W
THE CITY THAT
FELL ASLEEP
hen I was a
child and people described
my city as the
city that never sleeps, I did
not quite understand it. Of
course I comprehended
the fact that with so much
energy, and so many lights
on at all times of the night,
it was never at peace, but
it wasn’t until that summer day in ’03, when I was
forced to watch it sleep,
that I realized how alive
my city really is. The image
of me sitting in the balcony of my small New York
City apartment, with my
two chatty sisters and my
pondering father, while my
mother searched frantically for any candle she could
find, is still so fresh in my
mind that if I close my eyes
I feel I could relive it again.
It was August 15, the
first of three “dark
days” in New York City.
Later on, I discovered that
New York was not the only
state affected by the blackout. Cleveland and Detroit
went dark, as did Toronto
and sections of New Jersey;
Pennsylvania, Connecticut
and Massachusetts. Yet
it felt as if only my world
had changed. At six years
old I was left to contemplate the significance of
silence, and the unity it
created amongst my family.
From the view of my crowded balcony, it appeared as if
everyone had a newfound
energy that only the sun
could bring them; no longer
indoors with AC and television, forced to mingle outside. Kids raced each other,
contesting the results and
fighting over who should
be crowned winner. Little
girls jumped rope; their floral summer dresses danced
as they desperately tried
to avoid the rough rope
underneath their feet. The
song “strawberry shortcake
cream on top… tell me the
name of your sweet love.
Is it A, B, C?” filled my
ears, followed by spurts
of laughter. I watched the
old men competitively play
dominos on the concrete
below, while their wives
gossiped about the latest
neighborhood scandal. Our
notorious neighborhood
troublemaker had been arrested the day before. They
probably were estimating
the time he would be in
jail, complaining about
the leniency he would no
doubt receive from one of
the many corrupt cops. He
would be back in no time,
wreaking havoc on their
streets. Old school Bachata and Merengue were
blasting from a multitude of
portable radios, giving the
streets a pulsating heart-