Miss You, Mina

by Denene Millner

  “I, um, I…” I began, looking down at my handiwork. “It’s for a project I’m making.”

  Auntie narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “But those are my good magazines,” she said, bending over to pick up the magazine I was in the middle of cutting to shreds. “I still had some things in here I wanted to read.”

  “Sorry, Auntie,” I said genuinely. “I guess I should have asked. It’s just that I wanted to make a story quilt about Harlem, and these have the best pictures.”

  Auntie Jill flipped through a few more pages in the magazine and then handed it back to me. “Girl, that picture you’re making better be better than a Bearden and worth all my good magazines having to go in the recycling bin, I’ll tell you that much. Just don’t tear out the page with the sandals on it—I saw something cute in there I think I might want.

  “And speaking of cute,” she continued, “I need you to pick out something special to wear because I’m taking you to a beach party tonight.”

  My eyes grew wide as saucers as I hopped to my feet and did a happy dance. “Are you serious? We’re going to the beach? Omigosh, I can’t breathe. I miss the beach so much and you’re taking me? I have to get my bathing suit, and do you have a big beach towel I can borrow because I didn’t bring my favorite purple one because I didn’t think we’d ever make it to the beach,” I said as I rushed over to my bureau and started tossing my clothes in search of my cute purple-striped bikini. “Are we going to Jones Beach out on Long Island? I mean, it is famous and all…”

  “Whoa, whoa—easy!” Auntie Jill laughed. “We’re not going to Jones Beach.”

  “Oh,” I said, a little confused. What other beach was there in New York? I thought on it a sec. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “We’re going to Coney Island! Do you think we can ride on the Ferris wheel before we go suntanning and…”

  “We’re not going to Coney Island either,” she laughed.

  “Really? What, are we driving to the Jersey shore?”

  “No,” Auntie Jill said, picking up the clothes I tossed on the floor and neatly folding them. “We’re going to tar beach.”

  “Where’s that? Connecticut?” I asked innocently.

  That time, Auntie Jill let out a deep, loud laugh. “No, girl! Tar beach isn’t in Connecticut! It’s right here in Brooklyn, right here in this brownstone.”

  I wrinkled my brow and gave Auntie the eye. “I don’t get it,” I finally said. “Here?”

  “Yes, here,” she said, trying to contain her giggles. “Baby, tar beach isn’t exactly a beach like the ones you go to in New Jersey. It’s the rooftop of a city building. It’s called a beach because that’s where people who live in the city go to lie out and relax, just like you do on the beach, and the tar part refers to the tar material that the roof is usually made of.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling silly. “A tar beach party. So, um, I guess I won’t be needing this,” I said, holding up my bathing suit.

  “Yeah—no bathing suit necessary,” she said. “Just put on something cute. I’m inviting a few friends over and we’re going to have some appetizers and snacks and drinks and a little music—nothing big.”

  “Cool,” I said, excited by the idea. “Hey—can I invite Gabriella?”

  “Sure,” Auntie said. “She’s a sweet girl. I’m glad you two made friends.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I answered. “She turned out to be way cooler than I thought she’d be. Almost as cool as Sam and Liza.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a huge compliment coming from you. I know how you feel about your Sam and Liza,” Auntie said, smiling.

  “Yeah,” I said, sneaking a glance at the framed picture of me and my girls.

  “Well, Gabriella can come over tonight if her mom says it’s okay for her to come. The party doesn’t start until seven thirty, so maybe she can come earlier and help us set up, and then we can both walk her back home when the party’s over. Give me her number and I’ll call her mom to get permission and everything.”

  “Alrighty, then—a party on tar beach,” I said as I sat back on the floor and picked up my scissors to resume destroying Auntie’s magazines. Auntie took one final look at the mess and smiled.

  “Okay, and baby? You’re going to clean all that up before company comes, clear?”

  “Clear,” I said.

  Gabriella set the tray of raw broccoli, carrots, and dip on a small, candlelit table and then spread out a small stack of napkins next to the tray. “Yum. Broccoli,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “You think that’s bad, you should taste the fried bean balls she made with the yogurt dip,” I whispered, looking around to see if my aunt was within earshot. She wasn’t. But the roof was slowly filling with a bunch of Auntie’s friends, each of them more fabulous than the last. There were artists and poets, writers, and even musicians who showed up with instruments. One guy, whose locs swung just past the backs of his knees, even pulled out his bongos and beat out an African rhythm that drew a crowd of onlookers, some who sang a song while he drummed, others who broke out into dance.

  Auntie was over near the action, clapping and laughing and offering glasses of fresh fruit punch to the guests. The air was electric—the crowd was taking on a colorful life of its own as their bodies swayed against the backdrop of sparkling city lights.

  “I did convince my aunt to get some other food besides fried bean balls and broccoli,” I added. “I can fix you a sandwich or something. I think there’s some sliced turkey and cheese in the fridge downstairs.”

  “Eh, I’m not really hungry. My mom made arroz con pollo. I’m stuffed.”

  “A rose?”

  “No, silly, arroz con pollo,” she said, pronouncing each word slowly. “It means rice and chicken in Spanish.”

  “Ah, gotcha. I wouldn’t have minded a plate of that,” I laughed.

  “There were some leftovers. I can totally go get you a plate,” Gabriella offered.

  “Nah, it’s cool. I’m not that hungry. But thanks for offering.”

  “No sweat,” Gabriella said easily, walking over to the wall of the roof. I followed her and settled into a spot right next to her.

  “You know, I think I owe you an apology for what happened earlier today,” she said, staring out over the houses that stood at attention on Auntie’s block. “When we were playing Double Dutch? KeKe didn’t mean anything by what she said…”

  “I know,” I said, cutting off Gabriella. “No need to apologize. I was being extra sensitive for no reason. It’s totally cool.”

  Gabriella made a sound like she was holding her breath and then letting it out. “Thank goodness,” she said. “I really thought you were mad at me. I was so happy when your aunt called to invite me over.”

  “Nah, I wasn’t mad,” I insisted. “I just had a few things on my mind, that’s all. And, well, like I said, I’d never jumped double Dutch before. I guess I was a little embarrassed by that.”

  Gabriella nodded. “I could try teaching you again, if you want,” she volunteered. “Just the two of us this time.”

  “I’d like that,” I said gratefully.

  Gabriella and I sat staring out over the city.

  “I love tar beach parties,” she said. “My abuel-ita used to have them all the time. She’d invite the neighbors and they’d play cards and checkers and Pokeno and dance and laugh. It was always so much fun.” Gabriella stopped herself and got quiet. “My grandmother died last year.”

  “Wow,” I said, hesitating, not sure what to say.

  “Yeah, I miss her a lot.”

  “I once had a cat that died,” I said, and then groaned, instantly feeling a little dumb for saying that. Did I really just compare the death of my cat to her grandmother’s? “I mean, of course, that’s not as serious as your grandmother’s death, but…”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Gabriella said, putting her arm across my shoulder. “I understand where you’re coming from. It’s cool.”

  We both fell silent, staring out ov
er the rooftop as the drummer continued to bang his beat and the laughter of the guests pierced the air.

  “You know,” I said, “if you squint your eyes while you stare at the buildings across Brooklyn, the lights look like diamonds and stars.”

  We both tried it, squinting first at the buildings and then at each other—looking like two crazy girls with eyesight problems. We giggled again.

  “Do you think you’d like to live in Brooklyn one day?” Gabriella asked.

  “Maybe. It’s where artists live, and I want to be an artist, just like my aunt. She’s got a pretty neat life. I mean, look at her friends. Can you get any cooler than this? It sure ain’t Greenwood.”

  “I love Brooklyn, but I don’t want to stay here forever. When I look out at the buildings, I wonder what’s out past them, you know? The sky looks so big. I think the world must be as big as the sky. I want to see the world,” Gabriella sighed.

  “So you don’t want to be an artist?” I asked.

  “Oh, I do. But I think it would be kinda the bomb to be an artist in Paris. Or in Italy, where you could paint a field of flowers in Tuscany. Or even go to where my mom grew up in the Dominican Republic and see what life is like there.”

  “Hey, Gabriella? I’m really glad I met you,” I said easily. And I was.

  “Same here,” Gabriella said. “At first, I thought you didn’t really like me. But I knew you’d come around. Most people can’t resist my charms,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and striking a pose.

  “Oh, whatever!” I said, striking an identical pose. “Seriously, though: I didn’t mean to come off so quiet at first. I’m just not used to being around this many people. New York City can be…tough.”

  “It can.” Gabriella nodded. “It’s an insane place, and it’s hard to keep up with the pace. But I actually think you’re doing a great job.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile.

  The two of us stared out over the city a little while longer and then turned around to survey Auntie’s tar beach party. It had gotten so crowded that it was hard for people to dance to the drummer’s beat, so he stopped drumming and grabbed himself a root beer. I saw Auntie flipping through her iPod and then standing it on her portable speaker system; seconds later, the air was filled with soft soul music. She smiled and moved through the crowd, talking to each of her guests like every one of them was her best friend.

  “Man, when I grow up, I’m gonna try to be like your auntie,” Gabriella said, mesmerized.

  “Me too.” I smiled, bending over the table to swirl a piece of broccoli in the vegetable dip. I took a small bite and winced a little. “Except I’m totally going to serve chicken wings and pigs in blankets at my parties!”

  “I know that’s right!” Gabriella said, extending her hand for a high five.

  Our hands connected and slapped together like fireworks in the warm, night sky.

  Chapter Nine

  “But I thought you loved the red velvet cupcakes,” Auntie said as she expertly dodged a rush of people making their way down the subway stairs as we made our way up.

  We were just back from a grueling day at art camp; Ms. Roberts had us running all around Central Park sketching animals. This time, I’d been paired with Lee Woo. He was a nice enough guy, but he’s allergic to grass and on that particular morning, he forgot to take his medicine, which meant he spent way more time sneezing on me and my sketches than he did actually getting his work done. And it seemed that every time I tried to move away from him, he’d move that much closer to me.

  But ducking and dodging his sneezes had been worth it; I got to see the biggest, most beautiful park ever. The green of the grass stretched as far as my eyes could see, all of it surrounded by trees whose leaves flitted in the wind, making music with the birds who chirped and danced on their branches. There were buildings standing sentry over the treetops, and kids pranced and skipped through Sheep Meadow.

  Of course, Lee had to be a boy about it. “I really, really, really want to go see the polar bears in the Central Park Zoo,” he told me and our assigned Central Park tour guide, “and my mom told me a long time ago that…” A sneeze seized his words; he wiped his nose on his shoulder.

  “Bless you,” I said, wrinkling my nose. Hey, I couldn’t pretend anymore like his constant sneezing and wheezing wasn’t gross. I did kinda feel sorry for him, though.

  “My mom told me that there’s a polar bear who’s depressed and needs pills to feel good about himself.”

  “Oh, stop it!” I said, folding my arms. “A depressed polar bear?” I glanced at our tour guide, who only shrugged.

  “I’m new,” he told us.

  “We should go see it,” Lee said, marching off in the direction of the zoo. “We can draw the polar bear. It’ll be the perfect New York scene.”

  “Um, hold on there, buddy—there’s just one problem,” I said, looking in the park map Ms. Roberts had given us. “I don’t want to draw the polar bear, and besides, you need money to get into the zoo,” I added, pointing at the fee schedule in the guide. “Unless, of course, you have twenty dollars to pay to get us in.”

  Silence.

  “Right, okay. So no polar bears for us. But since we need to draw animals, how about we head over to the Central Park Carousel,” I said, tapping the picture on the map. “It’s free, and you can draw a horse and a crazy kid riding it. I mean, it’s not a depressed polar bear, but it could be pretty cool and colorful, right?”

  Lee sneezed and wiped.

  “Alrighty then,” I said.

  “It’s just this way,” our guide told us, leading us to the carousel.

  An hour and a half later, I was standing next to Gabriella. And as far away from Sneezy as I could get.

  “Honest to goodness, I think there’s more of Lee’s snot on my pictures than paint,” I told Gabriella as we sat waiting for Ms. Roberts to critique our work. Gabriella covered her mouth to hide her giggle.

  Ms. Roberts praised Paulette’s painting of a red-breasted robin bouncing around a nest, and Paulette beamed like the painting was good enough for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. All I got was the “good work, Mina” when Ms. Roberts looked at my painting of the carousel horses.

  “Um, Mina? Are you even listening to me?” Auntie Jill asked, snapping her fingers in my direction to get my attention.

  “I’m listening,” I said, giving her a half smile.

  “Before you know it, you won’t be able to go over to The Spot anymore, seeing as you’ll be going back home in a week,” Auntie continued, navigating down Fulton Street, with Gabriella and me close on her heels.

  “Yeah,” Gabriella chimed in. “One more week and no more red velvet cupcakes. Will you ever forgive yourself if you don’t go?”

  I shook my head. It had been a long day, and I was tired as all get-out and plus I really didn’t want to run into Marley, especially with Gabriella in tow, seeing as she was dead set on setting us up.

  “You know, Auntie Jill, you’re contributing to my habit,” I insisted, giggling. “Any other day, you’d be telling me to skip the sweets and eat a big plate of your baked tofu and gravy,” I added, playfully wrinkling my nose.

  “Uh-huh. Well, Auntie has needs, and I need to get back to the house for my phone conference and I also need a red velvet cupcake. So I’m asking my darling niece to be a dear and go to a restaurant right around the corner from the house and pick me up a cupcake. Is that too much to ask for your auntie, who’s fed you and given you shelter and an easel of your own these last two months? Is it?” Auntie asked breathlessly.

  “Plus, it’s Poetry Slam Wednesday,” Gabriella chimed in. And then, under her breath she added, “Marley’s going to be there.”

  I gave Gabriella the evil eye.

  “Right, it’s Wednesday,” Auntie said. “You can go and get in a little bit of poetry, check out some art, and grab me a red velvet or two to go.”

  “Yeah, I can even come with you if Ms. Jill calls my mom. She won’t m
ind if I go, so long as I tell her where I’m going,” Gabriella said.

  “Well, it’s all settled, then,” Auntie said, pulling out her cell and pushing the speed-dial button for Gabriella’s house. “Be a dear and bring back two cupcakes for me, will you?” she said as she turned down South Elliott Place and made a beeline for her brownstone stoop. “Oh, and use the change from the twenty I gave you for lunch!”

  I stopped at the corner, my left arm aching from carrying my super-stuffed art case. I rolled my eyes at Gabriella. “Thanks a lot,” I said.

  “What?” Gabriella asked innocently.

  “You just contributed to the madness,” I said, shaking my head. “You couldn’t just help me out and go back to the house, huh? Say something about how all those calories and red dye in the cupcakes is unhealthy or something, huh?”

  “Come on,” Gabriella said, pulling my arm just as the light turned green. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I’ll go, but you have to promise me you won’t say anything to Marley about me,” I insisted.

  “My lips are sealed,” Gabriella said.

  I hated to admit it, but Gabriella was right about The Spot. We walked in just in time to see Darwin, a local performer who had had a guest appearance as an extra on iCarly, strumming his guitar and singing a song about rain. The entire café was on its feet, clapping to his music and dancing in the tiny spaces between the tables. Gabriella and I scanned for an empty table, but there were none. Marley was there, though—standing over by the diner counter, sipping on a Sprite and nodding his head to the beat. The sight of him made my heart jump.

  “Oh, well. Looks like there aren’t any more seats. We should probably get the cupcakes to go, then,” I said, turning to head toward the cupcake display.

  Gabriella paid me no mind; she waved at a table full of friends and headed in their direction. “Come on, they won’t mind if we sit with them,” she said, taking off before I could protest.