PLACE ME ON LINDEN
This home was my 3rd luck charm on a street that was the Oreo cream center
Sandwiched between the bookended cookies of Red Bank’s epicenter, Downtown
And what suburbanites worshipfully called the quintessence of residential existence
The paradox of this stretch of road only makes sense to its inhabitants
Tantamount to the Golden Gate Bridge between the tidy world of pristine lawns, unruffled pavements, and freshly poured sidewalks flanking the picketed clichéd domiciles
And the equivalent of the “wrong” side of the tracks
As scenes from “The Outsiders” flash across my mind’s silver screen
Is it any wonder this is the first and only home I ever called sweet?
Sweet as the 16th birthday I celebrated on this expanse of connect-the-dots potholes with nature made speed bumps
It is here the trees murmur hide and seek histories while their roots crawl past their boundaries
To mingle with the everlasting crevassed sidewalk that cannot contain the anthill heaps with their forest of weeds
You see, I only made it here by a vicious twist of fate
The result of roofers roasting more than marshmallows on my childhood home, and with a roll of the insurance dice I landed exactly where I needed to be and exactly where I was
Neither here nor there
But in between, in the thick of transition, with the agility to see all sides at once
Cohabiting in surreal harmony just as the two sides of this road co-exist by clashing
Past against future
Home-spun against modern
Every day after school an army of teenage contradictions casually paraded on by to the ultimate destination, our haven of parental escape, but first
On the left is the feel of the worn-in, lived-in, come hang on the porch and stay awhile vibe, where the front yard spills leftover decorations from the latest holiday
With driveways leading toward humble backyards gleefully littered with toys, big wheels, and swing sets
But to the right, you are now on my side
Brimming with the future of cookie cutter townhouses that beg you to recall arithmetic
Lest you forget which one is yours, but, no, not me
I’m the last one on the right, the one with the last beacon of a lamplight before reaching the parking lot only sk8rs ruled
Surfing the waves of my dark brick patio of a lawn
Its smoothness a perfect contrast to the sissy-proof loose rock infested landscape otherwise known as my backyard
So while the pretenders, who are just visitors, saw scrimmages of shit-brown brick vs. dilapidated dingy gray
Their condemning eyes landing on a psychotic blend of suburban chic thrown with a weak-ass attempt at old town charm
I saw through eyes without guile
My very own threshold of abundant metaphors for life’s transitions
Light to dark
Sunrise to sunset
Young to old
High school to college
Young girl to woman
Ignorance to enlightenment
And, of course, life to death
With the delectable center containing the concoction of all of life’s journeys
So for the rest of my days, I will vividly recall how kids from every walk of life
Walked down my street and stopped to pre-hang on their way to The Slice
Bringing a big ol’ smile to my face, because I learned to really live on Linden Place