The Bodega

It was the first place I felt at home here in the city. It was the first place someone knew my name, the first place someone shared their phone number. It was my first taste of community, my first feeling of family so far from home.

It’s the first place my kids want to go when they arrive from Texas, the first stop my mom makes when she visits, and the first thing I do with out-of-town guests who want a tour… because the bodega is the heart and soul of New York City. (If someone in a New York bodega knows your name, you’ve arrived!)

My neighborhood bodega, Orchidea Deli, is family owned and operated by Cammie and Jose Bello. They are the heart and soul of Avenue H in Midwood, Brooklyn, along with Tajj, Jose Jr., and Yeidi (their grown children), Martin (who works in the deli), and Marta (who works the front). And, yes, I refer to it as mine. Because that is the nature of the neighborhood bodega. It belongs to you, and you belong to it. Mutually invested in each other.

Egg whites, avocado, lettuce, tomato, and pickles on a roll, no salt, no pepper, no mayo, no cheese. That’s my breakfast order. My little sandwich that they make with love, the way that only a New York deli can. With coffee and ‘Good Morning‘ conversation (a little neighborhood gossip, local and national news, mixed with well wishes and blessings for the family), it’s the perfect way to start every day, steps from the morning train.

Typically, Tajj and I trade ideas, while Maxey and Yeidi talk hair, Mike and the two Joses discuss what’s up in the neighborhood, and Cammie keeps her eye on us all. But with ‘New York on Pause’, while we wait out COVID-19, routines have changed. No more swimming upstream against the rush of students making their way down Avenue H, having just gotten off the morning train, bound for Brooklyn College. Now, the quiet walk to the bodega is more of a mental health exercise than anything else. A reminder that there is still life out there, that there was something before COVID-19 and there will be something after it.

The absence of the students, alone, has been enough to close the little cluster of businesses in my neighborhood. Those students getting on and off the train, right there, every morning and every afternoon, are the bread and butter of the usually thriving small businesses. Even so, bruised and battered, the bodega remains a bright spot on our shuttered street with the ‘Coffee’ sign burning bright in the window all day.

Masked up, we enter, with only three people allowed in the store at a time, in order to adhere to the current social distancing guidelines. Separation, in the way of masks, gloves, and sheets of plastic, keeps everyone safe. Such a sterile contrast to the close, crowded conditions of yesterday, when you could feel the warmth of your neighbor while you waited in line on a cold day.

We are entering a new normal. There has been a shift in focus, from continuing and growing peaceful unity to prioritizing safe distancing. My hope is that for all of our ‘social distance’, we will not sacrifice any hard-won gained ground. Because I believe in a human family, one where we are measured by the circumstances and treatment of our most vulnerable, and by the closeness, not the distance, of our people. I believe in greeting with a soft kiss and saying goodbye with an intimate hug.

I believe in a human family that looks like a New York City bodega, where everyone coming through the door has a story, and all are welcome, one great big global community mutually invested in each other. No matter where and what you come from, you’re front and center, showing up right here, right now, ever better, day by day.

My prayer remains the same, that when all of this is over, ultimately love will be the lasting legacy.

Until then…

Layer, upon layer, upon layer of separation, yet still connected…

Take care of each other out there.