Twenty-Six
The evening wind howled its tocsin song warning the people of the impending winter. As Jim trudged down the street towards his apartment building, he stuffed one hand into his pocket and tried to work his sleeve over the hand that carried his Chinese take out order. Jim lived in one of the large co-op buildings off of St Nicholas on 123rd and a few blocks down from Allen’s place. His building wasn’t the best place to live, and it wasn’t the worst place to live. The super kept the front of the building clean and the stairs were usually free of debris with the exception of a chicken bone here or there. Most of the inhabitants of the building were city workers or workers period. Yet that did not mean that there wasn’t a lot of drama in the building. In the past 24 years that he had lived in this building, Jim had seen just as much sordid activity as the denizens of the projects had. The people may have had more money than those who dwelt in the projects, however a good number of them were using it for the same purposes: some weed, hard liquor, and/or parties that ended in shooting fatalities. When his mother died several years ago, she willed the property to Jim. He had wanted to sell his shares and move away and leave the past behind, but Mr. Sharpe had advised him to keep the apartment since it was his mother’s last wish that he have it.
As he approached the front gate, Jim dug down into his jacket pocket to retrieve his key. As he stuck the key into the lock, it set off a ringing alarm and the door opened, allowing him to pass into the inner courtyard. From there, he walked toward the entrance of the east wing of the building. As he opened the door, he was greeted by waves of warmth emanating from the radiator in the vestibule, which thawed the frost on his ears, nose, and the left hand that carried his food. He gave a quick nod to the security guard in the corner before he walked over to the mailboxes to get his mail. After that, he headed over to the elevator and pressed the ‘up’ button with crossed fingers. One of the very big drawbacks of living in this building was that the elevator was always out of service for some reason. As much as the tenants paid for maintenance, Jim would often ponder why they didn’t just remodel the elevator. Fortunately, it was working as the signal sounded, heralding the opening of the doors. By the time Jim got out on his floor, he could smell the aroma of the food in his bag and it whetted his appetite.
He looked around before opening the door to his two-bedroom apartment. Since his mother died, he had changed the décor of the apartment completely. In the living room, where there was once a three piece blue and beige floral-print sofa set with mahogany end tables, now there was a leather sectional, and a glass coffee table with pewter accents. In the kitchen, the old oak finished cabinets and counters were replaced by black marble and cheap lacquer finishes. A lovely and homely chestnut dining room set, sideboard and cabinet once graced the corner called the dining area, and in its place was a simple metal and synthetic table set from IKEA. Jim thought that changing the décor would help him to deal with the loneliness and emptiness he felt every time he opened the door and his mother did not appear to ask him how his day was, or with his favorite dish to cheer him up. Jim thought that if he emptied the apartment of the memory of her, he would be able to have peace and be able to get over her death. Instead, he only managed to take away all of the things that would have eased his grief.
Jim threw his keys and the mail on his coffee table and placed his food next to them in front of the 30 inch flat-screen plasma TV. He peeled off his coat and put it on the rack in the hall next to the door before proceeding to the kitchen to wash his hands before he ate. It was one of the things his mother taught him that stuck with him. “Always wash your hands before you eat”, she would say. When he was done he plopped himself down on the couch, grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV. He turned to a random channel and found an old episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. He had always loved this show as a kid. He remembered trying to get all of his homework done before it came on so his mother would allow him to watch it. His mother had never liked the show, but she allowed Jim to watch it. Momma was a very devout Christian, and she didn’t like rap music or rappers like the Fresh Prince. But Jim argued that since he didn’t really rap in the show it would be okay. Momma uneasily relented. That was Momma. Everything that went on in the house had to pass the ‘what would Jesus want?’ test. If she didn’t think Jesus would like it, it wasn’t happening. Momma lived her whole life for Jesus.
Momma Merta, as most people knew her, didn’t just talk the talk of Christianity, but walked the walk. Jim could remember all the times she had taken him down to Pastor Bynum’s church on Thanksgiving to help cook and serve food to those who were less fortunate, and the Christmases when she would buy gifts for children she didn’t even know. Not to mention the numerous occasions in which she had turned her own home into a sanctuary for young teen mothers who needed help. Everything she did, she didn’t ask for anything in return. Momma Merta did everything for the love of Jesus, and yet when she needed Him the most, Jesus let her down. At least that was how Jim saw it.
Jim opened his take out of ribs and shrimp fried rice. It wasn’t the best in Chinese cuisine, but it would kill his hunger. As he took a bite out of a rib, which was left rubber like from his trek in the cold, Jim tried to watch the show in front of him to take his mind off of that fateful day. Still his mind went back there. Jim had just visited his mother in the hospital. She was so thin and weak, and had lost most of her hair due to the chemo. Still she managed to smile. Jim could remember what his mother had told him. She said that God was with her and that she wasn’t worried anymore. She was in His hands and He knew what was best. It seemed to Jim as if Momma was sure that God would bring her through. Jim thought He would, too. Jim had been praying all week, fasting, going to church two to three times in the week. He thought God would bring her through, if not for all the prayers, at least for the sake of his mother. Momma was the most God-fearing person Jim had known besides Allen’s parents and the Pastor. But that night Jim lost her and his faith followed not far behind.
After his mother’s death, Jim stopped going to church. It didn’t seem fair that someone who loved God so much couldn’t even get Him to spare her life for just a few more years. It made Jim think that maybe there was no God. Then he met some real brothers at St. John’s who helped to spell it all out for him. He had been worshipping a white man’s god, if a god even existed. What he believed in wasn’t real, that’s why he had been let down. They told Jim that the god represented in organized religion was a political scarecrow that was use to mollify African-Americans, so they would obey their oppressors. Black preachers promised “pie in the sky” for tomorrow, while the white man was having his on earth right now. So he let his belief in God die. It was something that Jim didn’t mind doing. There were too many rules to it anyway. In the past, there were so many things that he couldn’t do. No women, no secular music, no r-rated movies and just no fun. Jim’s decision to abandon Christianity seemed to free him from an arbitrary and senseless orthodoxy. It was all up to him now, and he wasn’t beholden to anyone. A notion very liberating, but at the same time very overwhelming as well.
There were times when it seemed like the weight of the world was on Jim’s shoulders and he had no one to turn to. Of course, he had his friends, and the Bynums and the Sharpes but there were times when even they didn’t understand. It made him think about his conversation with Callie about a month ago. All of his friends thought he should be in law school by now, on his way to becoming some slick lawyer. His friends didn’t understand just how big a risk he would have to take in order to make that step. They didn’t understand just how hurt he was when his dream of being a law clerk was crushed by the reality of institutional racism. What if he went to law school and for some reason had to drop out? What if he found out that he didn’t have what it takes to survive, let alone, succeed in, law school? How could he deal with all those racists out there who were just waiting to give him a hard time? Jim didn’t have a guilty white dad who could
hook him up with a job like Tim did. He didn’t have loving and patient parents like Tamiko and Allen who would support him unconditionally, at least not any more. Nor did he have Callie and Richard’s financial acumen and resources. Besides, there was nothing really wrong with working at the MTA. He could make a future for himself there. If not there, somewhere else. But where?
Thinking this way always made Jim feel tense, so he got up from the couch and went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Jim used to drink only on nights out, then extended his drinking to the weekends so he could wind down from a hard week at work. Now it was only Monday and he had to have a drink. But why not? He’d had a difficult day. He ended up driving one of the worst lines in the city, the C line into Manhattan. It had been a long time since he last drove a train on this line, so he had to take it kind of slow so he wouldn’t miss any of the key turns and passes in the tunnels. Then there were signal problems and he ended up idling in tunnels for up to an hour at a time. Now he had to contend with painful memories from his past, and the uncertainty of the future. He needed something to help him relax, and the last time he checked, drinking was not a crime, so long as he didn’t get into a car afterward.
Jim alternated between his beer and the Chinese food, which was growing cold and stale. Soon he left off from the take out tray and finished the beer. He tried to concentrate on the program, but had missed most of the funny parts of this particular episode already. So he decided to go back to the fridge and grab another beer. Momma would disapprove. She believed that alcohol was a tool for the devil. That was just a bunch of nonsense. Jim was all too glad that he didn’t have to live his life based on such foolish superstitions anymore. And yet what did he live his life based on? Where was he going? What was his life about? As often as he tried not to think about it, these questions just kept confronting him again and again. Fortunately for him, a buzz from the intercom relieved him from having to ponder such questions longer than he wanted to.
Jim walked over and pressed the talk button on the intercom.
“Who is it?!” Jim demanded in an almost threatening voice.
“Who you think it is?” responded the pleasantly familiar voice.
“This ain’t no Jehovah’s Witness, is it?” Jim laughed.
“Man, open the door! It’s cold out here!” the voice yelled back.
Jim buzzed in his visitor and then went to his door and unlocked it. Next, he went to the living room and disposed of his half-eaten take out and empty beer bottle, leaving the one he was still drinking on the table. He cleared off some dirty clothes from the couch and his recliner and threw them in his bedroom. In a few moments there was a knock at the door.
“It’s open”, Jim yelled.
“Hey man, what’s up?” Allen greeted him from the door.
“Not much man, just layin’ back. Have a seat. You had dinner yet? I don’t have much in the fridge to offer. I just had some take out myself.”
“Nah, man I’m good. I just had a bagel on the train before I got here. I can wait until I get home.”
Allen hung up his coat on the rack in the hall and then threw himself into Jim’s recliner.
“What is that about?” asked Jim in surprise as he surveyed Allen’s uniform.
“What?”
“That get up you got on man.”
“You don’t know? I thought Tamiko or Tim would have sent you a text by now?”
“Sent me a text about what? You got a job at a parking garage?”
“No. That has a little more dignity to it. Anyway, last night during Sunday dinner, my mom let everyone know that her Harvard graduate son is now working at the Sheraton as… hold on to your hat now… a porter!” exclaimed Allen in mock excitement.
Allen seemed to be taking a page from Tim’s book of sarcasm. It sounded to Jim like Allen was on the verge of another ‘whine festival’, however, Jim was not in the mood to entertain him tonight. It was starting to become a little more than irritating how Allen was always disparaging blue-collar jobs as being beneath him. It sounded like he had been spending too much time with Tim. Being a blue-collar worker, Jim couldn’t help but be a little offended at Allen’s attitude. But still Allen was his friend, and he knew where the attitude came from. He himself had felt that way just a couple of years ago. He knew what it was like to be the only child of an overprotective mother, who thought everything you did was miraculous. However, the last two years had helped him become more grounded and he hoped to lend some perspective to Allen.
“Look man, you don’t have to save face with me. I feel where you’re coming from. It’s not what you expected. But, hey, it’s a job right?”
“Loosely speaking.”
“So I take it you got a call back from someone at the job fair?”
“No. This is my mom’s idea of a ‘hook up’. She had to go begging to one of the church sisters for help.”
“Just be glad you got people looking out for you. Besides I could think of worse things to be than being a porter.”
“But Jim, I haven’t even told you about all the wonderful things I got to do on my very first day. I got to clean up vomit off a carpet, I got to gather garbage from a compactor and put it into these great big ten ton bags and then carry them out to the curb, and I was nearly electrocuted by faulty wiring in a carpet shampooer.”
“Still, its honest work and you get paid. They are paying you, right?”
“Fifteen dollars an hour but no benefits until after a 6 month probationary period.”
“That’s not bad.”
“And it’s not good either, considering what I have to put up with. The worst part of it is the guy that I work under looks like something straight out of the state penitentiary.”
“Oh, poor Allen has to get his hands dirty touching garbage. And he has to associate himself with the lower classes. Oh, the tragedy of it all!” mocked Jim.
“Very funny.”
“Welcome to the real world man. Here have a beer. It’ll take the edge off.”
“No, thanks. You know I don’t drink. And since when did you start drinking during a work week?”
“Since I felt like it, Dad.”
“Suit yourself”, said Allen resignedly. “I know it sounds a lot like I’m whining…”
“Sounds like?”
“O.K., I’m whining, but not without good reason. And you know where I’m coming from. When you had to take that transit gig, you weren’t terribly happy about it either. I just don’t like the idea of settling for less. It’s like I’m not living up to what I was meant to be.”
“So if you feel that way, why don’t you just quit? It’s not like you have any responsibilities like I did back then. I had to think about how I was going to survive. When I got out of school, and my mom died, I had to think about how I was going to keep a roof over my head and feed myself. I needed a job. Period. Other than your student loans, you don’t have any real debts. Your parents aren’t exactly in the poor house. You could coast with them until you get something that you consider to be more appropriate.”
“I wish it were that simple. I may live with my parents now, but I’m not trying to make this situation permanent. And besides, my conscience won’t allow me to just live off of them. They’ve been working hard for a very long time. They deserve to retire and have fun, and not worry about taking care of me for the rest of their lives. Then I have other, more personal, reasons for why I have to stay.”
“What personal reasons? Some hottie there you tryin’ to get close to?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m not sure you’d understand. You might think I’ve gone off the deep end.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I just think…you know…maybe this may lead to something bigger for me. Maybe I’m supposed to learn something here: you know like in that movie, “The Karate Kid”.
“You mean like ‘wax-on, wax-off’?”
“Yeah, like maybe this job is preparing me for something.”
/> “Like, what?”
“I don’t know. I’m just hoping that God will reveal it to me in time.”
“Now you do sound like Tamiko.”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking lately. I don’t think she’s so far off the mark anymore. It’s just that for a long time I thought I could do everything on my own. That all of the answers to everything were in me to find, but now I’m starting to realize that I don’t know everything.”
“Nobody knows everything Allen.”
“And that’s my point. There has to be somebody who does. Maybe I really do need to start talking to God. I mean, who else can I turn to? Who else can tell me what to do? Maybe I really do need to try to go on a spiritual journey or something, ya know?”
“And do you really think you’re going to get an answer?”
“Look, Jim, I know you’re skeptical, and after everything you’ve been through, who wouldn’t be, but somehow it just seems right to me.”
“Allen, you know I always try to be straight with you, so I’m going to give you my honest opinion and you can take it or leave it. It seems to me like you’re trying to find your purpose, but you’re not going to find it buffing floors and you’re certainly not going to find it in a false religion made up by white people to keep us down. The reason why you got shut out was not due to some supernatural force. It was because we live in a world where people deliberately conspire to hold the black man down. It’s called institutionalized racism. I know because I’m in the same place.”
“Let’s say for argument’s sake that you’re right. What’s the solution then?”
“To resist.”
“And how do I do that?”
“By not letting the man brainwash you with his religion.”
“Is that all?”
“And by going out and forging your own path. I mean you and the rest of the guys are so bent on showing ‘the man’ that you’re just as good as he is. You all have to have high paying jobs with fancy titles in order to be somebody. You let this White Eurocentric society set the bar for you and you run to jump over it without even thinking.”
“And just how does one ‘forge one’s own path’?”
“By getting out of the rat race and thinking for yourself. You know, the past two years, I started growing up. Life isn’t about all the accomplishments and accolades you can accrue. It’s about just having peace of mind, and being happy. You know, live today for tomorrow we die.”
“You make it seem like life is so simple. I like to think we’re all down here for a specific purpose. I used to think I knew what that was, but now… I don’t know.”
“If everybody is gonna die at some point or another, what does it matter? Everything that happens here is just random.”
“I can’t believe you really think that. You make life seem like it has no meaning.”
“Maybe it doesn’t.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“And I can’t accept that a just and loving God could allow my father, a good church going man who loved God, to be killed by some crack-head ripping off a bodega. I also can’t accept that an all-powerful God let my God-fearing mother die suffering from cancer. And I also can’t accept the idea of a God who allows one group of people to commit all types of injustice on another and get away with it.”
“Look, Jim. I understand why you don’t want to hear anything about God. I didn’t mean to…let’s just forget I mentioned it.”
“Fine with me man. It’s your life.”
“I told Miko and Tim about the Election Night party yesterday. I don’t think they’re going to come.”
“Figures. You know the Flanders. They would never come to a party in the middle of the week. You’re still coming aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. You?”
“Most definitely. Anyway, I thought you were all on board. What’s with the sudden change?”
“I’d feel odd. This is going to be a big party with lots of city bigwigs there.”
“And?”
“And what if someone asks me what I do for a living? What if I meet up with people from the old Alma Mater? I’ll end up looking like a punk in front of everybody.”
“Allen did you ever stop to think that maybe you are not the only Harvard graduate who is having problems finding a posh job?”
“If there are, I haven’t heard from them.”
“That doesn’t mean that they don’t exist. And did you ever stop to think that the porters, McDonald’s workers, mailmen, bus drivers, and train drivers of this world are human beings worthy of respect just like the CEO’s and stock brokers, and other high titled people out there?”
“Now don’t get me wrong, I never said people in occupations like mine aren’t worthy of respect and human dignity. But you can’t deny that there is a reason why people are in those occupations.”
“And what do you think the reason is? They couldn’t cut it in the so-called ‘Big Leagues’ where you want to be? They’re not ‘special’?”
“You’re making me sound like some bougie snob.”
“You said it. I always thought there are people in those positions because our society needs them, not necessarily because some people are inherently better than others. The way you talk, it makes me afraid of what may have happened if you had gotten some fancy Wall Street position. You’d probably feel you’re too good to hang around some mere transit worker like me.”
“No way, man. Never. We’re blood, you know that!”
“Do I? What if I told you that I didn’t want to go to law school anymore, that I had decided to stake my future in transit? Do you think you would still want to be my friend, now that I’m off the white collar track?”
“Of course I’d still be your friend. But I’d be wondering why you didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore since it was your dream since we were kids. I would want to know why you gave up.”
“Why couldn’t you just accept my decision and leave it at that?”
“Is that really your decision?”
“Maybe it is.”
“Fine. Then I’d accept it. That doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be worried, but I’d accept it.”
“Good. So, are you still on the fence about coming to the Election Night party or what?”
“I guess I’ll go. Anyway it’s getting late. I better head on home. I know my mom is waiting to hear all about my first day.”
“I’m telling you, Allen, things could be worse. There are a lot of brothers out there that don’t have half the support that you have. If worse comes to worst, you can always fall back on Mommy and Daddy. You could be in a position where you got a lot of bills and all you got in the world is your job as a porter to pay them.”
“Jim, just because I have my parents doesn’t mean that I have it smooth sailing. Sometimes you need more than that. Way more than that.”
“Like what? Money? I hear that.”
“I hear you, too, but I wasn’t talking about that.”
“So what are you talking about?”
“I don’t even know enough about it myself. But when I find out I’ll let you know. See ya around man.”
“See ya.”
Twenty-Seven