Upstate

by Kalisha Buckhanon

  It’s a lot harder than I thought. We don’t have semesters here like at regular colleges, we have quarters which make it a little bit harder because that means we have finals and midterms three times a year instead of twice. When I got here and saw all these people and all this grass and ivy climbing up the sides of the building, all I could think was, “What the hell am I doing here?” I felt dumb and poor, walking around with my raggedy book bag from high school when these people rocking leather briefcases. I spent a lot of time crying on the phone with Mommy and Laniece and Valencia and Tamika. They all said the same thing, basically, this is what I wanted so now I just gotta make the best of it. At first, it was weird cause the classes all small and the teachers don’t just get up and talk to us like I thought. It’s like fifteen people in the class. I’m the only black face and everybody talking all proper about philosophy and shit. So I had to step up my game a lot. Then I didn’t want to talk cause I didn’t want nobody figuring out my accent and asking me where I was from, and when I say Harlem they gotta ask me all these questions about crack and drive-bys and shit. I got so sick and tired of telling people it wasn’t all like what you see on TV. We got doctors and lawyers and teachers and bus drivers and just hardworking people trying to make it in our neighborhood. It ain’t all gutter. I had to remember what my mother told me when we got here and didn’t see one black face the whole time: “You just as good as anybody here and don’t you forget it.” I never thought it was gonna be easy, but I don’t think I ever did so much reading and writing in my life. I like Chicago a lot. It’s a little boring, not as much stuff going on. People talk real country out here—I thought I was in Alabama when I got off the plane. You can’t get pizza on every corner, and when you do get pizza it’s not sliced thin but it’s real fat. They call it stuffed. It’s real clean though, no dog shit and chicken bones all over the sidewalk like it is in Harlem. They got a train, most of them are els like in the Bronx and Brooklyn. I been to the downtown a few times. It looks like 5th Avenue a little bit with all the stores, and they got this place called Garrett’s Popcorn that got the best cheese popcorn I ever tasted in my life.

  But I’m glad about that cause then I can keep my mind on what’s important. They gave me a little scholarship cause we really ain’t got much family income, but I got loans and I’m not trying to waste all this money.

  Laneice looking real good. She’s trying to get an apartment in the Bronx across the 3rd Avenue Bridge, where it’s a little cheaper. She said she can’t afford Harlem no more, especially since her and Black ain’t together. Did he tell you about that? He’s going with some Mexican girl from Brooklyn. Laneice say he spending so much time deep in Sunset Park that he barely even make it up to Harlem to see her and the baby anymore. That’s a damn shame. He really seemed like he was for real too. Glad it’s not me. She said her parents wanted her to stay with them but she knew it was time for her to get out on her own. One of her cousins wanted her to come stay in Drew Ham with her, but Laneice said she would rather have a tiny studio in the Bronx than live in the projects in Harlem. I screamed, “Bitch what happened to us being Harlem Chicks 4 life?” and she said, “How you gonna talk about me bitch when you moved 800 miles away?” I told her I’m coming back, I can’t leave for too long. Just had to be up for a little while to better myself. But I know where my home is and I’m coming back to it. Well, this letter is getting a little long. My new address is on the envelope. Hit me back when you get a chance.

  Love,

  Baby Girl

  PS. Antonio I just want to make sure you know that what happened between us was never about you. It was always love. Life just got in the way.

  December 12, 1991

  Hey Baby Girl,

  Thought I’d wait about two weeks before I wrote back to you, so then you would know I ain’t no stalker and shit. I’m shocked you gave me your address at college. I thought about calling your moms and trying to get it, but then I thought about it and I didn’t want to cramp your style. I mean, you probably got cats’ tongues dropping to the floor out there in Chicago, fresh new meat, Harlem girl with a body out of this world. So I didn’t want one of your boyfriends seeing a letter from the pen sitting on your desk and shit. I know you ain’t trying to broadcast the fact that your man in high school got locked up for doing some stupid shit that he can’t even tell you how much he regret. It sound like you doing real good for yourself. Don’t worry. This ain’t the part where I’m gonna ask you back. I pretty much know that shit ain’t gonna happen. I’m surprised we made it as long we did, and that’s on the real. I was lucky to have you, and I fucked that shit up. I fucked a lot of shit up.

  I didn’t know about the break-in at my crib. My moms told me everything though after I got your letter and confronted her about it. She said she didn’t want me in there worrying about nothing. I told her Ma, just cause I ain’t there don’t mean you ain’t gotta tell me about what’s going on. When Daddy died I officially took Daddy’s place, so that meant I had to be the man of the house best way I could. She told me that her and Tyler was there by themselves when it went down and she was so scared she just couldn’t get out the bed. When they come up here for that family Christmas shit they give us every year, I’m gonna make sure I set Trevon straight. I ain’t gonna hit him, I can’t hit him cause that’ll be my ass and keep me further and further from getting out of here and back where I belong. But I’m gonna stare him down like he was my worst enemy and tell him he better clean up his act. That he better stop disrespecting Ma and living the life and stand tall and be a man until I can get back and look out for him. I swear to you, Natasha, I’m gonna put the fear of God in that little nigger if it’s the last thing I do. Ma told me not to worry about it, but I can’t not worry about it. She’s right, it ain’t shit I can do about nothing on the outside. Mohammed said he got contacts on my block and could try to hook it up to find out who did it. I told him to do that shit. I might not be there to be the man of my house and protect my family the way I should, but I can damn sure make sure a nigga know not to fuck with me and mine.

  But I know you don’t want to hear all that. Here I go sounding like a gangsta, and you sounding all educated. Guess that just go to show that me and you is worlds apart right now. Most education I’m gonna get is some bullshit certificate in, I don’t know, medical transcription or some other bullshit. It would have never lasted. Deep down inside I think I knew that, but I had to hold on to something. And I wanna thank you for sticking it out as long as you did. I wouldn’t have survived a year in here without being able to think about you belonging to me. That’s real. That’s love. But I’m gonna let you go. I bet you got studying and shit to do. Study hard for me Natasha. I guess for all of us who didn’t make it as far as you will. You gonna be somebody real important one day. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on you.

  Love,

  Antonio

  December 22, 1991

  Hey Antonio,

  Just a little card to say Merry Christmas and let you know I was thinking about you. I’m home for about three weeks. I go back the first week in January. I finished up the semester with a B- average, which is fine in my book. I did the best I could and that’s all you can ask for. Your mother asked me if I wanted to come up there for the party they give for the inmates and their families on Christmas, but I don’t know, I just thought it wouldn’t be appropriate, I guess. I mean, I don’t know if you wanna see me like that. Sides, I gotta help Mommy move. She finally found a house that would accept her under this special Homeowner Program. She gonna get a renovated apartment in one of those buildings on 110th Street, brand-new and totally redone. Yep, 110th Street, right near Central Park. They got nice white walls, nice wood floors, a terrace and everything. She was already pretty much packed when I got here cause she so ready to get out of this building. I was there when the old white lady from the bank came over so she could sign all the papers to say the apartment was really hers. The lady called it closing on the house. Mommy
was so excited that she could barely hold the pen to sign her name. It took her five minutes just to write her signature cause she said she couldn’t believe it. “Less than ten years ago I was homeless, now I’m about to be a homeowner,” she kept saying over and over. Her and Roy gonna get married, she told me. I wish she wouldn’t cause I don’t like him too much and Drew hate him, but she told me we just gonna have to live with it. She said he trying, and I guess he is. He stopped smoking and this guy he knows got him into the metal union, so he could be making like forty thousand dollars a year. Mommy always said to get a man with money, so I guess now that Roy gonna get some she better able to put up with his bullshit. But I’m running out of space and all I wanted to say was Merry Christmas. Have fun with your family.

  Happy Holidays,

  Natasha

  December 22, 1991

  Hey Natasha,

  I know you probably at home on your winter break so I thought I would just send you a Christmas card to your mom’s place, let you know I was thinking about you and you’ll always be in my heart. No matter what happens. I don’t know if you remember, but every year they have a Christmas party for us on Christmas Eve. You know, the ones of us that’s had good behavior, which would definitely be me. I mean, it’s actually kinda whack. They just have a little bit of food and some cake and punch and this Santa Claus and people donate toys for the little kids that come. But it’s kind of fun cause people just chill and relax. So I don’t know what you doing. I mean, you probably gonna be with your family and everything on that day so you can’t come. But if you don’t have anything to do and you don’t mind the bus ride, you can come on up if you want. I mean, just let my mother know so I can put you on the list, and we can lie and say you my sister or some shit. But you might not get this in time anyway to know about it. If I don’t see you, have a really nice Christmas. I hope you get everything you want.

  Love,

  Antonio

  March 14, 1992

  Hey Antonio,

  Right now, I’m in this place called L’Hôtel Coulincourt in Montmarte in Paris. Yeah, I came back. I got accepted for the Université de Paris. I wanted to stay the whole year, but you KNOW my moms wasn’t going for that. Plus, it costs a lot of money and I couldn’t afford it. I still parle français. I’m getting much better and I even can write a whole paper in French. Never thought I’d be able to do that. I have two other people in my room, so I don’t have a lot of privacy. I made friends with this one chick named Audrey. She’s from this country in Africa called Liberia, but her father is this rich businessman. She showed me pictures of their house and I was like what? Africa got it like that? I wish I would have known that when I was in school and used to make fun of the African kids for the way they dressed and the way they talked. But this is the type of stuff you learn when you get out and see the world. And guess what? It’s only one bathroom with a toilet and this little shower hose with a small curtain, and that’s way in the hallway. Every room on the floor use that one bathroom. I guess they get down nasty like that in France. But besides that, I’m having fun. I’m getting to see a lot more than I got to see before. It’s so many Africans here. If you thought the Africans has 116th down on lock in Harlem, you ain’t seen nothing til you been out here. I mean, it’s like everywhere you look you see coal-black people wearing the brightest colors you ever wanna see in your life. Me and Audrey be walking around, [skipping class quiet as it’s kept,] looking at all the cute guys and she be like, “Oh yeah, he’s Ethiopian” or “That can only be an Algerian nose,” or “Girl, you can tell by the way he walks that he’s Senegalese.” I guess being out here and hanging out with people like Audrey, I really realize that I don’t know much about the world. But I’m glad I’m finally learning.

  Peace out,

  Natasha

  March 21, 1992

  Hey Harlem Globetrotter,

  I’m glad that some of us is seeing a little bit of the world. One thing I know about my world is that it never seems to change. Ma let one of her brothers stay with them cause he was down on his luck. Well, he had the balls to be slanging rock out of the crib. Somebody snitched, so NYPD’s finest came in with a search warrant. The best part is the motherfucker wasn’t even there. Popos tossed grenades and threw my mother down on the living room floor, she told me. Thing is, Trevon knew all about the dealing and let the shit go on in Ma’s house anyway cause he was getting a cut. Now, my uncle is hiding out somewhere. Where I can’t say for obvious reasons, but he ain’t coming back to Harlem no time soon. I been passing time, reading. Black got him a job with the MTA. He said he through playing games, dogging Laneice, dodging his responsibilities. She don’t want shit else to do with him. I can’t blame her, and I told Black that. We been friends long enough so that I ain’t gotta mince words with him. She handling business on her own while he living the good life. Something ain’t right about that, even I know that from the fucked-up place where I sit. But like all of us, he had to live and learn. He said he gonna help me out with these correspondence courses I want to take. He had to pay $400 upfront and then it’s like twenty dollars a month. I had told him I was interested in doing it, getting at least a associate’s degree and changing my life and coming out here with at least something to show. He was sitting across from me, holding up pictures of Sharon to the glass and shit. When he told me he would do that for me, I couldn’t believe it. I was like, Yeah I can come out with a college degree, but I won’t be able to vote. He laughed and said, Motherfucker your ass wasn’t gonna vote no damn way. I was like True that. And I started crying—not a lot, just a little—cause I was thinking this is a true brother, this is a road dawg till the end. He’s quality. He about to take food out his baby’s mouth so I can get my shit proper, and I just broke down right in front of him. I didn’t care though. I ain’t ashamed of showing my feelings anymore cause maybe if I would have before I wouldn’t got in this mess. So I’m in college too. Wish I could be doing some of the things you’re doing, but something better than nothing, right?

  Love,

  A

  April 29, 1992

  Yo Natasha,

  Just writing to you to see what your world look like right about now. Shit is crazy out in L.A. Yo, you see that shit on the news? over there White cops beat Rodney King ass and they get off for that shit?!?! Every nigga up in here bout to explode. We on lock. Can’t nobody leave the cell. Food brought to us. They locked us up over that shit, turned off the TVs, took the newspapers. You know Mohammed can’t live without his newspaper or his news so he started screaming, Pigs keep the black man illiterate! Pigs keep the black man illiterate! Over and over and over again. I told him, Mohammed man, shut the fuck up—you don’t want to get it. He just hunched his shoulders and told me, Tony my brother, they can’t take our information, they can’t take our information. But you know who got the upper hand in here, you know who gonna win. They came and took him away and I haven’t seen him since.

  Antonio

  May 16, 1992

  Dear Natasha,

  Well baby I’m gonna be a movie star. It’s kinda wild I had to get sent up for somebody to want me in a movie. This white guy is making a documentary about life behind bars or some shit like that. He came through the prison with the warden and a video crew, looking for people to interview. Most cats suspicious of that shit so they avoided him. Mohammed pulled me away and said be skeptical about white people who always want to tell our stories so they can make a profit, but they never want to live our lives. He called it “exploitation” and spit at the cameraman when he came by us in the yard. The guards ambushed him and took him away, and Mohammed was just laughing the whole time. This is his third violation in less than a month. He got thirty days in solitary. Mohammed puts on this act like he know it all, like nothing can break him. But I think he’s finally cracked, finally let the power of the “man” crush him like footsteps destroy a blade of grass struggling through a crack in the sidewalk. One of his partners from his brotherhood been q
uietly slipping me notes in the yard, crazy shit Mohammed been writing on toilet paper and in blood cause you can’t have no privileges where he at. This time, they threw him down in “The Farm”—not that regular hole shit. The Farm makes the hole look like pre-school. One shower A WEEK, one meal a day, no yard, no phone, no books, no letters, no windows, no words with anybody but the devils playing around in your head. Cats do pushups and situps to pass the time, then it hits them like a ton of bricks that there are only so many of those you can do before you kill yourself. And then they start thinking about doing that, I’ve heard. That was my first detail on my first job, cause only prisoners with rank can escape that shit. I had to wear a mask, it stank so bad down there. They keep all the crazies down there, the mentals, the motherfuckers who’ve crossed the point of no return and just don’t give no fuck anymore. The c.o. on duty got to be ready to face anything—darts they make out of material they find in the walls or on the floors, shit, piss, spit, throw-up. The last note Mohammed wrote said: I’m dying young blood. Nothing to look at but four walls and a small square of light. My ears have become my eyes. Grown men crying cursing, doors opening, chains rattling, footsteps walking. That’s all I have to let me know I’m not alone on this planet. That and the whisper of my own regrets. I stayed up all night thinking about him, Natasha. Mohammed’s been my ally since day one, and there ain’t shit I can do for him now. I wrote him back on toilet paper and gave up 20 bucks of commissary for a c.o. to get it to him. I just reminded him of the time when he was grilling me about a higher power and I told him I didn’t know if I believed in God at all. He just looked at me and laughed, and told me, You don’t have to believe in God because he already believes in you. I felt kind of sorry for the guy he spit on though. I don’t know why. I think Mohammed was right about everybody wanting to make money off our unfortunate black asses, but I don’t think he deserved that. Before you know it, I was just talking to the man. Telling him about me, my life, why I was here. The man asked me if I thought it was fair that I was punished for ending my family’s suffering. I surprised myself and told him I thought it was fair—somebody should pay when a human life is taken, no matter what the circumstances are. We talked for over an hour, and he wanted permission to come talk to me again. Why not? Maybe if somebody out there who’s going through the same shit hears my story, then maybe they won’t make the same mistake. Then I can say at least something came out of this. I wouldn’t wish this hell on my worst enemy.