Helicopters don't fly over Brooklyn

Helicopters don't fly over Brooklyn. The only flight pattern is a southern wind approach to La Guardia. I can't see Manhattan from my bedroom windows. Only the clock tower at the Atlantic Terminal. The view from my old East Village apartment was the backyards and school playground. My windows were usually open. I don't believe in AC. My alarm clock for several years was a young Jamaican girl. Her screams belonged in a horror film. She woke me every morning at 7 am. I imagined her single mom saying, "Be a good girl."

"I will, mommy."

As soon as her mother was out of earshot the little girl would unloose her lungs.

No more 'be quiet' or 'sssh'.

This 'infant terrible' was free.

I once asked her to be quiet.

"Fuck you, mistah." funny to hear a 5 year-old speak with such conviction.

My mother beat her kids with a wooden spoon. Not often, but enough for me to remember and I never want to hit a child. Not mine. Not others. Kids deserve a wide berth, but this little girl had no cause to curse me out. I thought about revenge. After all I was tough in a neighborhood where tough meant something. It was 1986. I was 34. Still young only I needed my sleep. This little girl was stealing precious hours from m y slumber. I went down to the day care center. I complained to the principal. She said that she would speak to the the girl.

Nothing happened at all.

The next morning the little girl gave me the finger.

It was 7:11.

I felt defeated. My good intentions were shot. My Hibernian sense of justice called for action. Firebombing the school was a little too extreme. My strategy required finesse and the next day at 5:30pm the little girl exited from the school to find me talking with her mother. Our eyes met in horror and understanding. her mother was an attractive intelligent woman. She deserved someone more traditional than me.

The following morning I slept in peace.

The girl respected my wishes and I hers.

I've moved from that apartment. More thrown out by the landlords. Faceless bastards. The new tenants bankers. And I can only hope that they have a little girl in the alley too. The day care center is there and they deserve some sleepless mornings. Unless of course the little Jamaican girl has joined them. She would be the right age.