The Final Revival of Opal & Nev

by Dawnie Walton

I’m an old chick now and I like my quiet, but when I first came to New York I was twenty-one years old. I could feel the energy of that place jolt through my body as soon as I stepped off the bus. At first you just notice the nastiness: You know, everything was so extra—extra hot, extra funky, extra loud. But sitting in the back of that yellow cab, I was like an astronaut in a shell traveling through space, pressed up against the window and taking in the stars. There were businessmen in brown and blue suits looking clean and sharp, Teflon dons on those dirty-ass streets. I saw swarms of moving people, people who knew rules I didn’t yet know, and in the swarm you could pick out gray-haired society ladies and Hispanic workmen and Hasids in their outfits, the curls and hats and coats, even in that summer heat. And then we drove alongside Central Park, and I saw a fully grown sister on roller skates. In a plaid sundress and cornrows, hollering at folks to get out the way and rumbling down the sidewalk like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I thought, Oh my God—my people! [Laughs]