Table of Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Chill Wind
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Copyright Page
To those who vanished on a bright blue September morning and those who mourn them, to my fellow New Yorkers holding their heads above water and their hearts above darkness, and to the Twins that tower still in our inner landscape.
Acknowledgments
For their contributions to the creation and creator of this novel, I thank word wizard Frances Foster and her skillful assistant, Janine O’Malley; Charlotte Sheedy, agent and friend; Madame Colette Modiano, Parisian inspiration; Paulette Constantino, Brooklyn buddy and reader; Annie Gleason, kin and critic; and Gwen Wock, partner in rhyme and literary compass.
Chill Wind
One
Aisha stood in the middle of her room holding the letter, spacing out. She could hear her mother Louise laughing at something on television, no doubt stretched out on her bed as usual. It seemed like ages ago that her mother worked in a laundromat, washing and folding clothes. Something else seemed like ages ago too. Aisha remembered dissin’ her best friend Raven, also a dropout and teen mother, for wanting to make something of herself. She’d advised Raven to “chill,” like she was doing, and just let the system take care of her. Now Raven’s words came back like an ice cube dropped down her blouse. “I don’t want to be like you. Anyway, nowadays they kick you off welfare after five years. So you won’t be chillin’ for long.”
Two years later Raven was a sophomore in college engaged to her son’s father, and Aisha was a nineteen-year-old mother of two holding a “60-Day Notice of Benefits Termination.” Aisha’s daughter, Starlett, had just turned four, and little Ty was barely two. Her mother Louise had warned her about making babies “with nothing coming in,” and her so-called man Kevin seemed to think promises bought food and clothes for their kids. Her part of the rent was due at the end of the month, and the last thing Aisha wanted to hear about was her workfare options—scrubbing graffiti off city-owned property, working with the city’s Clean Sweep Team, or joining the Zero-Tolerance Subway Youth Patrol—all for some piddling, temporary “transition” allowance. Raven’s words came back again: “They kick you off welfare after five years.” What was she going to do? With no diploma, no skills, and two kids, Aisha Ingram’s chilled life had suddenly gotten a little too chilly.
Unlike her friends who had some kind of reason to leave school—usually pregnancy for the girls and prison for the boys—Aisha had cut short her education out of simple boredom. “I woulda bailed outta kinnygarden if they ain’t had them def cookies,” she liked to joke. As for one day maybe going back to school, she’d say, “Ain’t took to it then, cain’t take to it now.”
Before motherhood, Aisha’s life was all about being out. Chilling out, hanging out, making out, or just bugging out. And Kevin Vinker, a long-waisted mama’s boy with big eyes and hair cut in a fade, was always at her side. Aisha lay back on her queen-size bed and remembered the good ol’ days with Kevin, before Starlett and Ty came on the scene.
“Wassup, Miss Ingram. Ai home? We s’pose to be going to Coney Island.” Kevin’s untied burgundy sneakers were the same color as his loose-fitting jeans and backward cap, gifts from his mother, a subway station supervisor.
Aisha’s mother, whose head reached the boy’s shoulder, was dressed for work in a grayish smock adorned with rows of washed-out flowers and an assortment of stains. She squinted to bring Kevin into focus, a beer already in her hand.
“Coney Island?! She too sick to go to school, but she can go running way ‘cross Brooklyn to some Coney Island? That girl as useless as her bonehead father, and I done washed my hands of her mess. And what about you, playing hooky all the time like there no tomorrow. Y’all think you know better than grown folks, but mark my words, you gonna end up just like me, making next to nothing in some oven-hot laundrymat washing folk’s stank drawers.”
Stank drawers. Kevin laughed hard at that one. Miss Ingram was a trip. And mad tipsy that early.
“Now move your narrow behind out my way, before you make me late to the office. That girl’s back there in her room with a hot-water bottle, propped on her head like she fooling somebody. I wasn’t born yesterday.” She hollered down the hallway, “And no, I can’t loan nobody a dime!” and hustled off down the stairs mumbling, “They need to fix these broke-down elevators, like folk ain’t got nothing better to do with they legs than run up and down steps.”
One after the other, Louise had had three children with her husband Louis, all of them, in her words, “good-for-nothings who can’t send a dime to they mama.” They were all grown when Aisha arrived, an unwelcome surprise. Louis wasn’t any happier about the news and immediately announced that he was “done with being the mule” and was going to enjoy what was left of his life—alone. Soon after his wife got back from the hospital, he called for a gypsy cab to come get him and climbed in with four large trash bags stuffed with his belongings. For Louise and her new baby girl he left an “only for emergency” phone number scribbled on a brown scrap torn from a grocery store paper bag. That’s when Louise began accepting Miss Barry’s invitations to “come by and have a drink with a lonely old lady,” and neighbors began whispering about how the Ingram family was going downhill. The Ingrams were actually two families: the one Aisha grew up in as an only child wondering where everybody went, with a mother who was often ill, cranky, or plain drunk, and the one her sister and twin brothers had been raised in by a playful mother and a hardworking father.
“Be careful at the fourth floor, Miss Ingram!” called Kevin behind her. “Somebody peed, and it’s all wet.” Still chuckling, he closed the apartment door behind him and hurried down the hallway to his girlfriend’s room.
Two
Kevin found Aisha just the way Louise had described her, on the bed under a pink flowered bedspread, a red rubber bottle draped across her forehead. Plump but still shapely, Aisha was short like her mother. From Louis she got the round, smooth-skinned baby face that made her look more like Kevin’s little sister than his fifteen-year-old girlfriend. He knelt down and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
“Wassup?”
“She gone?” asked Aisha in a whisper.
“Yeah, she way gone.”
Aisha kicked off the covers and bounded out of bed fully dressed in tight Levi’s jeans, a snug ribbed T-shirt, and dark blue Nike high-tops. “Thank the Lord, I’m free at last! Cyclone, here we come! I’m starving, though. Gotta get me some White Castle hamburgers. Remember that movie we went to where them white boys had a food fight with hamburgers? Those had to be from White Castle, ‘cause they was little and square. What’s cool about White Castle is that you can eat a lot of hamburgers without it really being that much, ’cause three of them probably equal one regular one. I hope you got money. You heard Louise yelling about not loaning me nothing.”
Kevin leaned against her, kissing Aisha’s neck. “Yeah, my moms hooked me up with a little cash. But don’t you wanna hang here and chill awhile before we head out? That Cyclone ride ain’t going nowhere without you, baby, as fine as you are.”
Aisha’s cheeks filled with a grin. She liked feeling loved by her man, but they hadn’t been to Coney Island in two weeks. And for someone who was always washing her hands of stuff, Louise was steady sweating her—do your homework, go to school, why you ain’t go
t no report card. Aisha needed to break wild, bust loose. Anyway, Kevin always wanted to mess around. He’d just have to wait.
“We gots plenty time for all that, Kev, with your fine self. But right now I just wanna get rowdy and bug out. You try living with Louise, with her getting on your case every two minutes, and you’ll be bustin’ out inside too.” She kissed his cheek and grabbed his hand. “Let’s ride in the front of the roller coaster again! I wanna drop straight down screaming my head off!”
Even though Mrs. Ingram had gone to work, Aisha and Kevin crept quietly into her room. They dragged the heavy bed away from the wall. Aisha squeezed her arm into the narrow space between the wall and the bed and pulled out a jingling black sock that was tied tight at the top. “Got it!” She undid the knot and dumped a handful of subway tokens onto the sheet. “Yesss! Two for you, two for me. No, make that three and three, since we stopping at White Castle.”
“Man, that’s cold, Ai,” laughed Kevin, sticking the coins in his pocket, “robbing your own mom’s tokens.”
“Oh, like you don’t be all up in your mama’s pocketbook every chance you get even though she give you anything you want. Now, that’s what’s cold. The way I see it, our moms be putting us through so much drama, they should be paying us. Who asked to be born anyway?”
Kevin agreed. “That’s word. Let’s split. But gimme some of them luscious lips first.”
They took advantage of the restaurant being empty for a change—it wasn’t yet lunchtime—and downed a few hamburgers at the counter. Afterward they had a short walk to the subway, followed by a long wait. At last the train rattled into the station. Inside, there was standing room only. Shoving through the crowd that was pushing against them to get off, Aisha and Kevin quickly grabbed two seats.
“Brooklyn style,” boasted Aisha, proud of their aggressive moves.
“In the house,” smirked Kevin, adjusting his cap and opening his legs wide so nobody could squeeze into the seat next to him. They felt like everybody looked down on project people, so wherever they went, they made sure to represent, and get respect: By always getting a seat on a packed train, even if it meant snatching someone out of theirs. By never waiting on line to get into a movie but walking straight to the front, daring somebody to open they mouth. Sometimes representing led to arguments and fights, but that’s just how it was. A project thing. Representing. Getting respect.
“I’m hungry again,” said Aisha, eyeing the bag on Kevin’s lap.
“How many, baby?” he asked.
Aisha held up three fingers. She’d already eaten three hamburgers at the restaurant and two on the platform while they were waiting for the train. Even if she had three more, that would still leave her with four for later.
“Baby, you sure can eat.”
“And ya know dat, but my shape stay sweet.”
“Word,” said Kevin, pulling her closer.
The train reached Stillwell Avenue. “Ai, wake up. Ai! We here!” Aisha’s head was resting on Kevin’s shoulder. After finishing a jumbo-size orange soda and her last hamburger at the Parkside Avenue station, she had dozed off.
“What? Kev? Where we at?” She wiped the corner of her drooling mouth with the back of her hand.
“Coney Island, baby! You ready to play?!”
“What? Oh! And ya know dat.”
They emerged from the darkened subway into the glinting sun. “I shoulda brought my shades,” said Kevin, shielding his eyes with his hand. Outside, the ocean air was cool and reviving.
Aisha peered through half-closed eyes. The beach stretched up and down as far as she could see. Straight ahead spread the ocean, its moisture making far-off things look wavy. The sun hadn’t warmed the water enough for swimming, so people strolled along its edge, pant legs rolled up high on their calves. A child was giggling neck deep in sand as her mother emptied overflowing shovels on top of her. A small group had gathered around a man holding up a large crab by its claw. The boardwalk was a paradise of junk-food stands hawking cotton candy, Nathan’s Famous hot dogs, red candied apples, popcorn, taffy, potato knishes, onion rings, and fries. And from the thunderous Cyclone roller coaster, screams rang out across the beach.
The thought of being whipped, snatched, and dropped by Brooklyn’s famous roller coaster with a stomach full of hamburgers didn’t sound so great anymore. Aisha linked her arm through Kevin’s.
“Kev, wanna chill under the boardwalk before we get on the rides?” She felt lazy and heavy and knew he’d jump at the chance to hang out on the shadowed sand.
“Sho nuff!”
Three
First went Aisha, then Kevin, ducking and crawling under the boardwalk. They didn’t have a beach towel, so Kevin spread out sheets of newspaper he’d found in a nearby trash can. The paper tore as soon as Aisha sat down, but she didn’t care, as long as the part under her head didn’t split. No way was she going home with sand in her hair and listen to Louise go off about fast girls and illegitimate babies.
It was chilly under the boardwalk, the dark broken by narrow strips of light. They were in a secret place hidden from the bright walkway above that thumped to the sounds of people with nothing to hide. Kevin rolled on top of her. The paper tore again. Aisha felt under her head—that part was still okay. They lip-kissed and tongue-kissed and neck-kissed, murmuring and giggling. Music from boom boxes mixed with the cries of seagulls. Then somebody walking above sent a shower of fine sand through the slats, straight onto Aisha’s forehead.
“Hey!” She heard the sound of feet hurrying away. “They got sand in my hair!” She peered up through the slats and yelled, “Scrub!”
Kevin’s mind was elsewhere. “It’s ah-ight, Ai, you still look good.” He pulled at her arm. “Lay back down. You got me all wound up.” Aisha was sitting up shaking her head. Sand was flying everywhere. She wore her carefully straightened hair in a ponytail in back, with a bang in the front. And that bang had gone from black to beige.
“I can’t believe this! Now I’ma hafta wash and hot-comb my bang all over again. People make me sick! They know kids be up under here! Let’s go, Kev, before a dog decide to take a dump up there.” She scrambled to her feet. “Come on!”
Kevin grumbled, “Awww, man,” and stood up, brushing sand from the butt and knees of his new Lees.
Aisha hurried over to the parking lot and stared at her bang in a car mirror, smacking it until it looked black again, like she was beating the dust out of an old sock.
“That’s better.”
She heard the familiar screams from the roller coaster and looked toward the ride. “Ooooo, hurry up, Kev, the Cyclone line is still short!”
They bought tickets and raced to the front car. The attendant, a lanky teenager wearing a black head scarf and dangling pants, gave Aisha a long look as he clamped the metal safety bar across her lap. “Don’t be standin’ up or ackin’ all crazy,” he warned, “’cause I seen peeps in this front car go flyin’.”
Aisha smiled big with her head tilted and eyebrows raised, a pose she felt made her look extra cute. “I’ll be fine. I got me some angel wings.”
The attendant rubbed the patch of stubble sprouting on his otherwise smooth chin. “You fine, all right, that’s word.”
“Yo son, why you gotta play yaself? You see she with me, right, so why don’t you just go about your little clamping business before you go flyin’.”
“I ain’tcha son,” said the kid, easing away.
Aisha took Kevin’s hand in hers. If a boy was ready to throw down for you, that meant he really loved you. She smiled at the thought.
Kevin tucked his baseball cap securely under his thigh. The roller coaster jerked forward and crept up the metal track. It stayed at the top just long enough for a quick view of the vast ocean and miniature people below, then plunged in a headlong, breathtaking rattle straight for the ground.
Aisha was screaming, the wind whistling in her ears, whipping the last grains of sand out of her hair and pulling tears from her eyes. Ke
vin shouted out as the ride yanked and climbed and dropped, his cries competing with the rattle and thunder of metal on metal. With each drop of her stomach, race of her heart, and squeeze of Kevin’s hand, Aisha felt like she just might go flying. She was young, fine, loved, and free. Nothing could bring her down from the joyful peak where she hovered, not family, not school, not nothing.
“A buck and a half to ride some more, or leave your car and hit the door!” repeated the attendant as he moved from car to car collecting money.
A skinny black woman with a short ’fro stepped crying from one of the middle cars. A white woman was holding her up, repeating, “You’re okay, Boo.” The Asian couple in the second car were laughing and talking excitedly, waving dollar bills at the attendant. In the rear car, a black man in a PUBLIC ENEMY T-shirt was on his feet with both fists in the air, shouting, “Yeah, boyee!”
Kevin could hardly get his cap back on. “Whew, baby, my knees are weak, and I’m a man! You must be shaking through and through! No more Cyclone for me.”
“Aw, come on, one more time, Kev! I love that ride! It feel like you really be in a cyclone getting all throwed around like—who was that girl with the poodle dog, you know, in The Wizzid from Oz, what was her name? Dorothy! Let’s go again, Kevin, don’t be a Herb!” Kevin said he wasn’t no Herb, he just didn’t want to ride no more. He offered her money to go up alone, but she sucked her teeth loud.
“That ain’t no fun, you Herb. Okay, then let’s do the bump cars!”
Aisha descended on the Eldorado Auto Skooter battlefield like a soldier ready to charge. The flashing lights and blasting music in the darkened ride riled her spirit and roiled her blood. Grace Jones’s sultry voice sang, “Roll up to the bumper, baby!” as rubber-rimmed blue, green, and red cars slammed, banged, and crashed around the center divider like crazed ladybugs.
Chill Wind Page 1