night market, all of the foods from all of the places can be found here, thai and empanadas on the same block. a ukranian museum and a queer book collective. i am always happy to be in this part of the city, far as it is from my own home.
a multitude of les sights: firemen rescuing a dog from a locked car in the heat; yogic science; red orange hair; a friendly waiter chatting it up with his table; posing for pride on a fire escape; a grandma; sour cream and onion chip snacking; a man strung out on the steps, sleeping hopefully; restaurant equipment store; crushed watermelon on the sidewalk; two rainbow umbrellas; covid test tent (no one walking by wearing masks); a placid senior living home under the williamsurg bridge; ‘they’re not random letters! they’re numbers’, a girl to her mother; sweat spot shirt; a mini police car blasting ac; a little bird eating a big bread; a traffic guard at first ave and houston; ‘macrobiotic vegan friendly’ (meaningless?); siblings playing catch in the park; a tubby little baseball player; a tired out shaggy doggy; a child running to click the button to cross the street; an amazon delivery employee; a community fridge; two people from school; a girl and her well loved lovey.
the hydrangeas are still in boom.
on the subway over the past week i’ve been reading what is a girl worth? by rachael denhollander, tearing up as i head downtown to walk. rachael writes of confronting her abuser in public, but she also paints a memoir of her family, a nuanced study of law and justice and the dynamics of rape culture, a narrative of young motherhood, a window into church dynamics surrounding sexual abuse, a love story, a tale of tremendous perseverance and selflessness.
my mother recommended it to me, and i recommend it to you with high praise.
the last pages of the book had me sobbing (back in my own apartment, thankfully):
I cried for them, and with every tear that fell, I wondered, who is going to find these little girls? Who is going to tell them how much they are worth? How valuable they are, how deserving of justice and protection?Who is going to tell these little girls that what was done to them matters? That they are seen and valued? That they are not alone and they are not unprotected?
turning from book to youtube, i watched her final statement in court, and the statements of others, of the judge, of a fifteen year old girl, of a mother. i thought of chanel miller. i thought of countless friends. i wept hard.
these past few months have represented the farthest i have strayed from the christianity i was raised in, believed in, hoped in, for almost all of my years. i don’t know where i am now. but rachael’s story, despite the accurate portrayal of churches’ broken responses to abuse and a culture of victim shaming, brought me closer to believing in something (or wanting to believe) than anything else this past year.
.. the farthest I can run from what you have become is to daily choose what is right instead of what i want.