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 gon
na 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.
Things is going well though at the house. Drew moved back with us so I ain’t got my own room no more. Space is kinda tight, but he been real cool though, not bothering none of my posters or other shit I got on the wall. We gonna start moving Grandma and Granddaddy stuff out real soon. Mommy said she gonna sell the house. It’ll be too much money to fix up—the sewage be backing up all the time, the roof leaks, the cabinets all old and rusted. She said she gonna sell it and keep the money for me, to buy me a car when I graduate high school or pay my tuition for college. I told her she needed to keep that money cause she was gonna need it to buy her big pretty house one day. Mommy said she was just fine where she was and right now her only concern is us, her kids. She finally decided to go back to work, and Roy actually been nice for a change. He been cooking and cleaning up and renting movies at Blockbuster. Maybe he really do love her, but just got a funny way of showing it.
Love,
Natasha
December 8, 1990
I’m back in class AND I got my J-O-B back! Ms. Harris convinced them to let me work again, so I got some income coming in. Video Soul on the TV. Sun shining outside. I benched 180 today. We had tacos for lunch. Shit is all good. Pretty soon, it’s gonna be Christmas and almost one year I been in here. That’s how I gotta live now—I don’t count days, I count years. I know you did good on your test. You the smartest girl in the world. Shit, I don’t know what I would have done all them times without you helping me with my homework. Hearing your voice the other night gave me a hard-on that wouldn’t go away for hours. I had to count sheep so I could stop thinking about you.
Baby, we really ought to think about getting married right now and shit. I mean, why wait? You do love me, don’t you? That way, we could see each other at least with them conjugal visits. I mean, it ain’t much and it wouldn’t be like living together, but we could go ahead and at least spend some time together. Matter of fact, we could even go ahead and get that family started. I mean, why wait? We can go ahead and have our shorties now so we can still be young when they growin up. Why don’t we think about doing it this summer? It could be nice. I know what you thinking—that a wedding in jail is ghetto but really it’s not. I asked Ms. Harris about this and she say you get a preacher, and you can wear a dress and I can take off my jumpsuit and put on a real suit so we can take a nice picture on our wedding day. I think we can even invite some people for witness, and I believe you get a cake. I mean, it’s not the big old wedding on Long Island that we had talked about, but we could do that later. Think about it, baby. I need you and I don’t want to wait anymore.
Love,
Antonio
December 16, 1990
Baby look, I ain’t trying to bust your bubble or crumble your cookies, but you must be buggin if you think I’m about to get married in a jail. Antonio baby, I’m sorry and you know I love you and everything and I’m sticking by you til the end, but that’s just plain crazy. What we gonna tell our kids? What I’m gonna tell my family? Oh yeah, I’m getting married upstate but not how you think? C’mon now. And you think I’m about to let you knock me up while you still locked up? Who gonna get up with them kids at night? While you all laid out and slobbin and snorin like you do, it ain’t gonna be nobody but me and my mother and you know that shit is real. Who gonna put clothes on the baby back and buy diapers and milk? You? Antonio, you ain’t even making minimum wage at your job, so once again it’s all gonna be on me. Being a single mother ain’t no joke. Believe me, Laneice about to learn cause she done already called me crying talking about Black fucked Sherry Thompson last week. I’m not going through that. I see now it’s a whole big world out there just a plane ride away and I’m gonna see it. I don’t even know if I want to have kids in New York. I want them to see something different, something better than what I’ve seen. Like my kids ain’t getting on no subway, Michael Antonio Lawrence II. You can forget it. You better have a good job so we can have us a car. I see all these girls, walking around Harlem without a man, waiting for somebody to stop and help them get they baby stroller up and down the train steps. That shit ain’t cute. All them germs and homeless people shitting on themselves and people coughing and shit down there. Fuck that—my baby’ll be dead in a few months going down there. And I ain’t taking NONE of my kids to no jail to see they daddy. That gotta be the worst thing in the world, to get to know your daddy behind bars, and I got too much love for any black baby in this world to see them go through that shit. Antonio, I got goals and dreams. I’m going to college and I ain’t having no babies before I finish! That’s it, end of story. You can forget it. You thinking with your dick and not your head. So you better just exercise your hands or hope for early release cause I’m not walking down the aisle in no jail. That’s not how it’s gonna be.
December 24, 1990
Natasha yo, why you gotta go and ruin a brother’s Christmas and shit cause h
e trying to make plans with you, cause he trying to tell you how he feels and what’s been on his mind? Why you gotta go and insult my manhood like that? You taking things way too serious kid, and that’s on the real. You think I was being for real and that I don’t know I can’t provide for you or no shorties right now? You think I ain’t aware of that? Damn Natasha, sometimes a brother wanna have some dreams, something to think about that I can share with you and shit, but you gotta be all smart and trifling. You done made me so mad I don’t even wanna tell you I passed my GED. Yeah, that’s right, I got an 85. But I guess that’s not good enough in your book. It should have been 100. Merry Christmas with your trifling ass,
Upstate Page 11