Downtown Poughkeepsie.
September 24th:
I often witness every day life in downtown Poughkeepsie. I commute to school and it just happens to be part of my route. Twice a day, at different times each day, while stopped at red lights and going through traffic I have grown accustomed to what my senses experience while driving through downtown for a few minutes. In doing this assignment I was able to pick up little things that I may have not noticed before.
I chose to do this assignment on Baker Street, since it is the street I travel on most often. It is 4:05pm when I get out of my car, which I was quite nervous to parallel park (I had to park my car on a side street). An older man with long grey hair, deep wrinkles, rotted out teeth and a sunken in face wearing a “too-big-for-him” navy adjustable “trucker” style hat and a plaid button down shirt, riding passenger in an old beat up ford pick up truck, bitterly shouted something at me as I struggled to remember just the right way to parallel park (I hadn’t attempted to park like this since my road test, almost three years ago). Now, I was already nervous about doing this assignment, but that grew after the incident with the old man. After somewhat successfully parking, I headed towards Baker Street. Baker Street is a three lane, one way street, which at most times during the day is packed with cars. This time was no exception. The roar of cars serves are a background noise for the rest of my observations.
The street seems to be mainly residential. The homes are “row” style homes, all with similar styles. They seem to be multifamily homes, typical of a city area. There are not many people walking around at this time, not as many as there are around 3:00pm when school is getting out. However, the warm weather seems to have lured a few people out onto the street. Across the road from me I make out three Hispanic boys about my age (maybe a year or two younger) traveling in my direction. One is on a bike, the other two walk on either side of him. I hear them talking in Spanish, barely making out what they are saying, though they are speaking quite loudly, quickly, and enthusiastically, the noise of the cars drowns them out. I understand some of the words they are saying, which causes me to think that maybe those seven years of Spanish classes paid off. All the boys are dressed in the same style and are wearing backpacks. Two of them wear “wife-beater” tank tops, one in a yellow color and one in white, they all have their hair gelled up. The boys pass, and this assignment, makes me wonder where they are going, what there doing, where they came from, and what their day is going to be like.
It seems like a full minute has gone by before I see more people in the distance. As they get close (oh my side of the street) I make out a man pushing a carriage with a small child, about a year old riding in it. Along side the navy stroller is a boy about four years old. As they get closer I hear leaves crunching underneath the wheels of the stroller, reminding me that despite the unusually warm weather we are having today. A breeze blows and I am cooled off a bit and hear even more leaves brush across the cement. I wonder where the leaves come from since I do not actually see any tress from where I am standing. I get more uncomfortable as the people come closer because I am now aware of how awkward I must looking standing, observing, and writing into a pink and yellow notebook. As the group, which appears to be the men members of a family, walks past, I notice that the children seem especially happy, and the father, content himself. I walk to the curb so they have room to pass, and I try not to stare even though I am tempted to observe more. As they walk past I hear the little boy speaking to his father in Spanish, and it always amazes me when little children are speaking a different language. I know it is their language and they grew up speaking it, but I still can’t help be imagine him as a happy little genius.
After the family walks by it’s quiet, with the exception of the roaring of the cars. There is not much to observe, and I suddenly feel lonely. I am not sure why. I am beginning to pay more attention to the cars driving by. It’s 4:11 now, a little early for rush hour, but everyone does seem to be in quite a rush. I contemplate writing down a few names of the cars driving by, but there are so many I can’t choose one. I hear music now coming out of one of them, I am not sure which one. It’s getting louder. I see an older tan colored car, it appears to be some sort of a station wagon, maybe an old Volvo, driven by an African American man, about in his 30s. He has thick dreads and very dark skin. As his car speeds past me, around the traffic, I struggle to make out exactly the type of music he is listening to. It sounds like it has an “island” flair to it.
It’s now 4:13, I really want to get in my car and go home. I’ve had a long day, I now feel oddly lonely, and really hungry. As I begin to walk back to my car I see a group of African American girls walking towards me. I count them. There’s five. They are all different ages, and I think maybe they are cousins, probably not sisters because they don’t look very much a like. I am not sure though, obviously. The two youngest girls have braided hair, one is chubby and wearing a bright yellow shirt and has yellow clips in her hair. The other girl is very thin and wearing a dark pink outfit. They seem to be excited. I think maybe it’s because they are hanging out with their older cousins, or sisters, or neighbors, whatever they are. One of the older one’s (about 13 years old) links hands with the younger child (about 6 years old), she seems to be teasing her. As they get closer I can hear their conversation. One of them says “Awe, no girrrrl.” Pretty loudly, and the tone of her voice makes me giggle a bit. I wonder what the girls are thinking as they walk past me giving me strange looks (Hey, I don’t blame them, I am writing in a notebook, looking up, and appearing to be very nosey). I feel like Harried the Spy, the main character of a movie I used to like when I was younger.
I check the time on my cell phone once more, it’s 4:14pm only. I’d say this is one of those moments when time seems to be moving really slowly. I am walking slowly back to my car. I see a boy about 8 years old, a little over weight, with a round, nearly bald (buzzed short) head, bend down to tie his black basketball sneakers. I wonder why he is alone. He almost trips as he gets up, and he looks at me a little embarrassed, probably also a little creeped out that I had been looking at him. He starts to jog off, it actually almost looks like he is partially skipping, and I sort of laugh, because he seems so happy.
There is still not much happening.
I am now sitting in my car. It’s 4:16. Since I technically still have 4 minutes of observation left to do, and am nervous about pulling away from the curb (there are cars parked close in front of and behind me), I decide to call my mom and tell her I am alive (she was worried about me being outside my car and “vulnerable” in the city of Poughkeepsie). She told me to be careful. So I am going to try to do just that as I pull out of my spot, and head home to Mahopac, where the everyday is completely different.
4:18pm.
