If there’s one thing I hate more than a problem that doesn’t want to be solved, it’s having a solution that people in power refuse to implement.
And beads of sweat rolling down your back. I hate that too.
Marcela was a one-woman army during today’s City Council meeting. She was the physical manifestation of patience, dressed in a blue suit and door-knocker earrings she surely wanted to pelt at her colleagues’ heads. That didn’t stop her from calling her fellow councilmembers and the mayor to the carpet for allowing vacant land to remain neglected.
The process to obtain lots is arduous, shutting out residents and community groups. Why is it so hard to do the right thing? People put you in office to uphold their best interests, not to waste their time and tax dollars making their lives harder.
Sitting bare-ass on thumbtacks would have been more comfortable than being inside council chambers. Stories of elders and others taking buses to reach food sources because the nearest supermarkets are miles away—in wealthier and less diverse areas—was downright shameful. Buffalo might be the City of Good Neighbors, but it’s one of the most segregated cities in the country.
Marcela has been fighting for changes to local zoning laws to support more affordable housing and farming efforts, as well as land disposition policies that prioritize East Side residents in vacant lot purchases. She also wants to reserve at least thirty percent of available vacant land for sustainable efforts.
Farming.
Parks.
Community gardens.
Housing.
Public art.
The math maths, and the dollars make sense.
I left the council meeting out of Twizzlers and with a migraine. Testimonies fell on deaf ears. City Council tabled the conversation, shutting down my sister and community residents.
The chaos, masked as political process, was enough for me to take a vow of silence for the rest of the day. The kids also had a rough day, so we kicked off our shoes and pulled out Legos, kinetic sand, and slime.
“Jayden went home. You’re out of kids.”
I glance at Ms. Amber in the doorway. “That was fast.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” she laughs, nodding to the tables of houses, skyscrapers, playgrounds, and farms. “You should keep these.”
I smile. “Plan to. I asked them to reimagine a Buffalo they want to live in and build it. We have art to go with it. Cleaner waterways. More accessible harbor space. The city could learn a thing or two.”
Kids have the smallest voices but the biggest imaginations, unrestricted by limited thinking, corruption, and how things “should be.” They remind me of myself when I was younger. I fell in love with engineering because of the possibilities. They’re endless if we only dare to dream.
“Speaking of reimagining.” Ms. Amber steps under the fluorescent lights wearing jeans and a worn sweater. “I want to talk to you about your position.”
The pit of my stomach drops, and I silently curse myself for wearing a blouse and dress pants. If I’m getting fired, I want to be comfortable.
“Okay.” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.
She sits down at a small table decorated in Lego creations and brushes back a curl from her silver pixie cut. Charades and mind reading aren’t talents I possess, so I sit there staring.
“We received a donation that’s large enough to begin work on our renovation projects and expand our programming.”
“Amazing! Congratulations.”
“The donor requested we make your position full-time to support the incredible STEM work you’re doing.”
All I can do is blink. My position isn’t publicly advertised as part-time. It’s just my name and title on the website. Who would know I don’t work full-time and invest in me?
Marcela doesn’t have the funds. Her corporate job paid good money, but not likethat.
My mother…no comment. And any funds from my father would come with a long lecture about using my talent.
Kieran doesn’t know enough about my business to intervene. He also doesn’t strike me as someone who would give without cameras present.
