Cinnamon Smell

Cinnamon Smell

Putting on my seatbelt before I start my journey back to the place where I grew up, the warmth of my heart races in excitement. Southern California was where I was heading. As I’m taking the last looks around I hear this purified sound of this quiet old town, Woodland California. So quiet you can hear crickets. It’s funny to say, everyone around here hardly gets any tickets. Over there, someone’s bound to get pulled over; from the racing cars to the angry drivers. In Woodland everyone smiles and waves with gratitude and hardly anyone has an attitude. I look to the right and there’s fields; on the left, a barn and some hills. It’s almost insane I went from a city to a town, but as I take one more look around I realize I’m going back to where I’m from, not with a frown but instead I leave in excite.

 The clear skies turn to foggy and gray skies. You can feel it in the air, it’s almost not fair. Driving on the freeway, you can see all the buildings. It went from green grass, to pollution from all the gas.  For me, it’s a warm feeling in my toes. My nose gets all tingly as the excitement of my heart races. Passing the beach takes me back. The bus takes you everywhere and anywhere, from here to there, as long as you pay the fair. “Swooosh, swoosh”, the waves and the smell of salty air as you look around there’s smiles and laughter everywhere. Jokes from the local comedian, rap’s from the local rapper, dancing from your local dancers, and robots form the local beach bums just trying to survive; surrounded by people with a hat on the floor, that is where their money is poured. Cd’s, flyers, store’s, food, tattoos, paintings, weed advertisements, smoke, Bob Marley, as you look around it’s as fresh as a sunny morning after a rain storm. You can hear the beautiful songs of reggae, as the wind passes your ears.  You just want to move with the people who are never tired, and dance around the bon-fire.  Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, you’re never restricted to colors and many others. The dreams that you’ve dreamed of, seem as if that someday, is today. It’s beautiful, butterflies flying full of life way up high and down by your thighs. Dreads on him and her, never judged or mugged, just love. The sand between your toes is like a million miniature people massaging your stress away. Culver City, California was once where I was just around the corner of the Santa Monica pier where I would go and release all fears.           

            “Beep, beep” the angry driver’s honk. As I merge onto I-605 S glancing up at a sign I see “BELLFLOWER NEXT EXIT”. I made friends and lost friends. My mothers’ father and his blue house was how it began. From seventh grade to ninth grade, those were the days. My pre-teens were full of laughter; at the time it seemed so natural to be surrounded by friends every day, every time, no matter where you would find we always had time. In the school halls where the seagull’s slimy, yet gooey poop would often fall, my brother would pass. When I look back I laugh, it was as if we never crossed paths besides the times when my friends would scream, “Hi Samantha’s brother!” It matched like two birds and a cat. Who would’ve ever known it would be the last time I would walk from class to class in the same school with that awkward feeling knowing that I would see him at home, but still screaming with my friends just to say hello. School was full of people, young ones and older ones; it was from seventh grade to twelfth. Sometimes, the older ones picking on the little, yet bold like a gun that belonged to an officer, filled with pockets of just ones. There was diversity in ethnicity and race; Egyptians, Samoans, Mexican, Salvadorians, African American, Asians, Philippines, Americans, and Porto Ricans. So many mixed, there were hardly ever fists used to hit. The summer was spent every day with my “bestie”, going everywhere and anywhere you can, without getting caught. First crush, later to come it was only lust. “Frienemies”, those were friends that became your enemies. It’s silly to say, but when you’re at that age friends are lost, and some are gained.

            As I continue to drive, I pass a place that has always made me feel safe. Baldwin Park, California; never will a day go by in which that city I don’t embrace. As a kid I would play all over the place, it was where my abuelita stayed. Across the city I walk with pity, only because my aubelita has made me feel shitty. It’s bittersweet, kind of like the smell of onions and feet. I love her so much, because she smells like roses and it kind of makes me want to eat meat. McDonalds was the place to be, as all the kids would play in the heat. Sweaty and hungry, but no one wants to eat. One, two, three; trees, trees, trees; tree’s everywhere, many places they can be. Gun shots make people stay away. How could this be that the sound of the sirens comforts me? From the time I was young, it’s what made me not so dumb to my surroundings. It’s the streets, sometimes they smell so sweet. From all the flowers and bees, and the trees in the street, it’s the oranges that fill me with joy, filled from my head to my feet. As the thugs walk the street, they smoke a lot of weed, eating everything they see. The children may sometimes fleet if they see them walking with a big crew, drinking some brew. It’s the silence that worries the neighborhood, because that’s when the violence occurs and it could have made them stood until the opponent claims their “hood”. Yelling near, it’s a little sad that no one has any fear. Oh what a life. At least it might influence the children to have a better life, so they won’t have to walk around carrying a knife. When you live in a place with such disease, it’s kind of scary for the people who always get asked, “Why are you looking at me?” The sun sometimes burn’s especially when all the children yearn. From the time you are young, early on you learn, not in education but in gun accusations, where you are from and how to handle the young. I knew why the dogs would often cry out at night, it was because they sensed the feeling of someone nearby losing their life. My friend was in trouble one day, I remember like it was yesterday, coming out of school my best friend and I looked for him. When you see a big crowd you know something’s going down. I ran. My best friend froze because she couldn’t believe all the blood on his clothes. Just in time we arrived, he jumped in the car and ducked because around the corner were a bunch of people chasing him. They looked like chickens after a dog interrupted they’re nest. I remember cleaning all the blood from his chest. Telling my sister’s father what had happened, I trembled, squeezing from my heart, the feeling of terror. Finally, I got settled. He was our protection and after that no one ever bothered. A couple times Chuy, my sister’s father, was driving around with her on the wrong side of town when some dumb clown tried to pull a trigger, Chuy drove away so fast my sister was bouncing around like Tigger. It’s a dangerous city when I think back, but for some reason I love to visit all my friends, it will never end. Always from here to there Baldwin Park was one of the few where I eventually moved.  

            As I continue to drive pass almost every city from my past; I’m almost there, my stomach starts to turn, but in a good way like the rain drops dripping down my hair. All the kids here are a little weird, their style is incomparable. Mohawks, big hair, pretty boys, gangsters, skaters, scene kids, hipsters, ravers, and modern day hippies; who would’ve ever thought you’d see them around besides when they reside, which was ten years after the sixties. It’s the big hill that I’m driving up, it seems so nuts to see this place where inside my gut I feel so warm. I’m going crazy with the thoughts of the cinnamon smell she always has, as I walk up the stairs I take a deep breath and it’s almost like fresh air. I can’t wait any longer, so I start to look around but I’m getting this feeling of hate because no one is home. Passing the hall going back to kitchen, I start busting up because the whole time my grandma was waiting for me. When I walked in I didn’t listen, she said, “hello”. I love the feeling of visiting home.  West Covina California is less of the time I spent, but now it’s where I go from time to time to get away from Woodland to visit and rest.