The sky was blue over the Bronx, without a cloud on this Sunday afternoon. Jimmy had woken early this morning to the music from his alarm clock, tuned to his local radio station. People in Manhattan called the Bronx a ghetto, but Jimmy didn’t care. Here he was far from the bustle of Fifth Avenue and its towering skyscrapers. He was far from all of it. Today, Jimmy needed an outlet. There was excitement in him, a great desire and urgency to live. For Jimmy, there was no purer way to exist than by dancing hip-hop up on the roof. He wasn’t there to impress a crowd, or to show off, but to lose himself among the clouds in a world of freedom. All of twenty-two years old, Jimmy had never lived under the apocalyptic threat of the Cold War, and had not known the world before AIDS. Videogames were a standard pastime for his peers, and he was young enough to have seen computers being introduced to the public. Jimmy was Gen Y, who were digital natives – the first generation to see computers and cellphones come into their households when they were children. Theirs was a generation of kids who had grown up with technology, but could also remember the pre-internet world. Jimmy flicked on his boom box and turned up the volume. He kicked off his slippers and put on his new Nikes with a blue t-shirt. He did some jump-rope to warm up.
Jimmy didn’t let anything get him down. Sure, he’d grown up in the ghetto. He knew all the dealers who sold from the steps of his apartment building. They were guys he’d gone to school with, who he ran into in the elevator. He said “Hi” to their moms, and respected their dads. He knew the hookers who hung out on the street corners. They were the girls who used to laugh during class and throw paper airplanes, who ran in the hallways and kept lipstick in their lockers. He knew the gangs who fought with knives. He knew the guys who sold electronics from the trunks of their cars. Jimmy didn’t judge them, but that life wasn’t for him. Instead, he’d graduated from Cornell University. A few years ago he’d won a scholarship to stay in school. His mother had cried, barely able to believe it. Jimmy had worked hard so as not to disappoint her. He wanted to become an electrical engineer. He spent long nights studying, drawing blueprints, learning laws and theorems off study cards; at night he worked in a diner for six bucks an hour. But you made good tips, and a bright smile earned you money. It had to look effortless, though, so nobody knew how hard you were working to get by. Jimmy had made it. A month ago he’d put on his robes and mortarboard and walked across the stage to get his degree, as his mother looked on in tears. Electrical engineers could make a fortune, and Jimmy would let nothing hold him back. True, they didn’t exactly live in Silicon Valley, but companies still needed guys like him. His future was in his hands, and he was determined to make something of it.
But today was Sunday, and Sunday was all about the moves. He was happy, and his mind was at ease, his body free. He felt strong, invincible even. His muscles did what he told them. He was elastic and powerful. He’d just received a letter inviting him to interview for a company in San Diego that made video cards. He’d never been a big fan of video games, but it was a good job. He preferred to watch T.V.; it was cheaper, and he liked it when all the kids and old folks gathered around his neighbor’s set because it had the biggest screen. He dreamed of California, the beaches, and sunshine all year round. Ocean waves; he could learn to surf there. He had the body for it.
Jimmy stopped dancing, and looked over at the skyscrapers on the horizon. California wasn’t far as the crow flew. His future was in his hands.
Alan Alfredo Geday