Crack Alley
By Leslie Eagle
14 February 2008
It's a beautiful night in Waikiki. The windows are open, a warm breeze is blowing. Picturesque, subtly reminiscent of a Rembrandt painting as I watch the night from my front porch.
A baby cries. The clank of a dish. Sounds from a TV. Sounds of laughter. The usual mid evening city sounds.
Cars rushing on the Ala Wai; mostly speeding. A nearby siren, not near enough for comfort.
Just earlier on a night not unlike this one came the holler of police on the other side of the wall. Get Down!! Down on the Ground!! Drop your weapon. Down!! And my oldest telling my youngest "Get away from the window!"
But tonight there is no stream of staggering traffic like a slow punctuated lunch line at the house next door, never the same person twice. No flicking of flint by persons unknown crouching just out of view on the other side of the wall. No one in the uncurtained bathroom window hands in view with a glass pipe, now out of view, now in view, now out of view. No, tonight this is not Crack Alley next door to my home. Not tonight. Not for now.
And my thoughts go to what I learned. Living next to Crack Alley in a usual neighborhood, in a well-known place just a block from the hoards of hotels packed top to bottom with eager humanity. What I've learned about this side of the fence. And of the reality that the line separating us from them is not that wall, and not so thick and not so high.
My best friend's sister. My neighbor with a preschooler slumbering in the next room. My coworker in the executive ranks of corporate America. Just teasing the line that they draw, thinking themselves as "us" and those others as "them" crouching in Crack Alley. Because they have a line that they draw that they tell themselves is clear. As clear as the line of fine white powder laid before them.
"At least I'm not a crack addict." Snnnnffff
But don't let the fan on, don't cough, don't open a window, don't bump the table else that clear sharp line scatter before you can inhale it and own it and make it your own.
Tap, tap. Inhale.
Exhale.
"Yeah. At least I'm not a crack addict."
Tap, tap. Inhale.
Exhale.
"I'm gald those crack addicts are gone. And in case they come back, good thing we have that wall, and locked gates."
Sniff.
Tap, tap. scrape, tap.
Exhale.
"Want some?"
White line of safety; The concrete wall
White line of boundaries; I don't feel small
White line of light on the iron rail
White line of lies on somebody's table
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