Owens sticks her arm out of the window and holds it there as I zigzag our way through traffic. This is one thing that I’ve never really gotten used to about living in New York—the traffic.
It’s like no one in this city ever goes the fuck home. There’re always cars on the road. That’s why I pay Tito to drive or else I’d probably have a panic attack. These are not normal driving conditions for any human being.
“I guess I don’t pay you enough for you to live near the office either?”
“I do live near the office. It’s near the bridge in Manhattan and I live on the other side of the bridge.”
“In Brooklyn. Look at this traffic.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t work there anymore anyway.”
“Even drunk you’re a smart-ass.”
“Am I drunk?”
The only good thing about Owens’s car is that it’s small enough to fit into practically any space. I easily park it in a small legal space in front of her building, and by the time I get out and come over to the other side of the car, I can see that she’s wilting. The long car ride probably did her in and lulled her halfway to sleep.
“Upsy-daisy, Owens.” I lift her up. “Come on.”
She wraps one of her soft arms around my waist and leans into the side of my body as I guide her up the steps of her apartment. Tito and I have been here enough times to know where she lives even though I’ve never been inside.
“Third floor, right?”
“Fifth,” she mumbles.
“Oh right. Fifth floor, apartment 503.”
Her apartment is in an old five floor, walk-up building. No elevator. It figures that she lives on the top floor. I tell her to hold onto me and help her slowly up the stairs, because she has on heels and can barely see straight.
“You want to take off your shoes?”
“I’m not walking barefoot on these nasty stairs!” she says in horror.
Her eyes are half closed as she starts singing that song from the bar again.
“Philadelphia freedom … I love ya. Shine the light.”
“How do you know the words to that song? It’s pretty old.”
“My mom was from Philadelphia. It’s where my parents met in college and fell in love. It was one of her favorite songs.”
“Oh.”
“My mom died a long time ago. I was really young. It’s one of the only things that I remember for sure about her without other people having to fill in the blanks.”
Owens starts tearing up. I didn’t mean to bring up such a painful memory for her. The alcohol has her emotions are all over the place. I better get her to bed.
“I’m sorry about your mom, Owens. I can tell that you miss her.”
“She was an awesome lady. Did you know that she was in a Burger King commercial?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“She was an actress.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that.”
“Of course, you didn’t, silly. You don’t know anything about me.”
