Love Lost (Love's Improbable Possibility) (3 page)

Michelle giggled. There was something different about her laughter. There wasn’t a hidden snarl, neither was there a hint of sarcasm.

“Where are you from? Let me guess, New York or New Jersey?”

I smirked embarrassingly, why
, I didn’t know. Her innocent question somehow made me gush.

“Oh me? I’m from Jersey.”

Michelle nodded her head and with the same warm smile and humor in her tone
, she belted out, “I knew it. You east coasters all have identifiable twangs.” She bit into her sandwich and immediately spit it back out. “Shit! This is disgusting. You would think they’d at least roll out the culinary red carpet for prospective students.”

It was my turn to giggle. Her ever-present smile had disappeared and out came a bit of a b-girl. I couldn’t quite articulate what it was about her
, but in an instant, I felt a connection to her. Michelle’s aura was unlike any I’d known. She was pure and charming—for no reason. I never had the best read on people but her energy simply agreed with me. It was the strangest and briefest of initial encounters, but something clicked.

And then it started from there. We talked for the rest of my trip. Michelle introduced me to upper-classmen and told me how she aspired to be in business accounting and to go back home to eventually work for her family’s physical therapy practice after graduation. I told her how I wasn’t sure of
what I would major in and spoke about my boyfriend moving down to North Carolina with me, but left my mother’s situation out of the conversation.

I
eventually asked her about her ethnicity and she explained her mom was Irish and her dad was African American. She said being biracial was always an issue for her growing up because her mother’s family never approved of her parents’ relationship. When her mother had become pregnant with Michelle, the family tried to use their money and influence to force her mother to leave her father and abort the baby. When Michelle’s mother decided to have her, the family had no choice but to accept her, but they never got over her parents’ relationship. Her parents never married and she kept her mom’s last name and not her dad’s under the persuasion of her mom’s family. It was rough on her father who disappeared when Michelle was very young. The last she recalled hearing from him was when she was nine years old. I was surprised that she discussed such personal things with me but at the same time our conversations seemed to have flowed so naturally. There was something special about this Michelle.

The morning before it was time to depart, Michelle asked me for my telephone number and address and gave me all of her information in exchange
agreeing to keep in touch. The next morning I left for the train station and on my ride home, I reflected on the fun weekend I’d had in North Carolina. I was so excited to see O and tell him the good news. I’d taken the time to formulate a plan in my mind, I would tell O to contact his connections down there and leave in August.

My plan included leaving the first week in August when
the move in was scheduled for incoming freshmen. He could stay at a hotel during the week and with me every weekend until he found a place. I’d have to wait until the following year to officially move off campus because it was policy that all out-of-state freshmen lived on campus for a minimum of one year. After my year was up, I’d move in with O permanently, get a summer job, and help pay the bills until the following fall. It was perfect.

I’d leave my mother, her drugs, and Akeem with his weird acting self in that place that they called home and I called hell. My father…
fuck’im
. He didn’t give a damn about his family. I hoped he’d rot in hell for all the shit he put the family through. If he had only moved us out of the projects when my mother wanted him to she wouldn’t be addicted to that heroine, Akeem wouldn’t be hustling, and Chyna wouldn’t be forced to stay with our grandparents all the time. I’d miss Chyna but could always send for her. Besides, O would be visiting there every now and then; he could bring Chyna back and forth when she wanted to visit. I had it all planned.

My thoughts consumed me, exerting every bit of energy and I fell asleep during the train ride and dreamed of walking into an apartment that belonged to O and me.

When I returned home, I would soon realize my world was turned upside down. I got off the train and waited an hour and a half for O. I sat and stood, rose and fell from the bench at Penn Station.
Damn, he knows that my train got in at six.
I grew frustrated by the second and eventually decided to catch the bus. I got off the bus and walked a couple of blocks home.

As I entered the dimly lit lobby with a flickering strobe bulb, I checked the mailbox and noticed more college offers and other junk mail. Judging by the volume of mail
, I could tell that the box hadn’t been checked since my departure. While waiting for the elevator it was hard to ignore people gazing suspiciously at me. I thought it was strange and embarrassing but wouldn’t utter a word, I just watched the floor lights illuminate up from the panel above the door. The elevator beeped for the door to open.

Mr. Brown from the thirteenth floor, Ms. Mary with the bad ass kids from building two, Mr. Shapiro from the second floor, and a few others exited the elevator
gaping, stealing last glances my way. At that point, I knew something was wrong. I immediately thought of O.

“Honey…” I turned to see if someone was addressing me since all eyes were on me after all. It was Mr. Brown. He shuffled a little closer to me nearing his round belly to my small frame in an attempt of privacy.

“Now listen, if there is anything that me and my missus can do for you, you make sure to come and see me. Ya hear?”   

I nodded, filled with so much confusion and turned to board the elevator. I got off on my floor confused as hell.
This is why we ‘bout to get the hell outta here. Let me call O right now
, I thought to myself as I trotted down toward my apartment door. I dropped my travel wear, ran to the phone, and called O three times.

One half hour later
, I sat in my room looking around wondering if I was going to miss this place. I took note of all of my Chris Brown, Ne-Yo, and Omarion posters that told stories of my adolescent crushes. My sports trophies and badges that I coveted were neatly displayed on my dresser. I sat and reminisced on each until the phone rang interrupting my thoughts. It was LaTavia who began firing off threats the moment she recognized my voice.

“Bitch, don’t let me see yo’ hoe ass in the streets! I hate you! You did this to me and my baby. You ruined our family! Well, you know what? Im’ma make sure that you don’t have a family! I hope you know how to knife fight, cuz Im’ma cut yo shit the fuck up when I see you! O told me that you were a good girl. Well if you was so much of a good girl, why he in jail now, bitch?”

My knees buckled as her words of O’s incarceration seeped into my psyche
. To say that I was caught off guard wouldn’t fully explain my disadvantage. I let her speak to buy time to collect myself and calm my irate breathing. It was all surreal.

“Back up! I know you ain’t calling my house on no bullshit because
my
man wants me and not you. First of all, LaTavia, baby, if you could beat my ass you would have done so a long time ago when I was chosen number one, okay!  Secondly, what do you mean O is locked up?”

“Oh, you ain’t hear yet or you just playin’ dumb? Whatever the case may be, don’t let me see you!” Her slamming the phone in my ear caused a sharp pain in the back of my head. My heart started beating erratically and my mouth dried.
O is in jail? For what?
I questioned out loud.

I tried
texting my brother, but to no avail. I went into my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed to think. I thought if O was in jail he would need to be bailed out. My thoughts immediately raced to pawning my jewelry, it had to be worth at least a grand or so, on the streets. I would get what I could and then try to get the rest from his boys. When I rose from the bed and reached for my jewelry box at first glance my heart stopped and over my heaving chest revelation hit. Samantha, my own mother, had stolen every bit of jewelry I had. I suddenly recalled finding her snooping in there the day before I left for North Carolina. At the time, I didn’t think more of it than I always did her increasingly bizarre behavior as of late. Tears began to form in the folds of my sockets but I held them back. Trying to calm my breathing, I recounted how O and I had gone over this a million and two times. I knew what to do in the event of him being arrested.

About a year
before, on his birthday, O took me to a bank to open up a savings account for emergencies like this. He knew better than getting it in his own name because it could possibly be seized if discovered. He trusted me with the little money he did accumulate. He’d opened the account with fifteen hundred dollars and said that he would put more in there as the money came in. He told me that if he were to die before he used it, not to use it to bury him or give it to his mother, the money was mine to keep. The only problem was that it was Sunday and the bank was closed.

The phone rang again. It was Keysha. “Girl
, I had a feeling you was back home…” Keysha went on and on nervously.

“KEYSHA! What the fuck happened this weekend?” I screamed into the phone trying to fight through the dizziness that had fallen upon me. I had no time for her usual gossiping banter, particularly when I was the subject of it. My world was falling apart and I needed answers.

“Well, that night you left…”

She
dropped the bomb on me. Never again would my life be the same.

According to Keysha, Friday night
a little birdie
told O that I had been secretly sleeping with J-Boog. O, outraged, went looking for J-Boog and found him behind building one. My life plummeted hours after I left for a college open house, Jeremy Barrington aka J-Boog was shot dead.
O was arrested for the murder of J-Boog.

My brother was arrested for the murder of a little
four-year-old that was caught in the crossfire of bullets exchanged between him and O. She said when Akeem came from around the corner to find his lifeless friend, he avenged J-Boog’s death.

My mother, Samantha, was at Holy Cross Hospital merely
evading death from an overdose on heroin. I could take no more of this horrible story and hung up the phone in Keysha’s ear. Racing into my bedroom, I packed everything I could fit in two suitcases and headed for the door. I didn’t know where I’d go. I didn’t care. I was getting the hell up out of those projects.

One-half hour later
, I found myself knocking on the door of Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Brimm, my grandparents. After giving me the latest on my mother’s condition and Akeem’s bail hearing, my grandparents asked how I was handling everything. I just kept a singular gaze on my baby sister, Chyna, as she played with her new PlayStation game that our grandparents bought. I guess they figured since she’d been spending so much time with them she should be comfortable.

“I’ll be fine. I have a few errands to run first thing in the morning. By noon I’ll need a ride to the train station.” My voice was devoid of emotion, I couldn’t cry. My entire being was numb, anesthetized from the pain of losing nearly everyone I’d depended on at that point in my life. Everyone I trusted without reservation. The people I loved without fear. My family had been destroyed, one by one. My first love had betrayed me. And I was stripped from the core of those essential relationships that help shape one’s ability to trust and love with no guards.

“Why? Where are you going?” My grandparents recited the words in unison like a sitcom couple.

“I’ll probably be headed back down to North Carolina. I need to get a head start on my studies. You know how you always told us Grandpa,
Do whatever it takes to gain a lead
. So I’m gonna do whatever it is I have to do.” I was gaming my grandparents. I just needed an exit. I felt the urge to run. But in that moment all I kept thinking about was Chyna.
Would she ever forgive her big sister for abandoning her when she needed her most?

I was experiencing several emotions at once but one of them definitely wasn’t confusion. I still hadn’t decided against my initial plan before uncovering the melee, which was getting the hell out of Jersey. And I knew the first thing I had to do.

“Well, will you need any money? Honey, if you need us, your grandfather and I are here,” My grandmother graciously nodded with a painful smile.

“Maybe we should give your father a call and tell him that you’re here. He asked of your whereabouts when we spoke last. Do you want us to give him a call?” My grandfather chimed.

“
Fu
…” I paused remembering whose presence I was in. My grandparents were devout Christians and profanity, no matter how justified, was prohibited. My sentiment was ‘
Fuck him!
’ however, I maintained my good senses.

“No. I’m just not ready to face him right now,” was what I settled on as an appropriate response.

Later that night I located the piece of paper that published Michelle’s handwritten address and telephone number and cut ou
t into the living room to dial her.

“What’s crackin’
, girl?” Michelle greeted with the same enthusiasm that sparked my confidence when we had met.