East Coast/West Coast

My bedroom in Stony Brook overlooks a scraggly backyard and a bumpy driveway. We have a white picket fence and some wrought iron furniture on a brick patio, and my dad rebuilt the deck this past spring. The bushes are patchy because of the snow last winter and grass doesn’t grow in some places. There’s an old basketball hoop in the driveway, and a boat trailer that holds a boat for half a year.

When I’m up in my room, I can hear most of what goes on below. I hear the late night summer parties around the fire pit, my parents sitting around bull shitting with their friends. I hear the dog barking. I hear Johnny Cash playing when my dad is grilling. I hear cars pull in and turn off, I hear cars being started early in the morning.

My dad’s small, red pickup truck has a tiny roar, and from my room in California I heard the ignition of a truck in the parking lot next door that sounded just like his. The things that strike you.