Just Throw A Party Baby; The People Will Come

*** Just Throw a Party Baby;
The people will come. ***
-Atlanta, Georgia
(#StorytellingSalemStory #999,981 out of 1mil:)

So I’ve been travelling across this country—
Town to town,
City to city,
State to state;
Sitting down in random locations—
Across this Nation—
with a whiteboard in my haaaand;
I’ve been asking pplllll:

“What’s Yor Story?”

And when I was in Atlanta, Georgia, outside the Five Points MARTA station, where the streets hum with gospel, trap beats, and the hiss of bus brakes; a tall man with gold-rimmed glasses, bright yellow sneaks, and a foam container smelling o’ lemon pepper wings, looked and read what was written upon my whiteboard; and then started to share:

⸻

“Lemme tell you ‘bout the block party that changed my whole neighborhood.

So we on McDaniel Street, yeah? Back then it was all boarded-up stores, folks beefin’ over dumb stuff, barely knew the people livin’ next door. Nobody smiled unless they had to type of vibe. But then this one lady—Miss Rochelle—she get this idea. Said, ‘What if we just throw a block party? No reason. Just ‘cause we here.’

We laugh at her at first. Like, girl, ain’t nobody comin’ outside for no party in this heat with potholes every ten feet.

But she real stubborn.
She say:
“Let’s just throw a party -baby.
The people will come.”

Week later? I swear on my grandma’s biscuits, she had the permit, the grill, the DJ, the bounce house, even called up this old head who used to breakdance in the ‘80s—man showed up with knee braces and all!

Day of the party? Sun blazin’. Smelled like ribs, cocoa butter, and Newports. Kids chalkin’ up the sidewalk, folks handin’ out sweet tea in them red plastic cups. We even had a dance-off in front of that busted laundromat where the main dryer behind the window been broke since ‘bama’s first term.

And the best part? Miss Rochelle made this ‘neighborhood scavenger hunt.’ Like, she gave everybody a paper with facts like, ‘Find the person who plays trumpet’ or ‘Find the neighbor who owns a green parrot.’ And you had to go talk to people to figure it out.

By the end of the day, folks was sittin’ on each other’s porches, swappin’ recipes, tradin’ numbers, makin’ plans. We went from strangers to somethin’ that felt like a neighborhood-fam.

It took a minute- but the community bonded; and you could see it as the weeks and months rolled by. That fall, our whole neighborhood started to look more cleaned up. Neighbors were found repainting folks store signs; just cause they lived nearby. Then some students even started a community garden where the old payphone used to be. Like, it started off with some plants in the payphone. Then rapidly grew to a bunch o’ plants and veggies around the payphone.
Like, it started feeling more like we were communally living in this neighborhood; taking care of it more and picking up that random piece of trash cause it was in our neighborhhood; rather than just living in this neighborhod- because that’s just where our address be at.

All ‘cause Miss Rochelle decided to throw a party for the people.”

⸻

He popped the container, offered me a wing; then nodded in thanks before strolling off toward the station stairs; leaving behind a lemon pepper aroma in the air.

And iii?
I stayed by the MARTA,
listening to the trains rumble nearby,
still asking:

“What’s Yor Story?”
waiting for the next person to stop on by.

(#StorytellingSalemStory #999,981)