by Mara White
Chapter 21
Tiago
Salt,
By the time this letter gets to you they’ll probably have moved you to a different post. But I have faith that it will get there at the right time no matter if you want to read it or you don’t. I got Ma all settled up in your apartment and you shouldn’t have done it. She now thinks she’s high lord queen of Washington Heights and has started up a gossip chain with her old biddies from the neighborhood. I was afraid she’d die of a heart attack on the spot when I showed her you got a washer-dryer right there in the hallway closet. Seventy-six years of scrubbing by hand and dragging carts full of clothes down the basement or laundromat in a walk-up makes you appreciate the small things in life. She had ladies over after church just to brag and I’m sorry to report that she’s using all your vases, but they stuffed full of fake flowers. She also plastered Catholic Home stickers all over your front door, the kind that never come off.
As for me I’m laying low and working on the straight and narrow. Trying to make you proud, Salt, even though I got no idea when you’re coming back or if you’ll still want us to be together. But I been hitting the pavement putting out that résumé we made. Something’ll turn up and I’ll get my shit together. The guys in the neighborhood still ask about you, even Chico, that bitch. When I tell them you’re in Afghanistan they look at me like I’m hitting the hard shit.
Thought she was a doctor? She’s a fucking lady soldier?
I just tell them to fuck off, that you’re a fucking warrior.
Just follow your dreams, Salt. I can’t give you much, but freedom? - that I can give you. Then those fucks look at me like I drank the Kool-Aid, you know, the pussy-flavored one. And the truth is I did drink it—the moment I fucking saw you. Sixteen at the horse-riding camp for the Fresh Air Fund in the Bronx was exactly when it happened. When Chico fell off of his horse I said thanks to fucking God for giving me an in and letting me have that one chance. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Salana, and the most painful. Fuck if I didn’t drink the Kool-Aid. And I’m gonna hold it down. Either till you come back home to me or if I gotta fly halfway across the world to come and rescue you. I got your back, girl. Always.
Follow your dreams, Salt. Do your thing. But don’t you dare forget about me. You got a home to come back to someday and a reformed hard-ass who is all fucked up over you.
And who truly, truly loves you,
Tiago
SALANA
She folded his letter and cried silently into her sheets, as she always did when she read them. His voice via the paper gave her equal parts pleasure and pain. She never wrote him back and wondered just how long he’d hold out until he hated her for completely abandoning him. But how could she relate her situation to him—to anyone, for that matter? Here, survival was her foremost concern—like an explorer or an astronaut, she wanted to come out on the other side breathing and deliver her findings and experience. But fortunately, she couldn’t tell that to her subconscious and her dreams of Tiago were vivid, flooding her nights with steam and comfort despite the barrack-style cot, the scratchy sheets, and the infuriatingly skinny pillow.
She treasured the letters, held onto them in fact like talismans of hope in the entirely daunting new word she was navigating. Sometimes her experience in Kabul made her empathize more with his struggle. Adversity wasn’t something you could overcome with attitude, discrimination wasn’t a war you could win with a positive outlook and a smile. It was instead a daily battle you fought with every step, proving them wrong with each achievement, challenging their expectations with every breath. Salana slept on those love notes and remembered the life they’d shared together. It all felt so far away that she wasn’t sure she’d ever make it back, or if she did, she’d somehow be a different person than the woman he professed his love to.
She often rubbed the subtle scar from the bullet wound on her shoulder, wishing his arms were around her and his gruff voice reassuring her that just because you were up against the odds, it didn’t mean life was over.
Salana sometimes awoke with the call to prayer or the alarm of the religious missionary, Karen, whom she and Nosheen shared a room with. Most days she opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling and wondered to herself, what the fuck am I doing here?
There was so little they could do, and next to nothing they could change. To say she was at a crossroads was an extraordinary understatement.
Salt,
There are some things that never change. We got evicted. I think somebody in the building snitched that we were an illegal sublet. I’d bet my money on that couple on the fourth floor. They always gave us dirty looks, probably ‘cause they were jealous of how happy we looked. Wouldn’t you know the landlord came sniffing around. Demanded I showed him a legal contract which of course I didn’t have. I explained to him that I was your live-in boyfriend but he threatened to take me to court anyway. Long story short, we lost and they locked us out and sealed the door. I came home one night to my ma waiting in the laundromat with her cart full of clothes for us.
Since I couldn’t get back in I was crazy fucking worried about your stuff. Especially all those books and the degrees that mean so much to you. I’d never forgive myself if I fucked up and lost shit that was important to you. I went back every day, but they wouldn’t let me in.
I gave up and called your dad, his highness Lord Livingston. Of course he was thrilled to hear from me, but he didn’t hang up. Heard me out, so I’m sure he was able to rescue your stuff. Probably sounds stupid but I was proud of myself for calling him. He ain’t that bad. He hates me, but hey, he made you, so I love the guy for that.
Bad news is, my ma’s in a home. I never wanted it to come to that, always wanted to keep her with me. But it ain’t like I can drag her to Chico’s or El Ciego’s to couch surf with me. I stayed with this guy named Louie in our old building for a while, just saving up cash till I can get a place of my own.
Wish I had better shit to report. Next time I promise it’ll be good news from here on out. I still miss you like a huge fucking hole’s been blown out of my heart.
Tiago
TIAGO
Be nice if somebody could fucking tell me why I’m always waking up in the hospital. Either I got a death wish or nine lives like Sylvester. Just kill me next time. I’m tired of this shit.
The worst part wasn’t waking up alive, it was waking up without Salana hovering over him. The rock in his chest cavity that reminded him day in and day out that she wasn’t there chugged away, ignoring his apathy toward living.
Then he remembered the shakedown. Getting stabbed, stabbed in the chest by some shady-ass motherfucker keeping to the shadows at El Ciego’s. He knew he shouldn’t have been crashing at his place; it was just a matter of time before it all blew up in his face.
He struggled to remember the details from last night. A knife! A fucking knife. How West Side Story of those punks. He wasn’t sure if it was a set-up or if they tried to pull something on the big boss himself. Served him right for spending his downtime at that motherfucker’s house. Every time he was there he felt like shit was about to go down. He’d run out of time on the good luck clock.
All he really remembered was the guy lurking in the back of the room, bringing Ciego a beer and emptying his ashtray like a servant. Tiago got up to take a piss. Took the butt of a pistol to the face when he walked back out into the dark hallway. The piece of shit kicked him in the ribs and stomach while he was down. Warm blood squirted through his fingers like a fountain. But the knife was a surprise. He felt an intense burn as the sharp metal slipped into his skin. Then it was all black from there except for the distinct smell of gunfire that laced through the air. Loud silence swelled in the dark until the shrill sound of sirens tore through his consciousness.
Admitted. Fucking catheter in his dick. He rubbed his fingertips over his eyebrows. What a fucking joke. You try to get ahead and then you run into this kind of shit. One step forward and six million steps
back. He felt like a fucking failure. Salana would never come back to him since he’d failed at every motherfucking thing he’d ever tried to do. His ma was all alone in that place and probably worried sick that he hadn’t been to see her.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
Just when you think shit can’t get any worse. Eric the pussyphobe shows up in his godly scrubs, gold stethoscope around his neck, tutting down at me from above. Great, exactly what he needed. A witness to his misery, a guy to judge his rock bottom.
This guy would leave him dead in a ravine. Spike his plasma bag with cyanide. Or intentionally overdose him on morphine. Fuck the Hippocratic oath. That guy was a plain hypocrite. He had him where he wanted him and Tiago was in no shape for a pissing contest. He was fucking catheterized, beat down, and not in a position to fight or defend himself.
It was so much easier at the Christmas party, with Salana’s arm around him, her blue eyes filled with love, looking up at him with encouragement. Now he had to confront him alone and lying down in a bed with nowhere to turn.
“Hey man, what’s up?” Tiago said. He was gritting his teeth. Eric probably wanted to be called sir, or doctor, or your royal fucking highness. “I fucked up. Give it to me—the spiel—whatever. I deserve it.”
“Or I could just call Narcotics and send you to jail.” Eric dangled a sizeable Ziploc full of tiny heroin baggies with Tiago’s stamp on them over his hospital bed.
The unfortunate truth was that Tiago had started dealing the hard stuff just to get off the streets.
Fucked. And this guy had a vendetta. Didn’t even know about the damn ring.
Tiago scrubbed his hands across his face. Just yesterday morning he’d poured his heart out in a letter and walked it to the post office, plastered on all the extra stamps to send it farther than he’d ever traveled in his life. Bet Dr. Cunniling-less didn’t write Salana any love letters.
“See, I can’t go back inside. I take care of my ma and if you fuck me over, bro, I can’t do that no more.”
“Maybe you should plan ahead a bit more. Perhaps get a fucking life instead of ruining other people’s, including my girlfriend’s.”
Eric probably wasn’t even supposed to be in his room. Wasn’t he a bone doctor? Tiago didn’t feel any broken bones. He didn’t feel much of anything except thirsty and furious. Worthless. Regret that ate away at him like acid. Fuck this shit.
“I know you won’t believe me, but for what it’s worth, I’m trying so hard to get out of the game and go straight. I swear to fucking God. Just give me a chance and I promise I’m going clean.”
“The nature of your profession isn’t my jurisdiction, I’m sorry to say.” Eric’s eyes were filled with rancor; he hated everything Tiago represented.
“Why don’t you just fucking say it?”
Eric sighed like a spoiled brat, as if the stress from the throne was so taxing on him.
“Her parents went to great lengths to see that she had the best, to see that she was cared for, educated, safe. You want to fuck up her whole goddamned life for what? Money? So you never have to work?”
How could he explain to Eric how hard he was trying? What it was like growing up without a single fucking role model on the horizon. No parents, no teachers, no neighbors, no friends who escaped the cycle that had closed in on all of them. They were still all caught in the wringer trying to float, trying to keep their heads above water. Not many people were stepping forward to help someone else.
What was he supposed to do, pick money off of trees? Maybe some help at eight would have been nice, when he still couldn’t read. But Eric wouldn’t understand, he’d tell him to pull himself up by the bootstraps. What he didn’t know was that he’d been trying, almost a whole fucking year, and even with Salana’s help it wasn’t easy.
“How could you let her make that choice? You think you care about her? She could get killed over there! Then how will you feel? Let her die so you can freeload in a nice apartment.”
Tiago rose up on his elbows, which was the best he could do. He thought there ought to be an ordinance against harassing sick patients who were stuck with needles and hooked up to tubes and couldn’t defend themselves. Probably a rule against going through personal belongings. But he couldn’t talk, since he wasn’t much of a rule-follower either.
“First, I lost that damn apartment. Landlord found out about the illegal sublet and evicted us even though I was paying full rent. We were messing up their plans for gentrification, happened to be exactly the kind of people they were trying to get out of the building.”
Eric huffed like he’d heard it all before.
“My ma is in a state-run assisted living place now and I’m sleeping on couches. Second, last time I checked, Salana was a fucking person. A human being with her own mind and ability to make choices. Not a fucking possession. An object. But I can see how that gets confusing for you on account of you being handed every damn thing you ever wanted, Dr. Spencer.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Eric leaned down close to his face and pointed a finger in it. He spat as he spewed hate but lowered his voice, which told Tiago he wasn’t supposed to be in his room scolding him. “I worked for everything in my life. I worked my ass off,” Eric told him, thumb knocking into his chest for emphasis. The veins in Eric’s neck bulged and Tiago could see the beat of his pulse. This wasn’t a guy hurt because he was in love, this was a grudge from a prick who couldn’t stand that he hadn’t won. “Let’s see you try med school, you fucking loser.”
“Okay, Eric. Okay.” He wanted a truce. He didn’t feel good and Eric had him by the balls with that bag of smack and a grudge to bear against him. “I’m sure you worked hard to get where you are.”
“If she dies, man. If she dies over there—that’s on you. I hope you can live with that.”
“She’s my girl. I’m not her boss, I’m not her agent. I don’t give her permission to do things like a parent or some shit. If anything happens to Salt it will break my fucking heart. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna break her spirit because of something I’m scared of. People do what they gotta do, that’s just a part of life.” He looked helplessly at Eric. It would kill Tiago if Salana died or got hurt. But he wouldn’t have her resenting him for holding her back. Never would Tiago forget the raw power he witnessed at sixteen that was Salt racing on the back of a horse, or the brave seventeen-year-old who made a crucial decision about her body and future. He wouldn’t be caught dead trying to diminish that power—in fact, that’s what he loved the most about her. Salana was unstoppable and she was her own person.
“Just remember, you piece of shit, that we save lives. That’s what we do. And you ruin people’s lives. You’re a waste of space and I have no fucking clue what she sees in you.” Eric was red in the face. He stormed out of the room taking the fentanyl-laced heroin with him.
Tiago wanted to cry. He wanted to punch shit. He almost wished that fucker had had better aim and reached his clamoring heart with his dirty knife when he stabbed him. Maybe he could still die of sepsis. He reached for the ditch of his arm and ripped out the IV. It dug at him even harder remembering Salana struggling to put one in him and denying him eye contact or the humiliation of recognition. Is that what everyone thought? All of them in this hospital, her parents, that if something happened to her, it was on him? His fault for letting her live her life and accomplish the goals to which she was driven?
Life was a mess and it was full of traps and heartbreak. He yearned for those moments with Salt that had made him feel so on top of the world that he loved his life. She’d made him excited to be alive, for the first time, for the only time he could remember. Now it was grind, no, worse than grind. It was try and fail and always be expected to keep getting up again. No breaks, no going easy on him. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. Maybe God only gave opportunity to a certain kind of person and he just wasn’t one of them.
Eric was right. What did he contribute? Sometimes he was focused
so hard on his own survival that he lost sight of the bigger picture. He didn’t want to hurt anyone; on the contrary, he wanted to help people. He especially wanted to help kids who were like him, the ones growing up in his neighborhood now facing the same endless cycle he did. Sometimes Salt’s absence hurt so much he felt like throwing in the towel. What’s all the damn struggle worth if you got no one to share it with?
Salt,
Things are looking up, just like I promised. I got a room in an SRO and found a training program that accepted me. Security Guard! How come we never thought of it? I already look like a menace and scare people, I’m practically over-qualified. Anyhow, the training is six weeks and then I get my certificate. They even help with job placement afterwards so I got my fingers crossed that by the time you get back, I’ll be well out of the hole.
Only thing that’s bringing me down is my ma. She’s getting old and forgetful, seems like she’s declining every day. Not much I can do to stop it or even help in any way. I go see her all the time and spend all of my days off with her. One of the guys who worked at the place said that just talking with her is a big help—that the interaction helps keep her young. As soon as I get into a place I’m gonna get her out of there. I feel guilty all the time about fucking up and not having her with me. Besides you, she’s all I got in this world.
I hope you’re safe.
I hope you’re finding out what you need to.
I hope these damn letters actually make it to you.
I hope you haven’t forgotten about me.
Tiago
TIAGO
There was this kid, Alex, who was always hanging out on the corner. Couldna been more than ten years old. Tiago gave him a high five or a handshake every morning on his way to the train. Kid was there too when he came home, even if he worked late.