My piece is a story of a young woman who is visiting home for the first time in 15 years since she left. She comes back home and visiting family members, old middle, elementary and high schools has her walking the streets feeling unfamiliar with what was once home. She notices the comforting things she valued most about her small community swapped out for more refined and orthodox establishments and ways of life. She notices that the things about her community that made it what it was are now gone or slowly fading and she can't help but feel that along with the cultural links that are disappearing from her community, people are being moved out with the rise of prices. This story is one of gentrification and what it look like in a small community.

The walk from the fifth floor of her apartment building to her car on the corner of 143rd and Lenox was a surreal one. She had arrived the previous morning and spent the day recouping before heading around town. Her first order of business was to drive to her old high school and visit some teachers as well as friends and relatives nearby, but when she got to her car she decided impulsively to keep walking. “I used to walk to school all the time before I had a car,” she thought to herself. It had been 15 years since she’d been home and the excitement she’d felt when arriving in the city was replaced with slight confusion as she began walking down the concrete street blocks. She kept her eyes open for the small candy store she used to go to with her little sister but found in its place a small incense and natural oils shop. Before she knew it her legs were carrying her into the store and she was in front of the register face to face with the cashier.

“Good morning, I was just wanted to ask how long y'all have been here? The last I remember it was a candy shop.”

The man at the register looked middle-aged with grey-black hair bushy brows and thinly framed glasses. He looked uncomfortable and his skin was a deep pink no doubt from the heat and humidity. Not even the small fan behind the register seemed to be helping him cool down. He didn't look mean, but he didn't look nice either she noted. He peered at her from over the counter and responded

“I bought this place out about nine years ago ma’am.”

“Oh for real? Whatever happened to the previous owner?"

“Not sure. But they closed shop and moved across town.”

“Oh wow. That's crazy my sister and I used to come in here every week for candy.”

He looked pretty uninterested in small talk or hearing her recount memories so she pretended to look around the shop and quietly exited a few minutes later. On the next block the bodega that had been there was still there but when she entered she noticed everything had been renovated and the people running the shop were no longer there. The prices for the food had gone.

“Damn $3.00 for a slice? That dead used to be $1.50” she shook her head and exited again.

As she got closer and closer to her old high school, it was clear to her that much had changed since she had been gone. Many of the family owned small businesses were gone, replaced by foreign businesses and strangers running them. She couldn't help but notice that the streets looked much more cleaned up and there many more white faces than she remembered. Perhaps the most peculiar thing she noticed was that for every blocked she passed not a single fire hydrant was gushing water into the streets. No kids running back and forth through the water screaming and laughing. Running through the water during the scorching heat was something her and her friends had looked forward to from the time they were children up until the time they left for college. Her mother had enjoyed the same tradition growing up and so had her grandparents. It was a rite of passage of sorts.

When she finally arrived at her old high school the outside looked the same the inside hadn't changed much except for some new furniture and a brand new staff. She was only able to locate a single teacher that she recognized. After greeting her with a hug and having small talk she took her number and they agreed to meet up for lunch at Sylvia’s restaurant about a block away. She left the school feeling disappointed and saddened that all of her old teachers had left and only one remained. Some had left due to career, familial, financial and personal reasons but from what she gathered from her old reading teacher most had left from dissatisfaction with the school board and tension with the chain of command. The new principal was a high profiled white woman who had been recognized for the turning of New York City’s most dangerous and failing schools into a model of excellence and prestige. Apparently part of this woman’s game plan included cutting many staff members and hiring new staff members that were more willing comply her with plans as opposed to compromising with the old staff members.

Later on, she met up with her teacher as well as four old friends from high school. Much to her surprise and pleasure Sylvia's hadn’t changed one bit . The purple banner out front still said Sylvia’s (she checked for it). The tables looked the same, the menu was the same, the cooks were the same and everyone working there was recognizable. They took the small table in the corner that had a window and far from the kitchen doors where heat protruded from the doors. She ordered her usual macaroni and cheese with fried chicken and everyone else ordered their usual as she remembered it as well. They began talking about life and all that had transpired within the last 15 years and where life had taken them thus far. Her English teacher filled them in on all that had changed for better or worse in the community and what old stomping grounds had been shut down or moved.

“You won't find that old pizza shop you guys ran to after school they turned that into a Chipotle. They renovated 125th and Lexington too, no more crackheads down there. Lots of Starbucks around which is good because I need my morning coffee and hella white folk jogging in the early morning and walking their dogs in the afternoons. I ended up moving across town farther from the school cause rent go too damn high for me to stay there.”

After they ate they headed to the Marcus Garvey Park and, just like old times, kicked the kids off the swings so they could swing. They played their favorite game and had a competition to see who could swing the highest. She took a moment to assess all she could see that was familiar to her. The young boys playing basketball their sneakers hitting the pavement repeatedly while tossing the ball amongst themselves, a clean swish every few minutes followed by sucking of teeth and verbal sparring, The icey man selling $1 frozen treats under the shade, the young children playing in the sandbox a few feet behind the fence. All of these small things were what felt right and what felt constant. Things, as they should be, never changing and never leaving. It was odd to her that she had call relatives to find out their new addresses because they had been forced to move to cheaper locations. It was nice to see the streets clean and the pristine new apartment buildings but she wished those things had come to them sooner. She thought she was in the city long enough to catch the African American day parade but learned it wasn't canceled for the second year due to “safety concerns.”

After parting ways with everyone she bought an icey and took the long way home. She passed by all her old favorite hangout spots that were no more, She saw new buildings where abandoned crack houses used to be and eyed the new Starbucks franchises where pizza shops once were. When she finally arrived home, she threw herself onto her old bunk bed and peered out of the window. The view was still the same, rent had not changed in years, her neighbors hadn’t left and in that moment she was grateful. Growing up she had felt too big for her tiny apartment, and too big for Harlem but now that her home was slowly changing and fading she appreciated the parts of it that remained still.