I have reconciled with the fact that love and support in my life doesn't come from the expected places. Growing up I wanted to have a loving home so badly that it made me pretend I was happy with the one I had; as a teenager and young adult I wanted to love and be loved by a man so desperately that I idealized some desirable traits in men as panacea for my early shortcomings; after becoming a single mother, I've had to step out of what I had envisioned for myself and embrace that which I had around me. The kindness of the people I have met in Astoria has been really instrumental in that process.
Two or three times a week after I get out of work, Amaru and I walk down the subway stairs and go visit Hope at the thrift shop on 30th Avenue, located right below the psychic reading place and in front of the Trade Fair supermarket. Our initial visits were due mainly to my perusing of old vinyl records in the store, which were tucked below the rack of old, mom jeans. Each time I visited the store I found a good book to buy, a charming used toy for Amaru, a pretty hat with knitted flowers in it, for which I had to dig in piles of junk crowding every space in the store. As I kept visiting, I started to discover the most valuable thing the store had to offer.
Hope, the thrift shop keeper, behind a deceiving harsh look on her face, has one of the warmest, insightful personalities I have seen in my time in Astoria. Inside the store, two chairs are located in front of the counter, which are often occupied by locals who come in to peruse and talk to Hope. When you go visit her, in a thick greek accent Hope asks: jau aryou ma frend?... she asks if you are tired and if you had a good day. The minute I sit in the chair in front of the counter, Hope asks me to look after the store for a minute, and moments after walks back in with two coffees, light and sweet, just how I like them. As I drink coffee with her, Amaru storms off to play with Leandro, another kid that often visits the store with his mom. No matter how much I tell Hope not to spend money and go out of her way for us, she insists on buying pizza for Amaru and Leandro when we visit, because as she explains they are "her bambinos".
Although I have known Hope for a short amount of time, visiting her feels like going to your grandmas house, whose old wisdom can intuitively guess what you need at that moment to unwind and replenish. Her store feels so safe, full of caring and hidden treasures. As I ride the subway with Amaru into Astoria, I long for visiting Hope because the minute I enter her store my tense shoulders drop, and my soul feels cared for, at rest.
The other day, as Hope went out to Seven Eleven to get the pizza, a lady who was trying on a burgundy coat came up to me and asked me: "Excuse me, do you work here?" when I said no, she seemed puzzled, since I was sitting down and looking after the store; so she asked me again: "so...are you family with the owner?" to which I replied: "well... sort of".
