The Bottles Now

There’s a place in New York City where I go to be alone. I have to take two subways and a bus to get there. Once I am off the bus I walk a quarter mile, go past the no trespassing signs, and then walk further down the beach, past the ever present burning rubber smell, until I see bottles everywhere and tune into the sound of the waves washing over broken glass.

Nobody else is ever there. The bottles come from a poorly made landfill from the 1950s. When they built the Brooklyn Queens Expressway they bulldozed through neighborhoods and that debris is what keeps bubbling up from the ground. I’ve seen dressers, sinks, linoleum floors, children’s dolls, bathroom mirrors, shoes, plates, whole cars… everything you would need to build a home is here.

Returning again and again, I see how every storm changes the shape of the beach. The wind moves the sand and covers up objects that were once revealed, and reveals objects that were once covered. The waves crash and do the same, quietly unearthing mid-20th century life.

On my way back from the beach, I pass my old neighborhood. It looks nothing like it did when I moved there ten years ago. My apartment building was demolished to make way for something more modern. Some of the old buildings still remain but I can’t imagine it will be for much longer. Everything in this city eventually changes, gets shipped away or replaced. Everything except this little mistake.