Upstate (13 page)

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Authors: Kalisha Buckhanon

BOOK: Upstate
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November 15, 1990
 
Antonio, that Ms. Harris lady done called our house and your mother's house basically saying you up there going
crazy. All you do is lay in your bed all day staring at Benito's mattress. She said you lost your job cause you ain't been showing up. Basically what happened was I was in the kitchen frying salmon cakes and boiling peas and rice cause Grandma and Drew was coming over for dinner. This blocked number came up on the caller ID and Roy told me to get it just in case it was a bill collector so I could talk my 10 year old voice and say nobody was there. Well, I was about to hang up soon as I answered cause she sounded like a white woman and the only time they call is when we past due on bills or I been skipping school. So I just said real quick, “We ain't here and if we was, we ain't interested.” And she said, “No, wait. My name is Dream Harris and I'm the educational counselor for Michael Lawrence.” So I said, “Yeah yeah yeah, he done talked about you.” She sounded like a real nice lady, just white-talking like Laneice mother. And that's when she proceeded to tell me all about what you been doing, or haven't been doing I should say. She was like, “I'm very concerned about Michael and I really don't know what to do to get him back into the swing of things.” She said she was hoping I could talk to you, give you “a jolt” she called it. She said that she had already talked to your moms, but that she didn't seem like she was listening. I didn't want her to think bad about your mother, cause I swear I love her like my own, so I told her “Mrs. Lawrence good peoples she just kind of depressed that's all.” She sent me a copy of the letter she wrote you. She said you hadn't wrote her back yet and that wasn't like
you. But I promised this woman I would talk to you, try to convince you to come back.
I'm on the number 3 bus right now, going down Manhattan Avenue bout to pass 123rd, and let me tell you what I see. The sky is blue. The leaves on the trees are sherbert colors: orange, peach, and yellow. I can see our house, Douglass Gardens, down the street and they finished putting the pretty red bricks on the outside and now they fixing up the inside. I can see the shiny white spiral staircase down the middle, and the chandelier hanging down like the sun. I can see our porch with pretty decorated handles on the side, with steps all our own and not no nasty stoop that belong to the whole building where people can piss and hang out. Our steps are gonna have flowers on em and be clean enough so I can sit out with my girlz and my moms and watch Harlem go by. I can see the white door with a glass window that have pretty frosted designs on it. I can see me and you behind that door, eating at a big old dining room table with a really bright, expensive painting hanging on the wall right above a bookcase with all our books. I can see all of that. Open your eyes and you can see it too.
Love,
Natasha
 
 
 
November 20, 1990
Hey Baby Girl,
 
So Ms. Harris care that much about me that she calling my house and shit to talk about me? I feel really bad now that I been missing class, but to tell you the truth Natasha, I just don't feel like doing shit. It's so hard for me to move my body and I feel weak all the time. I'm gonna keep this letter short cause my hands is shaking and my eyes ain't focusing too good. You don't know what this is like. You don't know how it is to live your life in a place where everything is hard—the beds, the floors, the stares from people all around you, the bodies piled up on top of each other. I took a lot of shit for granted when I didn't know any better. The softness of leaves, grass. The luxury of falling asleep on the living room couch with the TV on until the static wakes you up. The feeling of rain on my face and your tongue in my mouth. I stare out of this tiny window sometimes and all I can think is, God, I never knew the sky was that blue. On the outside, the sky was just another thing in my world that I didn't take the time to notice, like the people who really cared about me, the food that was always on the stove when I got home, the Christmas presents that showed up even though Ma and Daddy didn't do shit but say they had no money. Now, I find myself walking in the yard or looking out of the window sometimes and I can't take my eyes off the sky, like it's the last thing on earth I'll ever see.
I wasn't feeling this way a few weeks ago, before Mohammed stopped talking to everybody cause his parole got denied. Now my corner of the world got a damper over it. Benito been trying to make jokes to crack us up, but I can tell you it's not working.
I got even more down too when my peoples came to visit me. When I was looking out at you and Laneice and Black and my brothers, I saw the same kids from off the block haven't changed a bit. Still young, still fresh with them shiny eyes and bright faces, still green like they say in
The Outsiders.
And just a little bit I could see the reflection of my own face in the glass, thin and see-through like the shadow faces I keep seeing in my dreams. And all I could think while looking at you all at the same time I was looking at me was I look old, I look sad, I look used. Seeing people you care about is supposed to get your spirits up, keep your mental up and focused on the finish line. But it had the opposite effect on me. It got me down and reminded me of all I'm missing out on. So I don't think I want you all to come see me anymore. I'll have to think about that, but I'm pretty sure that's the way I want it. I'm pretty sure that's the way it has to be.
Love,
#007624
 
 
 
November 28, 1990
Dear Antonio,
 
I can tell something wrong with you cause of the way your letter look, all sloppy and little and words running damn near off the page. I can't take worrying about you now. I can't take no more on my head than I already got. I can't worry about nobody else. I gotta be the only one worry about Mommy now cause Grandma's gone, Antonio. Grandma died on Wednesday in church. We at her house right now with people bringing food and stuff. Everybody downstairs—Laneice came, Valencia and Tamika came too. But I need to be alone. I'm laying in her and Grandpa old bed so I don't have to be around nobody.
We just had a wake at the church. It was a nice little service. Grandma was almost 75 years old and she barely got one line in her face, her hair just as black and straight as if she had just got it pressed. A lot of singing and people getting up saying things about Grandma. I didn't know she had so many friends, but I guess old people like to keep a tight crew too. It was fine up until the end when we had to go look at the body. Drew wouldn't stop crying and he wouldn't take his hands off Grandma pretty pink dress so they could close the casket and Mommy and Roy had to pull him off. He got so mad about that he pushed Roy and said, “You ain't my daddy,” and then the mortician shut the
casket real quick, just when I was putting my hand in it. He gave me this real mean look with his eyes and closed it before I could see Grandma face and touch her and say goodbye. That uppity Negro fucked up the last time I could ever see my grandma. She probably cremated by now, cause that's what she wanted. The preacher man from her church say Grandma went the way she was supposed to go, serving God cause that's what she loved most next to her family. The holy ladies who brought Drew home and been bringing food over say she got the holy ghost and started running around the pews with her hands in the air and her body shouting and nobody knew nothing was wrong. So rather than helping her they just encouraged her on, singing and clapping and jingling their tambourines louder. Then she let out one big last shout they say and just fell in front of the preacher with her hands on her heart and tears in her eyes.
Mommy fainted when they told her and we had to put her in the tub with ice cubes before she would wake up. Then she just started moaning real loud saying, “Who I got now? Who I got to take care of me?” And the holy ladies told her, “You got Jesus and you got yourself honey and you got your kids now to take care of you.” And all I was thinking was, what about me? Who's gonna worry about me? I have to take that damn SAT test next weekend and I'm gonna fail cause I have too much on my mind. Then I'm not gonna go to college
and I'm gonna be stuck here forever, taking care of people. Well, who's gonna take care of me?
Answer me soon,
Natasha
 
 
 
December 5, 1990
Natasha,
 
Snow's coming down outside the window, but it won't stick cause the sun too bright. New York ain't ready for old man winter I see, not ready to slow down for a change. Pretty soon the sun gonna fade and the snowflakes will stick and the snow will hide everything that's dirty about this place. I bet when it's covered with snow, this place look like a world of clouds—all peaceful and shit. Not at all hard and tough like we know it to be. I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother, I really am. I know you loved her a lot. I know you gonna miss her. I know Drew was real close to her since he lived with her and all for so many years. Tell youngun to keep his head up. I wish I could think of something more to say, something to make you feel better, but I can't. I hope you know that one person who do worry about you is me. I know that don't mean nothing cause it ain't shit I can do up here if something happen to you, but I think about you by yourself on the train at night coming home from work, think about you going to and from school
all by yourself. I think about you not having the money to keep yourself looking good, like the Black Queen you are. I think about all that shit all the time, but it ain't nothing I can do about it and that really hurts me deep down inside. It hurts me deep to my core, to my manhood. It's hard to feel like a man when you can't take care of your woman.
That's why I'm going back to class, Natasha. That's why I'm not feeling sorry for myself no more. That's why I'm about to change and be brand-new. I gotta keep it together and keep my perspective straight. If it'll make you feel better, I'm going to get my job back. I'm saving my money so I can send you something real nice. You deserve the best and I'm gonna give it to you any way I can.
Love, your man,
Antonio
 
 
 
December 6, 1990
 
Antonio, well I took the test today. The SAT test I told you about I need to get into college. I went down there with Tamika and Valencia from the program. Valencia real religious, even though she act like a dyke sometimes, and she wear that Hail Mary statue around her neck all the time, so we said a prayer right before we all went in there to take the test. I really don't think I did too good. The math part was a little easier cause I had studied all that real hard, plus I guess Mr. Lombard
wasn't that bad of a teacher after all. There was so many questions on the test I never finished every one in the section. All them long hard words just started running together and I didn't know what they meant, words like
titular, colloquialism, egregious, gregarious, litigious
. I'm thinking to myself I never seen these words in my life and they were NOT on them vocabulary lists that I got to study. The whole time I was taking the test, Tamika wasn't paying attention and tapping her pencil and looking around the room and stuff. Me and Valencia kept trying to keep her focused, but she ended up grabbing her coat and walking out. The man who was giving us the test had stopped her and said, “Ma'am, the test is not over and if you leave now you won't be able to return to the testing room,” and she shouted, “I don't care. I'm through with this. I'm up.” So that was the end of that for her. She gave up on herself and didn't even try to finish. I pushed on though, tried to make the best of it.
Monday Mr. Lombard come grabbing me in the hallway trying to talk to me about being in the program. Dawg, I don't know why that man always trying to be my friend. He was like, “Natasha, you're a feisty girl and I sense you're a real go-getter. I think you should apply to school out of New York State. I'll write you a recommendation.” And I'm thinking, Yeah you gonna write me a recommendation, but is you gonna pay for tuition? I'm going right up there to City College like everybody else cause a sister is ba-ROKE, okay? He gave me all these pamphlets for all these schools I ain't never even
heard of. Brown and Stanford and Yale and Georgetown and University of Chicago. Georgetown was the only one I knew cause I watch their basketball team on TV sometimes. But it's way down there in D.C. I'm not leaving New York. I can't leave my mother, even though Mr. Lombard told me I should expand my horizons. Here's some of what he wrote about me in his recommendation: “Initially, Natasha's intelligence and maturity went unnoticed by me because she seemed to be trying to hide it behind a tough exterior and somewhat comic demeanor. Such a tendency is common in a school system such as ours, where academic excellence is not rewarded or acknowledged nearly as much as it should be. However, as the school year has progressed, Natasha's true personality and potential have emerged to reveal a very motivated and dedicated student. She has expressed a desire to learn above and beyond what she is being taught, and this initiating spirit is what has set Natasha apart from other students I teach.” That's just a little of what he said. Nice, huh? I actually been helping him out in his classroom after school, and we don't even fight that much anymore.

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