Letter V.I.2

We used to wander together in that little village which, though it appeared full because of everyone who sat on their front porches, had a small population. And we would wander not only in the main streets itself, but around it through the rest of the Grove, and each time there was something that would reflect on our tongue and mind. Here is Cocowalk, the shopping center is being reconstructed so all can shop and enjoy. There is Grand Avenue, where many local-owned businesses shut down. There is Coconut Grove Elementary, where I used to play, breathing in humid air. Here is Carver Elementary, where others played, breathing in incinerator fumes. Here was the old Barnacle, home of the first white settlers, where we would take field trips. There Mariah Brown lived, the first black settler, our school never brought us there. Here is Plymouth Congregational Church, a pioneer of integration. Through that foliage is Marler Avenue, where a fence still stands to keep people away from a church that was meant to unify. Here sit apartments for the wealthy and well-to-do. There lived the historic E. W. F. Stirrup, the area’s first black millionaire. The city sold half his lot to developers. But where shall I end? For today, who is more ignorant about the Grove’s affairs than new Grove residents, who have moved into fresh white boxes up and down the streets? I do not deplore the ignorance involved (because there were many more wrongs done than just ignorance) but the city’s history of exiled virtues. But this is a complaint that the government may never deal with.

We used to stop at Kennedy Park on the way home from the weariness of school, which ceaseless learning had produced in us. We would often walk to the end of the park, because only there we could enjoy the saltwater air, the view of boats, and the sound of dogs and children playing. When we were very young, our conversations were never concerned with the affairs of the area, for we were never taught it. We were children and spoke only of solving imagined mysteries and catching lizards. Then we grew older, and stopped over in the park because of the weariness of ceaseless overthinking. We would not discuss work, our homes or gossip. What else was left to talk about? There was history of the world and those we knew. There was religion, which basically meant talking about our Catholic school. There was art, the plays you performed, the books I’ve read, our friends' photography and the graffiti we had just passed by. We would analyze everyone we know and when that was through we would pretend to be philosophers and question whether altruism was real. We talked about what would be, how we could fix the world by looking at everything. All the places we passed would be cared for and all people would be appreciated. All of this was done in an idle mood, relaxed, concerned by everything and nothing.

Everything I said did not seem most pleasing and clear to you, because we are different people with different views. We would fight and do fight, and I appreciate that. Here you wanted me to share every detail of what I said after our walk that day! I am not sure really why you care so much. I have decided that that is for another letter, since I already wrote a lot about what I wanted to discuss instead.