Night of the Blackout
Sometime in 2003
Can’t sleep. Too hot. Mosquito in apartent. Friend Carolyn sleeping on couch. Not tired. Might’ve dozed for an hour—exciting day. Power failed about 4 p.m. Enjoyed being out and about in the neighborhood—local people milling about, workers from the city streaming home on foot. Got in lots of conversations. Spent time with the my landlady, Marilkyn. I made a couple of shopping trips, getting us candles, two little junk flashlights, some canned food.
Saw an old woman, a civilian, directing traffic at Atlantic and Court, authoritatively and effectively, better than the cop who was doing it later. A black man in a car defied her, crossing the intersection when he shouldn’t (endangering himself, other motorists, pediestrians and the volunteer traffic captain). When he drove past the old woman she said something to him and he raised his voice: “You ain’t even wearin’ a uniform!”
Shopkeepers and clerks on the sidewalk in front of stores. At some of the stores, customers lined up out onto sidewalk—for example, the hardware store. A clerk guarding the door, only admitting a few people at a time. On Smith Street I buy the candles and flashlights mentioned above, from little Indian bodega, the clerks very helpful. An old man on the street tells me confidentially, “What I’m worried agbout is the black looting, like they did the last time.” I give directions to a guy walking to Ocean Parkway, a considerable distance.
Advise a black couple trying to hail a livery cab that there’s a car service just up the block. She asks if I’ll let her use my body to help get them a cab. I tell her boyfriend, “If her body won’t make ‘em stop, I’m sure mine won’t.” They laugh. She says, “I mean your complexion.” I say I’ll stand there with them if she thinks it’ll help. She’s very grateful, tries to give me a couple of bucks. “Buy yourself some more of that,” she says, meaning the watermelon slice I’m eating. I refusing the money, saying, “If I can help someone just by standing around, I’d probably do it once a day.” They finally give up on a cab and head for the car service, thanking me again very generously.
Carolyn arrives by prearrangement. We had known her chances of getting home would be next to nil. We sit in my hot apartment for awhile, then go looking for dinner. At the car service we ask about the odds of getting a car to Long Island. They say they’re shutting down because there’s no more gas!
We find a place open on Smith. Order burgers and water—$17.75, very expensive! But the guys are friendly, slaving in a furnace-hot cooking area. We eat outdoors, a table on the sidewalk. Then head home. People have put radios in their windows to keep the passersby informed. Lots of families and groups outside their buildings, the darkness lit just enough by candles—I wouldn’t prefer it darker or brighter, either one. I ask a man for news. Power coming on in outlying county, he says. That’ll be us in 2-3 hours. At my place, neighbor Roberta is out front. We talk. She thanks me for setting candles to light her way into her entrance, invites us to her patio. The three of us sit in her back yard space for a couple hours. Good conversation. I’ve definitely been looking forward to getting to know her better and acting on some sexual innuendos that passed between us a month ago. She was enjoyable in this setting, not sarcastic like she usually is.
Carolyn and I finally head upstairs around 11 p.m. Both of us ready for bed. She gets the couch. We talk awhile in the dark before falling asleep. Now it’s four o’clock. I’m writing at my desk by candle. A mosquito was stabbing my feet and other parts as I slept and still is. There’s no way to sleep in this sweaty still heat, mosquito or not. The air so still the candle flame is steady as a light bulb. The city through the open (screened) window is quiet, just some car engines in the distance. No motors and fans. A quiet this quiet is strange and wonderful, a sort of eclipse. A once in a generation stillness.