“You leaving already, Jassy?”
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my bag. “I’ll be back later and let my baby sleep in.”
“Oh, hush, girl. Be careful, my baby.”
“I will.”
I already knew what she was about to do. The minute that door clicked behind me, she was gonna march right into my room and scoop my son up because he was always the company she needed. My mama loved all her grandkids, but my baby and Crew’s kids? They got special treatment. She’d deny it till her last breath, but everybody saw it, and she often said she had a soft spot for my baby because of his autism diagnosis.
When I stepped outside, the morning air slapped me awake. It wasn’t one of the coldest days out here; it was just gloomy with no sun out which made me even more depressed. I walked down towards the bus stop a few strides and then took my favorite vape from my purse to take a puff. I keep telling myself that my last puff of the night will be my last, but then I would end up hitting it in the morning. My mama didn’t know that I smoked vape, and I was keeping it that way. She warned my siblings and me about vapes long ago after hearing a news segment on them and how people were dying, but I felt like I was dying without it, especially because I didn’t smoke weed like that anymore.
A couple of dudes argued over a dice game that probably started before sunrise. The block was already jumping like it was 5:00 in the evening, but everyone I passed by, I knew from around here. Ms. Julie was sitting out on her stoop smoking probably her fifth cigarette of the day already, and mixed in with that, I could already smell the heavy scent of bacon on hot dogs from Mr. Applewhite's grill.
When he saw me passing by, he lifted his tongs to acknowledge me, and I waved to do the same. This neighborhood may not be the best, but I felt way more comfortable over here than I had in the projects we stayed in before. Shit, Crew tried to upgrade Mama from here several times, but she said she wouldn’t feel right living anywhere else.
Though my big brother was filthy rich, I still had my everyday struggles like your average single mother who was trying to survive. Crew did enough for the family, so asking him to do shit like buy me a car just sounded crazy when I can’t even drive in the first place. Living in New York, you really don’t have to know how to drive a car to get around. Taking city buses was the norm for us, and though I hated to do the shit alone, I carried a knife and some mace with me anytime I was in the streets to feel protected.
B39 finally pulled up with that loud hiss, and I walked on, dropping into my seat by the window that I was lucky to find at this time of day. The only time a window seat wasn’t the move is when some big funky mutha fucka sits by you and traps you against the window, leaving you basking in that stanky shit for however many stops you have.
We took off from the stop and crossed the Williamsburg Bridge, going in the opposite direction of where I told my mama I would be. Truth is, I wasn’t heading to a job interview. I was going to see a therapist for the first time in person. Something she wouldn’t understand because to her, God fixes everything, and all I need to do is pray.
Last week, the therapist and I did a consultation over the phone. She mostly listened while I unloaded everything I’d been holding in. There was no fake sympathy from her. No cutting me off, and just silence when I needed it, and that kind of quiet felt rare.
The only person who knew was Pernelle, because she was secretly paying for it with her husband’s money. I could already hear Crew in my head:“Fuck, you need a therapist for when you got weed?”His ass would have another few suggestions for therapy, just like mama. Pernelle had never seen a therapist before, but she told me to try it and let her know how it works forme. She was so busy trying to help me that I was secretly worried about her, too. People like her, who are always looking out for everyone else, often let go of their own needs and put everyone in the family before themselves.
When the bus came to a halt at the stop I needed to get off, I climbed off, looking at the cross streets to see which direction to go. I turned left down the side street and read the numbers on the buildings until I found the one I was looking for,2625.
When the therapist told me she was in Manhattan, I pictured something fancy in East Village, in Upper East Side, or one of those buildings with a doorman who looked rich himself. But nah. Her office was tucked inside a brownstone that looked halfway between somebody’s home and a place you’d go to handle business. The only reason I knew I was in the right spot was the sign overhead the door.Monroe Street Medical Group.
I climbed the steps and took one last pull from my vape pen before I opened the door. When I stepped inside, the wood on the floor creaked as soon as I put my weight on it. The door chimed behind me, muffling the chaos from the street like somebody turned the volume down on the city.
To my left, as soon as I stepped inside the door, there was a silver plaque hung on the wall listing office numbers. I ran my finger down it until I saw her name.
Dr. Rashid, Suite 101.
The arrow pointed just past the staircase, and my palms felt a little sweaty as I walked down the narrow hall. I stopped at the door, took a breath, and knocked twice. It wasn’t often that I was nervous about shit, but today that feeling was creeping up my spine. That shooting really changed me and brought up a lot of feelings I’d never had before.
“Come in,” a voice called, and I twisted the doorknob.
Cute,I thought, stepping inside.
The office wasn’t bigger than a bedroom, but whoever designed it knew what they were doing. Everything had its place. The walls were covered in white wallpaper with a soft gray tribal print that blended with the room's calm aesthetic. Two emerald-green chairs sat in the center like they were waiting for a photoshoot, and they were cute as hell. They were the same kind of chairs that I saw at that brunch spot downtown.
“Have a seat, I’ll be right with you.”
She greeted me with a quick smile, then turned her back, messing around on a little stand behind us. I must’ve interrupted her while she was making her coffee because I was ten minutes early.
I lowered myself into the chair closest to her, but my back was toward her, and all I could hear was the sound of a spoon hitting ceramic, liquid pouring, and glass tapping against the counter.
“Would you like some tea?” she confirmed that it was, in fact, not coffee.
“What kind is it?”
“It’s lemon, lavender, and mint. It’s very relaxing, and great for your health as well.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll try some. Never had lavender anything before.”
“Oh, you will love it.” She replied, soft and calm as she was over the online consultation.
