“We’re almost there,” King assures me.
I’m a big guy and have been in fights, so I can hold my own, but this is a dumb idea. If he wants to show me what it’s like to be the only white guy in a sea of Black men, I get it. It’s uncomfortable, and he lives it every day.
“This is our stop.” He touches my coat sleeve and exits the train.
The wind whooshes across the platform, chilling me to the bone.
“A few blocks this way.” He points in a direction which could be north, south, east, or west. I’m lost, but as I spin around, I recognize the Chrysler Building in the city skyline. Worst-case scenario, I follow the tall buildings.
Papers and garbage blow in the wind. New York is a dingy city, but this is rundown and unkept. Old parking lots are a combo of broken cement and weeds. There’s faded graffiti on all the buildings. Some are abandoned, and some look like they should be condemned.
“Where are we going?” There’s a group of guys hanging out on the corner, passing around a paper bag. If I screamed my head off, I doubt a cop would come.
“I want you to meet someone. My auntie.” He turns down a side street, and I’m met with a looming monstrosity of a building. Windows are broken, curtains blow in the breeze, and the smell… If poverty had a smell, it would be urine, booze, rotting food, and grass.
“I thought I heard your aunt died.” I wince at my words.
“My mom’s sister died,” he says as if I should know what the hell that means. But I assume this aunt isn’t the one I met when we were seven.
He walks past the main entrance to a side door with locks and a “Do Not Enter” sign. The locks must be for show because he easily swings the door open.
“What the fuck are we doing?” I say under my breath. The stairwell is concrete with puke-green paint, and most of the lights flicker, giving it an eerie vibe. I’m not scared exactly, but this ranks high in the bad-idea category.
King’s long legs take the stairs two at a time. “You know, when we came to stay for the wedding, my auntie and I thought we were livin’ in luxury. We didn’t know that the rooms were totally different if you went up the main stairway instead of the back. The beds were the softest and nicest we’d ever seen.” His statement punches me in the gut.
I’d looked for him that weekend but couldn’t find him. Because he and his aunt were staying in the staff quarters. The place we deemed subpar and disgusting, but it was the nicest place he’d been.
Nothing is what I thought. There are so many lies, and it’s possible I was complacent in their telling or a fool.
He opens a door on the fourth floor, and the smell improves, but not much else does. There’s a threadbare, dirty carpet that I couldn’t guess the original color of.
Halfway down, King knocks on a door. “Mary, it’s me.”
“J, is that you?” a weak voice asks, and the door is flung open. A short, round Black woman with gray hair in a bun hugs him. “Come in. Oh, you brought a friend. Are you hungry?”
“No, ma’am, don’t make anything for us.” He follows her into the living room, and the furniture isn’t vintage ’70s; it’s old and decrepit. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d show Theo our first apartment.”
“Here it is in all its glory.” Mary spreads her arms wide. The kitchen has a stove, a fridge, and a few cabinets. There are open doors to a bedroom and a bathroom. The entire apartment isn’t much bigger than the entryway where I live at John’s place on Park Ave.
Mary ignores King and pulls out food along with pots and pans.
“Once my moms started working, we could afford a two-bedroom.” King sits on the couch. I’m afraid if I sit next to him, it’ll collapse.
“You and your mom,” I say to fill the silence.
“Me, moms, and my auntie.” He nods.
“Did…did the three of you live here?” I can’t align his reality with the stories I was told.
“Sure did,” Mary pipes in. “You’re still too skinny.” She waves a spoon at him. “Once they moved out, I took over the apartment and kept J out of trouble. It’s like this apartment called to him, so he’d come here…accidentally…for years.” Mary laughs, and it’s clear how much she loves him.
I listen to them gossip about the neighbors as she serves us mac and cheese along with a wilted leafy vegetable that tastes much better than it looks. Mary calls it collard greens. King tries to decline dessert, but Mary wraps up slices of pound cake.
“We gotta bounce. Meeting the guys,” King responds vaguely. “I couldn’t come here without giving you a hug.” He stands and brings her into his arms, bending his knees so he rests his chin on the top of her head.
“Don’t be a stranger,” she scolds him. “It’s been too long.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He lifts her off her feet, and she squeals, but I get the feeling this is something they do.
