Boyfriend (17 page)

              “Look, Nate,” she started after a moment.  “I know what it’s like here.  No one should have to live here.  Not even them.”

              “It’s cool,” I began, taking another slow drag of my cigarette.  It wasn’t.  But, as far as I was concerned, there was no current solution.  I didn’t have any money and frankly, I didn’t have any energy to try to fix it.

              “No, it’s not,” she said.  Her voice was stern.  “I have an apartment uptown.  It isn’t much, but we have an extra room.  You’re more than welcome…”

              I laughed cutting her off.  “I’m not letting you go there, Natalie.”  Not only was I not going to burden Natalie with my failures, I knew I wasn’t worthy of her help.  After the way I treated her… after the way I abandoned her.  “You don’t owe me anything,” I concluded.   

              “Nate,” she began again, reaching out and holding my wrist.  “It was fucked up what you did that night,” she continued knowing exactly what I was talking about.  “I have never felt so alone and afraid in my life.  But I survived.  We were
both
victims.  You couldn’t have saved me.  You barely saved yourself.”  She took a deep breath.  “If you need my forgiveness, fine, I forgive you.  But, I’m not letting you stay here with them.”  She looked into my eyes with a level of understanding only she could have.  We were the only two people on this planet who knew what it was like to be raised by Nathaniel and Christine Best.  We were the only two people who knew what it took to survive.  I looked at the buzzer.  The back of my eyes began to sting.   A lump formed in the pit of my stomach.  She smiled.  “Get your stuff, there’s a bus coming soon.”

              I nodded and went back into my parent’s apartment, feeling overwhelmed that she had managed to do for me what I had been too weak to do for her. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Living with Natalie had only two conditions:  first, that I get a job (and keep it) and second, that I didn’t bring “skanks,” drugs, or alcohol into her house.  She had admittedly been to some dark places when she was living in Atlanta.  As a result, she was very protective of her sobriety. 

Her rock bottom had come on a Wednesday.  She was four months pregnant with Cole and binging on cocaine and Jim Beam. 

“I guess I just got tired of waiting to die,” she admitted.

After hours of using, she woke up in a wheelchair outside of Atlanta Medical Center, blood pouring from her nose and barely strong enough to blink.  The nurses would later tell her Chris had dropped her there, only staying to tell them her name and that she was pregnant.   Alone and scared, Natalie clung to a night nurse named Angie, who had a kind face and gentle demeanor.  Angie was deeply spiritual and was convinced that Natalie was destined for bigger things than the path she was going down.  One night, as Angie was changing her IV bag, she asked Natalie if she had a guardian angel.

“I don’t know.  Why?” Natalie had asked. 

“Because you and that baby should have been dead,” Angie had responded reaching over and stroking her hair. 

“I thought of Aunt Laura,” Natalie said to me, growing teary-eyed.

Two weeks later, after she was released from the hospital, she walked the almost seven miles back to the one-room apartment she shared with Chris.  When she walked in, he was lying flat on the rug, staring at the ceiling with clouds of smoke surrounding him and stoned out of his mind.  He looked at her as if he had seen a ghost and less than a minute later, a naked woman sauntered out of their bathroom.  Natalie gathered her stuff and left.  With nowhere else to go, she called Angie.  Angie picked her up less than fifteen minutes later and took her straight to her house. 

“She just took me in.  No questions.  No conditions,” Natalie explained to me, clearly still swimming in disbelief. 

Although Angie never asked Natalie to pay for her stay, she did encourage her to pursue her GED.  Angie also got her a part-time job sweeping up and washing hair at her daughter, Vanessa’s hair salon on the north side of Atlanta.  Vanessa took an instant liking to Natalie.  She trained Natalie as a stylist, a job Natalie described as “the only thing” she has ever been good at and paid for her to go to beauty school after Cole was born.  When Vanessa went under contract to open a new salon in Harlem, she offered Natalie the task of being one of the salon’s lead stylists.  With Natalie’s knowledge of New York, Vanessa thought she was the perfect choice for the new venture.  Though reluctant to come back to New York, Natalie couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make life better for her and Cole. 

“It was bittersweet leaving Angie and Vanessa,” she explained.  “They treated me like family… better than family.  If Angie had never been assigned to my hospital room that day… if Vanessa hadn’t given me a job… I don’t know where I would have ended up.  I don’t know where Cole would have ended up.” 

Natalie’s love for Cole could not have been a better reason to make the change.  Cole was the kid I imagined I would have been had everything been different.  He was funny, smart and head over heels in love with his mother.  When I came home with Natalie that first day, he ran to her, leaping in her arms and smothering her face with tiny kisses.  Natalie giggled, eating up every moment. 

“Hey, baby boy!” she said squeezing his sides and putting him down.  He clung to her, peaking at me from behind her leg.  “Cole, this is your Uncle Nate,” Natalie introduced.  I smiled and waved.  My experience with kids was limited.  I wasn’t sure whether to shake his hand or give him a hi-five.   “He’s going to be staying with us.”

“Hi Cole,” I said, holding my hand out for a hi-five.

“No,” he whined.  I pulled my hand back.  Clearly the wrong choice.

“That’s his favorite word,” Natalie explained laughing.  “Cole, show Uncle Nate the ‘Cole dance.’”

Cole looked at me, sizing me up, then smiled coyly.  He eased out from behind her leg and started to shake, turning around and shaking his butt.  We laughed.

“It’s a good thing I’m here,” I said, looking down at him smiling.  “You dance just like your mother.”  She shoved me playfully. 

Things with Natalie and I moved unexpectedly smoothly.  I stayed in a tiny, windowless  room adjacent to the kitchenette.   With an old mattress and a used chest of drawers, I was more comfortable than I had been in months.  Natalie worked a great deal.  When Cole wasn’t in daycare, he was with her at the salon attached to her knee, ducking long cords and stray hairs as Natalie finished the final touches on her clients’ hair.  When she got home, she was usually exhausted, so when we both became comfortable with it, I would watch Cole while she got rest. 

Cole had an amazing imagination.  He could crawl around on his knees for hours rolling his little cars all around the apartment.  It wasn’t long before I would get down there with him going on his pretend adventures and getting lost in the silliness of the childhood imagination.  Playing with Cole reminded me of the purest moments of my childhood with Natalie at Aunt Laura’s.  Tiring our little legs running across fields, swinging from tree branches like monkeys, and diving into lakes to cool off from the hot sun.  I remembered the warmth of being wrapped in one of Aunt Laura’s oversized towels after coming back dripping wet and tracking small puddles through her house.  She would smother our faces with kisses and feed us until we could barely move.  It was love.  An affection I felt for Cole very shortly after we met.

***

It took me a little over two weeks to find a job.  I attempted to apply for entry-level newspaper jobs, but with my lack of experience and the struggling economy, I never even got an interview.  Ultimately, I ended up finding a job as a cashier at Gristedes, a local supermarket chain on West End Avenue, not far from Natalie’s salon.  Keith Cho, the store manager, assured me that with my education, I would be a “shoe in” for management positions as they opened up.  I wasn’t interested in management, but if it meant more in my paycheck, then I would try my hardest not mess it up. 

On my first day, Keith gave me a tour that took almost an hour and a half, showing me everything from the hand sanitizer dispenser located at the entrance to the store, to the trick to opening the latch on the loading dock.  He was long-winded, wore trousers that were too short, and took his job very, very seriously. 

Keith was still rambling about their strict attendance policy when a girl in purple tights and a pink trucker cap snuck in through the ‘out’ door, narrowly missing an exiting couple.  I watched her make her way into the store, smiling at the stock boys putting out the fresh eggs and tucking her black polo uniform shirt into her short black uniform skirt. 

“This is Allison Baksh.  She works evenings and weekends,” Keith began, gesturing towards her as she made her way around us from where we stood by the registers.  She stopped and tilted her hat upward and smiled, her dark brown eyes beaming mischievously, strands of dark brown hair hanging loose from under her cap. 

              “And this is…” Keith continued.

              “Nate,” Allison finished, staring at me.

              “You know each other?” Keith asked looking at me.  I shook my head slowly, studying her again. I was pretty sure we had never met, but considering the fog I had been in my first six months back home, I wasn’t entirely convinced. 

“Hey! Don’t put that there!” Keith yelled, rushing to where a confused stock boy stood beside a stock cart full of apples. 

              “You’re Natalie’s older brother, right?” Allison asked looking at me, pulling off her trucker hat and unpinning the mop of dark hair piled on top of her head. 

              I nodded. “Yes,” I answered, relieved that my sister was the connection.  She was cute.

              “We went to high school together.  I was in your sister’s class,” she explained, running her hands through her hair, smiling.  Her white teeth beamed through her ruby red lips. She looked at me as if awaiting my recognition.  “Wow, I thought we shared a moment back when we had cereal together in the cafeteria,” she continued.

I laughed.  “I don’t remember much from high school so don’t take it personal.”

“I won’t.”  She pinned her Gristedes’ badge onto her shirt.  “How’s Natalie? I didn’t see her around our last year.  Did your family move?”

“She was in Atlanta for a little bit,” I began, suddenly feeling protective of Natalie.  “She’s back now.”

Allison nodded, smiling to herself.  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of gum.  “Want?” she asked gesturing towards me.

              “No. I’m good,” I said as she popped a piece in her mouth. 

              “Well, I can show you around, but I’m sure Keith did already.”  She blew a small bubble and let it pop.  “I work here,” she said walking over to her register.  “If you need anything, I’m the girl at register six.” She laughed. “That totally sounds like a movie.”  She punched a few numbers into her register and the number ‘6’ sign above her register lit up. 

              “What kind of movie?” I asked.

              “Right here, ma’am,” she said to a lost-looking customer.  “We’ll see I guess,” she said turning back towards me and smiling. 

***

“Cole, leave Uncle Nate’s feet alone,” Natalie scolded again.  Cole looked up at her from where he sat at my feet playing my toes like piano keys and giggling. 

              “I don’t care,” I said leaning back into the couch, cramming a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

              “I do. Your feet are gross.” Natalie grimaced, looking down at my feet.  She flicked on the television to a kids’ show.  Distracted, Cole turned to the TV.

              “Ha. Ha,” I said between bites.  “Hey, I ran into one of your friends from high school today.”

              “Oh yea?” Natalie tore into an envelope she had just gotten from the mailbox.  “That’s surprising. I didn’t have any friends in high school.”

              “Allison… something. I don’t remember her last name. She works a cash register at Gristedes”

              “Asian? Glasses? Short hair?”

              “No, dark wavy hair with dark eyes.  I think she’s Hispanic,”

              Natalie was quiet for a moment.  “Oh, Ally Baksh?” she said smiling. I nodded.  “I think she’s Indian or Guyanese. She was sweet.”

              “Cute, too.”

              Natalie shook her head disapprovingly while tearing into another envelope.  “Leave my friends alone,” she said staring at the piece of paper she had pulled out of the envelope.

              “I thought you said you didn’t have friends.”

              “What?” Natalie asked, her eyes still fixed on the letter.

              “You didn’t even remember her, so she can’t be your friend.”

              “This asshole,” Natalie yelled slamming the paper on the table.  Cole looked up from the television his eyes wide.

              “Mommy?”

              “Everything’s fine,” Natalie said, her eyes growing red.  I turned up the volume on the television and walked over to where she sat at a small table, stopping to run my hand through his curly hair.

              “It’s all right, C, watch your cartoons,” I said looking at him.  “What happened?” I asked Natalie, taking a seat beside her at the table.