Illustration by Tiffany Budzisz
Hey, baby.
Do you remember when we first met? I came to town with friends to hear Soul Coughing play on Mayo Island. (I know I’m getting old, honey. Don’t remind me.) We ate at Third Street Diner. That’s not much to go on, is it? But it was April. You’re always so charming in April.
I saw you again a few years later, when I came to town for a job interview. I stopped for lunch at the Paragon Pharmacy near VCU, and the waitress showed me how to properly peel a hard-boiled egg. Don’t bang it on the counter, she told me. She rolled it, then peeled off the perfectly fractured shell.
The Paragon is gone now. So many things are. But back then, everything was new to me. And I realized I liked you, Richmond. I liked you a lot. You didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t from here.
I fell for you.
I remember savoring the sunsets over Fountain Lake.
I remember venturing, alone, onto the railroad tracks by the river.
I remember discovering Maymont and, like Alice, falling into a wonderland.
I remember walking down Monument Avenue on cold December nights, past that one big crape myrtle twined with amber and gold lights. I always paused beneath its branches. It was like standing under a firework.
I remember going on the first date with the man I would marry: French toast at The Triple. The booth by the window. Sunday morning sunshine.
I remember jumping from the roof of our Fan apartment building onto the one next door. Was it a leap, or just a long step? The gap was narrow, the ground three stories down.
Of such things are romance made: lights, and leaps. The thrill of the forbidden.
I left you.
I moved to Norfolk for a job. I thought it was something I had to do.
I made friends with my rowdy naval neighbors. I sunbathed on the beach. But compared to you, Norfolk was charmless.
I couldn’t stay away. I came back almost every weekend, remember? And then I came back for good.
I was married in the Italian gardens at Maymont.
I needed a little space.
We bought a 1940s brick Cape Cod, a very Richmond house. But it was in the county, just past the white column standing on Lakeside Avenue that says RICHMOND in black letters.
Henrico simply seemed more — more stable, you know? Staid. Reliable. Plus, every time I call a county office, the staff are just so darn cordial. They are very civil servants.
I’m sorry, honey. I still write “Richmond” as my return address. I still roll my hard-boiled eggs.
Still, I knew I’d always be yours.
You always knew the surest way to my heart. I don’t mean your fine dining, fine though it is. I’m talking about those green and yellow sauces at Chicken Fiesta. And the macaroni salad at Sally Bell’s, and the upside-down cupcakes, too. And the red-curry noodles at Chadar Thai, and the basil vegetables at Mekong and the banh mi at Catina. You know what I like: a little sweet, a little heat and a lot of mayonnaise.
But it wasn’t your food that made me love you. And — don’t take this the wrong way, honey — it was never about your looks, either. I mean, I dig your skyline. Your bricks are really stacked. Your river is wild. But you’re so much more than that.
You’re the woman I met in Oregon Hill, beer-drunk at 11 a.m., who told me Belle Isle was cursed. I have never doubted it.
You’re the guy who proudly showed me the photo of a three-eyed catfish he caught in the James.
You’re the little boy standing in a Manchester yard on his birthday, blowing a mournful tune on his harmonica as the police put his dad in the patrol car.
You’re Lettie Coleman Madison, founder of the school of social work at Virginia Union University, who died last year at 105 and whose grandmother had been a slave. I sat up straight in my chair when she spoke to me. She was that kind of person.
You’re the drag queens and grande dames, the punks and scholars, the reverends and felons — everyone who told me their stories, and so helped me understand your scars.
I love them all.
I always will.
Honey, Would You Mind?
City of Richmond, you know I love you just the way you are. But there are a few little things I’d love to see you take care of…
Pay attention to your kids. Forty-three percent of Richmond children under 5 live below the poverty line, according to a 2016 United Way assessment. That’s appalling. You need to be finding ways to lift up these children, and their families, with services like free preschool and reasonably priced childcare.
Build — and preserve — affordable houses. Gentrification is remaking so many Richmond neighborhoods, from Barton Heights to Church Hill. Rising property values are great — until they turn diverse, modest neighborhoods into homogeneous, high-priced ones.
Memorialize your worst history. You sold more than 300,000 people, and for too long you’ve tried to forget that fact. Your interest in building a slavery museum in Shockoe Bottom is encouraging, but I worry this effort will be merely dutiful instead of visionary.
Spruce up your schools. It seems like you keep patching up your crumbling public schools to make them just good enough. Why can’t they be great, instead of barely adequate?
Stop subsidizing sports. I still can’t believe you built the Redskins a $10 million training camp. The team is worth nearly $3 billion. They’re here for a few weeks each year. And you’re still paying them. If you hand over one more cent to a professional sports team, I’m taking your checkbook.
Quit looking at lists. You’re a top foodie city, a top travel destination, a hot housing market and a Top Mid-Sized City of the Future, whatever that means. Just remember that today’s hip city is tomorrow’s has-been. You don’t need lists for validation. (But don’t throw out this one.)
A behind-the-scenes look at artist Tiffany Budzisz's process for creating the paper sculptures that accompany this piece
