This is Anthony Aleman’s essay based on his self-published memoir Barless: A Bronx Memoir. RCBJ is not able to independently verify the content of the memoir, but we have published it because we believe this Rockland County resident’s maiden memoir has artistic value and provides insight into the journey from dire poverty to a more hopeful existence in our community.
Following the essay, find a link to Aleman’s first chapter. Barless: A Bronx Memoir is available on Amazon as an eBook and paperback.
An Essay Introducing Barless: A Bronx Memoir
By Anthony Aleman
Looking out the window of this quiet Rockland porch, the morning birds chirp as the sun breaks the tree line.
A soft, “Good morning,” draws my attention to my wife. Standing there with smiling eyes, the sun shines behind her head, giving her a blonde halo. A loud “Dad!” breaks our gaze as I embrace my son and shed a tear.
Looking at this 10-year-old boy’s smile, a creeping pain sits in the center of my chest as I think about me at his age, growing up in the South Bronx.
1998 seems so long ago.
The crack wars are the entertainment of the neighborhood. Eating is a luxury, and the absence of love is normal.
Dog waste covers every inch of this apartment, filling the air with a chemical stench that stings my nose.
When the smell gets too much, I dangle my body out the window of this 14th-floor project prison tower and take in my playground: three 21-story buildings that house 400 people each on one super block.
I am a nomad child with no adults in my life.
By age 11, I have witnessed a burnt body in a project stairwell and have normalized suffering.
By 13, Cardinal McCloskey Foster Agency steps in when my mother signs her rights away.
By 15, I’ve made a new family and a new life. I attend weekly meetings with Sister Jean and Sister Marie from the Dominican sisterhood. Every month, we get away from the smog of the city sometimes we go to a beautiful place called Syracuse. I meet a girl there who lives in a place called Rockland County.
By 17, I’m leaving the Bronx behind and beginning a new life in Nyack, NY. I get a job at the Palisades Mall working at Dave & Buster’s, but after a couple of months, I lose my job, then my apartment. I’m faced with the decision to either retreat back to the Bronx or become homeless in Rockland County.
I choose Rockland.
Sitting on the 9A bus heading toward the city, I lay my head against the window, letting it vibrate my skull and blur my vision as the squealing of the brakes stops the bus and the driver shouts,
“Tappan Library!”
My eyes lock onto a wooden sign swinging in the wind, its old, worn-out writing reading, The Old ’76 House.
I jump out of my seat and run off the bus before it leaves, deciding this is where I need to be. This is going to be my new home. I grab my bright red rolling luggage and go.
Walking down this long, tight road, trees cover my head as a graveyard dominates the landscape. I close my eyes as I walk, taking in the quiet: no loud music, no gunshots, no sirens blaring, just peaceful, green, a land of possibility.
I find an abandoned truck yard and make my way to the back, where a broken-down truck cab sits elevated 15 feet in the air. I climb up, open the door, and set up my new home.
Twenty-one years later, I’m wiping a tear from my face as I stare at my son and my wife.
Thinking about that 17-year-old boy with his suitcase, I think about Sister Jean and Sister Marie from Cardinal McCloskey, who took this lost boy and showed me a world I never knew existed, and the people from every walk of life who took me in and never judged.
I don’t know how I’m going to give back. I just know I have to. Whether it be through book proceeds or donating my time, I have to give back to Sister Jean, Sister Marie, and to Rockland County, which gave me something I’d never experienced before: safety.
Twenty-one years ago, I chose Rockland because it made me feel safe in this dangerous world. Twenty-one years later, I choose it again, this time to give back.
Click here to read Chapter One
