The Benks of Birlik Market
Osman and Melinda have begun to think about the host of compromises they will have to make in the future. “Right now, I want kids,” says Osman, “But we are too busy to raise a child. When I have a child, I want to see it, you know? I’m working two jobs.” Melinda chimes in, as if to save him from thinking about it any further: “We need some regularity in our lives.” Osman looks down to a donation box next to the cash register taking loose change as charity to the mosque upstairs. A creased, laminated photo of a sun-streaked horizon is plastered to the box. Above the coin slot, a sign reads, “For our children, by protecting them from drug, alcohol or bad habit.”
About closing time, the weight of a day’s work has finally forced Osman to make a confession all his own. “Life brings you things different. I didn’t expect to come here. To meet her. To be here. Life will not be interesting if you know what you’ll do, you know.” Just past Osman’s tired eyes and out through the door to where the produce is stacked, are cherries, just within view of the row of assorted nuts in bulk bins beside the door. In the corner across from the stand, Ahmet sits in his nest surrounded by feta and olives. Young Turkish teenagers, on their way home on a late night, have gathered outside. Suddenly, this corner in the midst of Brooklyn’s Chinatown seems perhaps not so different from where Osman’s story began in Giresun.
One late night, just another one of the late nights the three have spent together here for the past six months, Ahmet walked over to ask Melinda for a rubber band. He put the tips of his thumb and index finger of both hands together to form a circle before extending them in opposite directions. “It’s going to cost you,” Melinda said, rubbing her thumb and index finger together at him to signal that she wanted money. He pulled out a wad of ones from his back pocket as a joke. She laughed and swatted his hand away and tossed him a rubber band from a jar beside the register. Behind them, Osman was watching silently, wearing the widest grin he had flashed all night.
