Antonio
July 19, 1995
Hey Antonio. Mommy gave me your letter. I’m actually not in New York. I decided to take a summer internship at this law firm in Philadelphia. I’m going to the University of Pennsylvania to get my law degree. I come up to New York sometimes on the weekends, but not much because I’m working crazy hours at this place. Like fifteen a day and I even have to come in on weekends sometimes. I barely have time to sleep, let alone get on a train to New York. It’s good to hear that you’re doing all right for yourself though. I don’t know, maybe the next time I’m in the city me, you, and Laneice and Black can all get together and do something, “for old times’ sake” as you put it.
Natasha
October 16, 1995
Natasha,
I’m sorry to be writing on this poster, but I just gotta tell somebody about this and you the only person I know who actually will read a letter these days. But I’m at the Million Man March, you know, that big Farakkan thing everybody been talking about. I mean, I ain’t no Muslim cause I always thought they was a little weird, but Mohammed had been calling me, telling me about this shit. Spread the information, he was saying when he called me cause we still politik from time to time. And me and Black was like, We ain’t got shit else to do. Let’s do some positive shit for a change. So we hopped one of them express trains to D.C. at about midnight last night, just like that, on a whim, just so we could go to this shit and check it out. I’m running out of room so I’m gonna start writing on the back, but this shit is holy, Natasha. This shit is real it’s love it’s what I need what I been missing for so long. Brothers standing shoulder to shoulder like we ready to battle, like an army. It look like a flood of people so damn long and wide and far and deep and strong that nobody can break it down. I want all of us to leave here, Natasha, to walk arm in arm and tear this country down and rebuild it all over again, but this time with the odds in our favor. This time with the black man and his woman on top. And I want to apologize to you, Natasha, cause we talking about making peace with each other and our women. I want to apologize to everybody in my life for what I put them through. This day, this hour, this minute has made me a better man. There’s not a man standing here who ain’t crying. Including me.
In Solidarity,
Antonio
PS. Sorry I messed up your souvenir poster.
October 19, 1995
Antonio, thank you for my poster. I’m glad you got a chance to experience such an historic event; I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you to be there. Getting your parole has done you some good, I see. Your writing even sounds different—hopeful and more alive. That’s a good sign, Antonio. I’m happy for you, happier than you could ever know. I’ve hung your poster up, right above all my books, because yours is another story that the whole world needs to know.
Love,
Natasha
November 12, 1995
Dear Natasha,
I feel like Holden now, on an odyssey to find my place in the world. When a c.o. said Free Man walking on my way out, I almost didn’t believe it. Inside, I lost my identity. I forgot the real me and the world outside, out of necessity really cause I wouldn’t have made it through otherwise. Now, like Holden, I’ve gotten out and I have to search this city to find the real me. At first, I didn’t want to leave my uncle’s apt. I was used to being holed up in concrete, and something about the gates on the windows made me feel safe. One night I woke up and stared outside my window and the streetlights were shining on piles of garbage and their shadows looked like the guards that used to be a part of my life. And I thought, Oh, I’m back home. Then I threw up, right in the bed cause I couldn’t make it to the toilet, because I knew it was sick to ever think about upstate as home. When I got back from the March, all of that changed. I woke up early one morning and bought a pocketful of tokens, just so I could ride and ride and ride the trains all over New York City. The roar of the train, the energy of people fighting to get on and off, the rumble and the vibration shot through my body and made me remember there was blood flowing through my veins. I rode to the top of the Bronx, then back down to the edge of Brooklyn. I stood on the boardwalk and imagined I was an explorer staring at the end of the world. Then I turned my back to the water, and let the breeze hit me in the back. And I imagined the wind and the water were working together to push me forward, like the hand of God … further and further away from the end of the world and into a new beginning for me.
Love,
Antonio
December 21, 1995
Hey. Couldn’t let a Christmas go by and not get you a card. Or send you a letter. I figured that just cause I’m not locked up no more, don’t mean I can’t write. Happy Holidays. I hope it’s a good one.
Love,
Antonio
June 18, 1996
Happy Birthday. Just wanted to check up on you, see how things was going. You almost a big-time lawyer now so I guess you ain’t got time for a brother no more. I’m just kidding. Anyway, might as well tell you I got a shorty on the way. Before you break on me for getting some poor helpless girl pregnant, let me just tell you I’m happy about it and so is she. I hope it’s a boy: Michael Antonio Lawrence III. I’m with this chick from around the way. Her name is Rhonda, and she treats me real good. She’s a CNA now, but she trying to be a nurse. I don’t know if it’s gonna last. I met her a few months ago and felt like falling in love again and shit, having a female to depend on. We was both coming uptown on the A and she smiled at me, and we just struck up a conversation. It wasn’t even about the yum-yum. I got out the joint and didn’t even think about getting none. I just wanted to feel good about myself again. She’s sweet and good and remind me a lot of you. I moved in with her, but I feel funny about this shit. I’m a man and I want my woman to be able to move in with me. But as I’m getting back on my feet, I have to realize manhood isn’t just about what you got. She wants me to be there for her while she pregnant, and I’ll do that for her if that’s what she needs from me. So, we’re gonna try to do this thing and see what happens. If the shit don’t work out, I’ll always have my kid, right?
Soon as I found out, I set out getting me a better job. But I was walking around with nice shiny shoes on and khakis and shit, going to job fairs, filling out applications and having to leave half of it blank. Education, employment … I got all that in the joint. I can’t let anybody know that. They had an open call or something like that for the City; I just walked out without filling out the application cause I couldn’t leave it blank, but I damn sure couldn’t fill it in. I just grabbed my coat and left without explaining shit. And forget about marking that box where they ask you if you ever been convicted of a crime. Nobody’s going to see me, Antonio, and realize that I was just a kid who made a mistake. They’re just going to see I’ve been convicted of a felony. I know, cause I had just two job interviews after filling out about forty applications—one at a hotel to be a doorman and another at this diner place in Midtown to wash dishes. And I saw the interviewer’s eyes staring at me up over the application, knowing without even asking why I had left so much of the paper blank. Both of them just said, Thanks for coming in and they would call me if they need me. I been coming home every day asking my girl if anybody called, and of course nobody did. I came back from the march with a lot of hope. On the train ride back, me and Black even talked about how things was gonna be better, for both of us. Now, I’m not so sure. But no matter what, I will have my son. I’ll school him about life way deeper than my pops schooled me.
Love,
Antonio
June 25, 1996
Natasha, have you ever been pissed off at God? I mean, keep it real, have you ever just wanted to reach up in the sky and pull him down off his high horse and ask him, Why me Why me Why me? Ma used to say, Man plans and God laughs. Well, he’s been laughing at my black ass my whole life. I been looking for a gig since I got out, and I can’t buy a break. And if I start doing some crooked shit cause tha
t’s looking to be bout the only thing I can get, then I gotta get caught and pay all over again. I’ve done my time, I’ve paid my debt, and all I’m asking for is a motherfuckin job so I can provide for my basic needs and get ready to bring a child into this world, and I can’t get that shit? I want somebody to tell me why. I spent almost five years of my life behind bars, and I can live with that because somebody had to pay. But let me out and let me be free. Don’t treat me like I’m still locked up. Don’t judge me based upon the mistakes of my past. Would somebody tell God that?
July 3, 1996
Hey Antonio,
Congratulations on the baby, although I’ll have to talk to you more about it later when I’m not so busy. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but I can tell from your last letter that something needs to happen for you quick. Go see a guy named Eugene Spade at this place downtown called Second Chance. I don’t know the address—you’ll have to call information. I went to school with him in Chicago and now he’s back in New York running his own nonprofit, an organization that helps people who’ve had a difficult start to find jobs. Tell him I sent you and lemme me know what happens.
Gotta run,
Natasha
July 8, 1996
Hey Natasha,
Were you in the city a few days ago? I thought I saw you, getting off the 3 at Penn Station. You got off the train on the downtown side and I was going back up. You had a short black jacket, your hair is much longer now, and some glasses (straight librarian style but still fly!)—but I still knew it was you. I jumped off my train and tried to run up the stairs to get to your side, but I don’t know if you got back on or what. I waited at the top of the stairs to see if you would come up, but you never did.
Anyway, I went down to that place you told me about and Eugene is one cool brother. He got me a job the day after I went to see him. I’m working at this factory in Hunts Point, marking boxes and loading up trucks. I’m only temporary now, but if I prove myself over a six-month period I can go permanent and get some benefits for my shorty. That’ll be just in time for the baby. I been there early every day, and I took all the overtime I could get. I need this—big-time. That’s all I’m focused on now. My seed and doing what I’m supposed to do. I wonder what would have happened if I would have never been sent upstate. I wonder if me and you would have a shorty together by now.
Peace,
Antonio
July 20, 1996
Hello Antonio,
Damn, baby! I did come up for a minute; I had an interview with a firm there even though I don’t think I want to work in New York. That’s such a coincidence that we were at the same place at the same time. Makes you wonder … But I can’t believe you got a shorty on the way. Are we that old? I guess so. Well, you seem pretty happy about it and that’s all that matters. I hope you and your child’s mother can stay together, work things out, be the family you never had. Too many of our kids are growing up in broken homes and it means fewer of us are in law school and more of us are in jail. I’m doing okay. School is hard, but I like it. I want to do civil law, basically that means making sure that each and every citizen’s rights are upheld. I would be lying if I said that what happened to you had nothing to do with my decision to go into that type of practice. But at least I’ll be able to wake up every morning and say I believe in what I do. That’s important. It’s not as much money as I would like to be making, but I guess the money will come eventually and when God wants it to. It sounds like you’re really happy. I’m glad you got on track. I really am. And to answer the question you posed at the end of your last letter, no—you and I WOULD NOT have a baby together right now. With work and school and internships and rent and everything else, I can’t even THINK about that for a very long time. I can’t believe you’re having a kid. Didn’t take you long to find somebody to “release” four, five years of sexual frustration with, I see. And you said you’d love me forever! I’m just kidding, and I know that time moves on and people and things change. I hope you have what you’re looking for. Say hello to your brothers for me.
See you,
Natasha
PS. Sorry I wasn’t able to return your call. How’d you get my number? I’m thinking Laneice, but she won’t admit to it. Well, I probably won’t be calling back anytime soon. I’m on a tight budget right now, and long distance isn’t it. Plus I got a new love of my own who might get a little bit upset if I’m talking to an old flame in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe I’ll hit you up when I get back to New York.
December 17, 1996
Hey Natasha. I never got that phone call from you, so I just figured you was too busy. It’s all good. No love lost. But anyway, here it is. Michael Antonio Lawrence III. I knew it was gonna be a boy. Here’s a picture of my son. He looks like his mother mostly, you can’t see a lot of me in him. But that’s okay. He’s mine to take care of and I’m going to be responsible with mine. He’s gonna have a better life than I did. If you in the city, come by and see him. Just don’t say who you are cause I don’t want his mama trippin.
I can be proud to say I was there when he came into this world. I was in the delivery room and I saw everything and I even cut the cord. When he came out of his mother I wanted to be right there, up close, but I had to step back and let the docs do their jobs. There was thick blood and fluids everywhere, even on my hospital gown and my hands when I finished. I held him in my arms and listened to his beating heart before I passed him to Rhonda. I looked down at the blood on my body and hands and all I could think was the two most important events in my life covered me with blood. My son’s birth day, and the day my father died. Only Natasha, my son will hear the truth. My son will never have any doubts about whether or not his father is a stonehearted killer. When he gets old enough to understand, I am going to tell him the story I never told you. I am going to tell him that I was fed up with the pain and the drama and the never-ending battles in my house. I am going to tell him about how I sat with Black and talked about getting that piece and planned on putting a bullet in my father’s head the next time he pummeled my mother or me or my brothers. I’m going to tell him how I wrote it down too—premeditated as they say. And I’m going to tell him why I never got the chance. When I came home after the last time we saw each other, I heard the screaming before I even finished walking up the steps to my place. I opened the door and my father had my mother pinned down, her legs were trying to kick him off her from under the kitchen table. I had the gun in my jacket pocket, I could feel the cold slicing through the fabric like a knife. I heard Tyler crying, I heard Trevon screaming no. It felt like somebody was saying, Do it do it do it, in the same rhythm as my pulse. Then I stopped breathing and hearing and moving my own feet and all I could do was see. I saw Trevon walk real calm over to the kitchen drawer, where Ma kept her cooking stuff, and open it and pull out what musta been the biggest blade in there, and he stuck it in Daddy’s back. Scared at first, so scared he let Daddy turn around. But then he knew it was life or death. I saw it in Daddy’s eyes that he would kill my brother, but Trevon was out of control. He just kept jabbing and jabbing and jabbing until Daddy fell, and didn’t get back up. I stood there and watched the whole thing. I stood there and let it happen. I was frozen, useless. I should have stopped Trevon. I should have prevented all of it from happening. But I didn’t. So for that, I was guilty Natasha. It was my crime just as much as Trevon’s. But Trevon is not as strong as I am; you seen that. He would have never made it with something like this over his head. He would have been out in the first round. We would have found him swinging from the ceiling after a few days in lockup. And I couldn’t have that. So I took the rap. I told them what to say about how it went down, even though Ma begged me to let her do it. But I couldn’t have her in there cause that’s my mother and my brothers needed her. I didn’t care about myself, cause I knew I was protecting my fam the way I didn’t do before. And now I don’t care who knows, cause I did the time and that’s all the state cares about—that a n
igga pays even if it’s the wrong nigga. So they ain’t gonna touch Trevon. So now I don’t care who knows the truth. I wish I could have told you back then, Natasha, but I couldn’t take the risk. That’s too much to ask of anybody, so I didn’t even ask it.
So I hope that makes a difference in how you feel about me, because I know no matter what you said you probably looked at me different. And I can’t blame you. It’s a horrible thing, but we ain’t horrible people. Which is why it’s important that my son knows why his father suffered, why he did what he did, and that sometimes in this life some things are bigger and more important than your one life could ever be.
Love,
Antonio
December 25, 1996
Antonio,
It’s Christmas, and I’ve been driving all night. I’ve gotten engaged, and I was supposed to be spending Christmas Day meeting my fiancé’s family. I’ve kidnapped his car. But when I opened your letter, hidden so well among the holiday mail, my mind lost control of my body. I started crying, and I couldn’t articulate why. I just told the man that I think I love that I needed to go to New York. There was no question of what I had to do—I needed to see you. I needed to hear the truth come out of your mouth. I needed to hug you and kiss you and search your face to find some trace of innocence left—innocence you’ve sacrificed for so many others. The weather was hellish. Wet snow that wouldn’t stick—the worst kind to drive in. I slid twice on the roads, and barely missed a deer on the Penna. But I kept driving. I had to.
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