Beg You A Dollar, Nuh? (Part 4 of 4)
Resolutions
For Part 3 of the story, click here.
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“I like the new Infinities myself.” The Caribbean man’s words interrupted me one more time. I glanced at him again, unsure of my next move. He was still smiling, sending some of his island calm my way. I studied him more deeply, concluding within myself that it took a certain type of personality to smile even when the storm was still raging. I had that personality. I was smiling though things were oh so wrong. I was jumping from situation to situation, state to state, and job to job like a frog in short grass and I wasn’t proud of it. But I couldn’t help it. I needed to survive, and in the process, I hadn’t quite figured out stability. And here I was now, unemployed, and handing my dollar to a fellow immigrant.
“How much is the lotto again, I asked curiously.
“A big money, you nuh! Seventy millian! [Big money! Seventy million!]
“What????”
“Yea man! Nobady never win laaas time, so it gaaan sky high.’ [Nobody won last time around, so it has gone sky high].
A “wow” escaped my lips.
“Den no dat mi a show yu man! An yu tink mi a joke. So mek it $5.00 nuh since yu see di light.” [But that’s what I’m trying to show you. And you think I’m joking. So why not make it $5.00 now that you see the light]. He broke into raucous laughter, his big belly jerking up and down, his eyes twinkling, and every tooth showing. The levity threw me back in time and I couldn’t help remembering an old friend. He was loquacious and hilarious, a Trevor Noah in another life. Every encounter relieved and ravaged me simultaneously, for he was the object of an ever present desire — unrelenting, unyielding, untainted — a stillborn forever needing to be expelled. But it was…well, complicated. So I bore the burden like a woman in labor and simply hollered when the pains came. Many years later, I found a home for that love, got married, and had a son. But sadly, it did not last, and I soon found myself in search of a place for me and a small child. During that time period, Aunt Dora had bought a three-bedroom, two-bath co-op unit a block away from where we all were in the one-bedroom apartment, and she, daddy, and Sophia had made that their new home. Since daddy knew of an available one-bedroom unit in the complex, he gave me the super’s number and I hesitatingly arranged for him to show it to me. He and Sophia met me there. It was an old but decent unit though with some nips and tucks, it could be home. It was also a bit pricey although typical for White Plains, NY. Nevertheless, it was a good investment. The school district was good and there was room for negotiation, so I told the super that I would think about it. I was doing just that when I got a call from Sophia the next day.
“Hey, wazzup,” she said. “You decided on the unit.”
“No, It’s not bad. But…I don’t know…Still thinking.”
“Well, just so you know, mommy said she doesn’t want any a y’all in the building.”
“What!?” I exclaimed.
“After she no own the building,” was daddy’s semi vague response in the background, and he hissed his teeth long and hard: Tcchhiuuuuuuuupe.
“A wha wrang wid har?” [What’s wrong with her??] I questioned rhetorically. “She’s ridiculous!” “If she tink we ago deh deh every minute, she kyaa relax herself. Becaw mi no have no intention fi come ova deh.” [If she’s afraid we’re going to be over there all the time, she can relax because I’ve no intention of coming over there.]
“I know. But that’s what she said.”
“She’s a piece a damn work,” I added and hung up the phone. In the seconds that followed, every bit of venom that had been simmering in a cauldron of hate over the last eighteen years came to a boil. Clearly, she was still intent on sucking our blood like a damn vampire until we were languid and lapping in the wind. “That naaaaassy dutty kyaas-yaiy johncrow!” [That nasty, dirty, cross-eyed vulture] I said to myself. “If she ded ina di street and mi see har, mi jus ago tep ova har and waak gwaan.” [If she is lying in the street dead, I’m simply going to step over her and go on about my business]. The awful thing about that statement was that it wasn’t just a thought. It was a vow drawn in blood. And I had every intention of honoring it.
I didn’t buy the unit; I bought a two-bedroom in another county instead. And the very few times I went to see my father over years to come, he had to meet me outside in my car where we spoke for maybe ten minutes at a time. I had vowed never to set foot in that apartment, and I kept my word. But my relationship with my sister suffered as a result. I could literally count the handful of times when she was in my company: when I hosted a Mary Kay get-together at my new two-bedroom co-op in Suffern, NY; when we had dinner together at Pat’s apartment in White Plains for Mother’s Day; and once when I asked her to take me to the airport. We had laughed and laughed all the way home, for I refused to get on the plane since it was raining. She thought I was so very silly. But I did not care.
“Rain brings turbulence,” I had told her. “Nope! Not doing it!” And we laughed all the more. The next time I saw her, it was September 2005, and she was lying in a coffin. Morbid obesity. Family came from everywhere to offer support, and I made an exception then to enter hell. That was the first time since we had left the apartment that the old gang was together again and under the same roof with my father and his wife. But I was in no way comfortable. And when I heard Aunt Dora’s hysterical crying rising above the din of family dispersing to their separate homes, I turned my back and hurried out the door and down the street to my waiting car. I did not even say goodbye. Once outside, I passed daddy coming back from the corner deli.
“Your wife’s crying,” I said.
“Wha she a cry fa?” was the answer. [What is she crying for?]
“I guess she’s sad.” I responded, not sure what exactly to say. “Everybody’s leaving.”
“Me sad to!” he said obviously irritated. [I’m sad too.]
“Dawg no business in a puss fight,” [Not my business] I thought to myself. And I got in my car and drove away.
With Sophia now gone, Pat took it upon herself to visit the aging couple every other week to ensure that they were doing well. I wanted no part of it, and since Ricardo lived in California and Loren in Florida, there was no one else to do it. Pat gave updates to the rest of us though, truthfully, I was indifferent to the information. I remained dispassionate and disconnected for several more years, only visiting the co-op apartment two more times for daddy’s milestone 70th and 75th birthdays that brought family to town. Aunt Dora died the very next year following that last birthday get-together. Pat handled the funeral; no one saw or heard from me, Loren, or Ricardo.
I never thought about Aunt Dora again until I was challenged with being an informal stepmother to three children. I was careful to make sure that I lived up to my promise of always being kind and fair. Yet nothing I did was ever good enough…for the father that is. The children visited based on a pre-set schedule, but every visit was colonoscopic, revealing the chronically diseased intestines of their primary home. Consequently, he prioritized compensating for their every lack which encumbered and overwhelmed me unnecessarily. His demands were augustly unreasonable and unremitting, and in time, it became obvious that I was only there to facilitate his and their care. In fact, it is debatable whether he intentionally misrepresented himself when asked about his expectations during courtship. The answer still isn’t clear. But what is clear is that he did not care one iota about my needs: financial, social, or emotional. At best, he didn’t know how. Consequently, he missed the mark of expressing the kind of deep-seated love and appreciation critical to erecting a fortress of inexorable support, a quid pro quo of a spectacular sort. Now, not many people knew of my experience in that relationship. And fewer still understood it. Still, that man dragged my soul across a football field of broken logic, intent on puncturing every inclination toward a sense of self-esteem and self-worth. And I had to fight like a gladiator every moment, every second, to maintain my integrity and my joie de vivre. Having been through that experience, then, it forced me to re-investigate the circumstances behind our early experiences.
Through more mature eyes, I can see now that Aunt Dora was fighting demons we had not yet encountered. And every one of them had my father’s name on it. It is true that she did not have to handle it the way she did, but I realize that her battles were as real and as difficult to her as they were many: battles having to do with feeling unloved and devalued, battles having to do with no respect, and battles having to do with no real support. Unfortunately, we were caught in the middle. Old folks continue to whisper that daddy never loved her in the first place, that she was his ticket to America. All the more reason he should have stuck to the plan! Simply get the ticket and get off the train! But he did not do that. He sat on that train and enjoyed the ride, completely forgetting that it was a means to an end and producing an unplanned child in the process. When Loren got married, he had mentioned to her that his wedding day was “the longest day of [his] life.” The gravity of that statement was lost in the humor. But the joke was on us really. For when that train pulled into the station where we were waiting eagerly, he was completely unprepared. No doubt our presence elevated carefully suppressed truths and exacerbated reigning insecurities and issues of self-worth in the corners of Aunt Dora’s mind. And perhaps, now overwhelmed by their recalcitrance, she was unable to rise above the shame and the sorrow to ascribe punitive measures where they belonged. So she made us pay. But the blame was his, for we were his responsibility. We projected our feelings unto Aunt Dora; I projected my feelings unto Aunt Dora. But he, our father, failed us. He needed to own that truth. And as much as I hate to admit it, I needed to own it too.
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The memories made me exhausted, and I was ready to go, ready to be alone. I quickly handed the man the extra four dollars to compensate for my wanting to dismiss him.
“Awright, now wi tawking. But gi mi some numbers nuh, so if me get lucky, yu lucky to.” [Alright, now we’re talking. But give me some numbers so if I get lucky, then you’re lucky too].
“How many do you need?” I asked impatiently.
“Seven is di lucky number,” he responded.
“Twelve, thirty-five, two.” He was writing them down as fast as I was calling them. “Forty, six, one, fourteen,” I continued.
“Ah see di money now,” [I see the money already,] he said excitedly. “Gracias, mi bonita una.”
“Ok, daddy,” I sighed.
“When am I going to see you again?”
“One day soon,” I lied and quickly went through hell’s door.
