Sellout (4 page)

She cocked one of her heavy legs in front of the other and waved in her best Miss Black America way, the frying pan dangling in the other hand. I didn’t even try to hide my laugh. She was crazy. I was her only grandchild and I’d been calling her Tilly since birth. Every time I messed up and aged her, she called me on it. Tilly wanted to be young forever.

“Nothing’s wrong, Tilly,” I told her. “My first impression wasn’t so good today. I made such a fool of myself in front of Amir.”

“Oh? You still thinking about him?” she asked, smirking.

She had to know that knocking over a canned beans display at the grocery wasn’t one of my finer moments. I certainly wouldn’t be able to forget about it anytime soon.

Tilly went back to the chicken and hummed “Open My Eyes, Lord” as she worked. She always hummed church songs while she cooked. Tilly once told me the Lord’s angels had a direct hand in her food creations, and sometimes the angels actually seasoned her food. I listened to her hum as I set the table.

When we sat down to eat, Tilly said a quick prayer and then I scooped some greens she had boiled onto each of our plates. Tilly sat quietly and watched me.

“It wasn’t so bad, Tash,” Tilly said. “People knock things over at the grocery all the time.”

“But I nearly took down the entire display in front of him,” I said, wincing slightly at the sound of my own whining.

“Girl, please,” she laughed. “You’re being silly. I’m sure Amir had a good laugh and then forgot all about you.”

Great, I didn’t want him to forget
me;
just that I was a huge klutz.

I finished my greens and the rest of my thigh piece.

“You know you have to be ready for whatever’s in store for you here?” she asked quietly. Tilly could say so much without saying much at all. I loved that about her. Working at Amber’s Place wasn’t going to be easy for me and we both knew it. Making a mess in front of Amir should have been the least of my worries. Walking into a teen crisis center was going to require a different type of first impression than I’d ever prepared for.

“Yeah, I know, Tilly.”

Tilly handed me a wineglass and filled it with iced tea.

“Let’s make a toast,” she said, raising her own glass against mine, “to new beginnings and a summer full of learning and love.”

After we finished eating, I cleared the dishes from the table, while Tilly started to wash. She handed me a bowl to dry.

“You have your first impression picked out for tomorrow?” she asked when we were all done. Tilly volunteered at Amber’s Place four days a week. I was going to help her starting first thing in the morning.

“Yeah, I have it,” I said.

“Well, go ahead and put it on,” she said.

Tilly had pink curtains on her bedroom window that matched her bedspread. She was the matching queen. Her bedroom was almost as bad as her kitchen. She even had pink lining on some of the hangers in her closet. I shook my head and put on the white tank top and red skirt. I twirled around in front of the vanity mirror and waited for the tips of the skirt to catch up to me. Tilly clapped from the doorway.

“You look great, Tash,” she said, “but there’s something missing. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

She looked me over from head to toe and I did, too. Everything was in place as far as I could tell. When I turned back to look at Tilly, she held out a blue jewelry box to me.

“Tilly, you didn’t have to get me anything,” I told her, opening the box.

“I know it, and that’s why you’ll be giving these bad boys back,” she said, laughing. “My mother gave these to me, I gave them to your mother, and she is passing them on to you. Hopefully, they’ll bring you some luck tomorrow.”

Tilly closed the clasp around my wrist of the most beautiful freshwater pearl bracelet I’d ever seen.

“Tilly,” I asked, touching the pearls, “you really think I can be of help to the girls at Amber’s Place?”

“I do,” she said simply.

Tilly helped me get set up on the sofa in her living room. After I spoke to my parents, I pulled a knitted blanket around me and settled in for the Lifetime movie we were
about to watch. Tilly hung up the phone and cuddled up next to me.

“Tash, you’re gonna love it here, you’ll see,” she said.

I wanted so badly to believe her and to not be missing home already.

TILLY WAS UP frying eggs before the sun. I, on the other hand, wanted to stay buried under my covers for as long as I could. I wasn’t ready for new faces. I didn’t want to make new friends. What if I couldn’t make friends? Maybe the girls would like me right away. But maybe they wouldn’t.

I spent an abnormal amount of time in the shower, until Tilly knocked on the door to get me out. I really felt like hiding in the bathroom all day. Getting dressed was a chore. My deodorant did me no good. Sweat beads formed around my arms and my hairline. Every time I managed to calm down, it would start all over again.

I finished putting on my first impression outfit and looked at myself in the mirror. I tried my deep breathing routine, just like the one I used before going onstage to dance. Only it wasn’t working properly. My body knew I wasn’t going onstage today, at least not to dance.

Tilly called me to eat breakfast. I fixed a plate of cheese eggs, two pieces of bacon, and wheat toast with strawberry jelly, and sat across from her. She sipped her Earl Grey tea
with milk and sugar and glanced every now and then at her Timex.

“We’ve got to hurry, baby, if we’re going to catch space on the train,” she said. I folded the eggs and bacon inside the bread like a sandwich. I took four big bites. I chewed my food fast like laundry in a spin cycle.

“I’m ready when you are, Tilly,” I said, brushing a few crumbs off of my chin.

We cleaned the dishes together and turned all the lights off. I followed her out. On the way out of the building I almost tripped over an old man lying across the stairs. He rolled out of his sleeping spot and stretched an arm toward me after I bumped him. I grabbed Tilly’s arm, pushed her back inside the building, and slammed the front door closed.

“Call the police, Tilly,” I said frantically. She squeezed past me and looked through the peephole to see outside. She rolled her eyes and pinched my cheek.

“Tilly, this is not funny, he could hurt us,” I said.

“Girl, that’s Rex, he lives on this block,” Tilly said, wiping her tears from laughing so hard.

“Exactly where on the block?” I asked. “Did he forget his keys or something?”

Tilly ignored me and pushed the door open. She kicked Rex playfully in the back. He moved out of the way and looked around to see who had hit him for the second time.

“Hey, there, Ms. Tilly,” he said, coughing into his arm. “How you doing this beautiful morning?”

“We’re fine, Rex,” Tilly said, walking down the steps past
him. “I done told you about sleeping on my stoop. You’re gone make me fall one of these days.”

“Alright, Ms. Tilly,” Rex said. “I’m up.”

Rex rolled the rest of the way down the stairs and popped up at the bottom with a smile on his face. He leaned on a shopping cart, which looked like an apartment on wheels, then began to search through a bag. He had a mountain of blankets, plastic bags, newspapers, and shoes all inside the one cart. He caught me staring and stuck out his hand.

“I’m Rex,” he said, “and who might you be?”

His hands looked ashy, rough, and cracked, like he was employed at a construction site, except not the employed part. There was dirt under every fingernail and he smelled. I didn’t want to shake hands. I grabbed a finger of his in my own and smiled.

“I’m NaTasha, Tilly’s granddaughter,” I told him. Tilly motioned for me to keep walking, so I waved to Rex and we kept going.

Rex was still yelling after Tilly all the way down the block, something about bringing him a newspaper. Although, to me, it looked like he had plenty stacked in the basket underneath his cart. Every few steps I looked back to see if Rex was still behind us.

“He’s harmless, Tash, no need to worry,” Tilly said. “Rex is a war veteran and a good man. Now, he’s just down on his luck is all.”

The sun was out and so was everyone in the neighborhood. Women pushed baby strollers. Men in suits dodged one
another on the sidewalk. People poured in and out of the subway station. Tilly kept the pace of a track star all the way to the nearest train station. I struggled to keep up.

We swiped our subway cards and waited on the platform. A few times Tilly eyed her watch and leaned across the yellow caution line, looking for the train.

“Tilly, be careful,” I said. “Please don’t fall down there. I don’t know how I would get you back up again.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to get me up, but I won’t fall,” she said. “Stay back, though. We know how graceful you can be when you get nervous.”

“Real funny, Tilly,” I said, smiling.

I was surprised how many people were waiting for the same train. The lines on the platform got longer each minute, and I was sure not everyone would fit on. A man pushed past me and almost knocked me close to the yellow line. I grabbed Tilly and took a deep breath. I wondered if anyone had ever fallen on the tracks before.

“Train will be here any minute,” Tilly said. She held on to me with one hand and stepped forward to look for the train again.

I stood clear of the edge until our uptown train rattled to a stop. We shuffled onto the train and stood near the center of the crowded car. An older black woman pushing a stroller sat down in front of me and pulled out a newspaper. The little blond girl in the stroller finished off a bag of Doritos and poured the crumbs into her mouth and all over her lap. The older woman didn’t notice or pretended not to. On the other side of Tilly, a young couple hugged each other tightly, closed their eyes, and leaned against each other.

“Tilly, how many stops are we going?” I asked after we’d been riding for what felt like fifteen minutes.

“The Bronx is a few more stops, baby,” she said.

“Amber’s Place is in the Bronx? But I thought you always said the Bronx is too dangerous,” I said. Tilly smiled and patted the back of my hand.

“It’s not that dangerous if you know where you’re going,” she said, “and you’ll be fine with me, don’t worry.”

I was worried. Suddenly, the train went above ground. Light poured into the subway car. A little boy a few seats from me swung a Spider-Man doll up in the air. I listened to a baby crying, a woman coughing, and a couple laughing. A few riders walked through to other cars while the train was still in motion.

“Tilly, has anyone gotten stuck in the doors before?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m sure they have,” she said, “but usually the doors will open right up and the operator will yell to stand clear of the door. But folks are always running late and trying to step in at the last minute. Watch and you’ll see.”

I did see.

A few stops later a tall lady stuck her cane in between the doors and waited for them to open before pushing herself in. A group of boys my age took their time boarding and held the doors until each one of their friends could run inside. Other riders started complaining, but the boys just laughed.

I leaned my head back against the seat when I got tired of people watching. The woman next to me turned her head toward me and sneezed right into my ear. I frowned, wiped my ear, and scooted closer to Tilly. The woman took a tissue
from the stroller and wiped her mouth then offered me the same tissue. I shook my head. My stomach started to ache again, a bit from the anticipation but mostly from the new germs probably swirling around in my body.

“Are we almost there, Tilly?” I asked. “I don’t think I can take much more.”

“Three more stops,” she said.

The doors opened at Tremont Avenue and Tilly pulled me out of the train car. I was so happy to have fresher air.

“I can’t believe people ride this far every day,” I told Tilly as we walked down the stairs to ground level. “Why doesn’t everyone just drive?”

“Could you imagine what the streets would look like if every one of these people were behind the wheel of a car?” she said, giggling. “Child, it would be a mess.”

Tilly was right. Driving would be a complete disaster. We filed down the stairs and waited in a long line to leave through revolving doors. We exited the subway station and into a whole new world.

Three men in heavy coats stood on the corner throwing dice into a pile of money. A chubby baby wearing only a diaper wobbled nearby holding on to a bottle of milk. A woman, looking like she belonged with the baby, talked loudly on a cell phone about a clothing sale down the block. An old man, wearing a brown-and-white pin-striped suit, tried to sell Tilly a griddle iron. She told him no and pulled me down the block past him.

“Don’t stare, girl,” she hissed. “It’s rude. Just keep on walking.”

I couldn’t help it. There were so many people in the street. A girl around my age reached for my hand and offered to braid my hair for twenty-five dollars. A hairy kid wearing khaki pants and a baggy, sleeveless sweatshirt wanted Tilly to buy a leather briefcase, but she said no. At every corner someone offered us something: socks, toothbrushes, books for one dollar, and all kinds of toys. We did stop for grapes from a fruit stand.

“Okay, here we are,” Tilly said, walking up the sidewalk to what looked like an old warehouse. My heart skipped a few beats.

“Amber’s Place is in a warehouse?” I asked.

“Hush, come on, you’ll see,” she said.

The crisis center looked like a factory out of operation. A large billboard with torn lettering stood on the lawn by the front door warning intruders of prosecution. Three rows of bars stretched across every window and a security guard came out to pat us down before we entered. Apparently, one girl’s boyfriend refused recently to comply with the “no weapons” policy. I followed Tilly through the metal detectors anyway.

Tilly placed her jacket, the bag of grapes, and her pocketbook on the table in front of the guard and passed quickly through the buzzer. I tried to follow after putting my own purse down, but the bell rang, and the guard stopped me with his big arms.

The guard searched through my makeup, a small wad of cash, and my school ID. And then he held up a small
pocketknife. My hands went straight to my mouth. My mom must have slipped that in when I wasn’t looking.

“What in the hell are you doing carrying a knife, girl?” Tilly hissed through the space in her top front teeth.

“I’ll give you one guess,” I told her.

I hoped the guard wouldn’t take me away. Instead, he sent me back through the detector and frisked me, picking through each pocket and even opening the waistband of my skirt. There had to be some limit to the amount of embarrassment a girl had to take in one week. I was going into a crisis center as a volunteer, not getting on an international flight.

“That couldn’t have been anybody but your momma,” Tilly said, shaking her head. “I should have known.”

I nodded. My mom had slipped it in my bag along with her credit card. I’m sure she was only looking out for me and didn’t have any intention of bailing me out of this place.

“What kinds of girls need a security guard anyway?” I asked. “Did you bring me to some secret jail, Tilly?”

The guard kept my knife but waved me through. As soon as we were past security, Tilly looked excited again.

The inside of the building looked nothing like the outside of Amber’s Place. The walls were pale blue and had a flower trim that matched the sofas lining the walls. Small circular tables were spread in the center of the large main room. Girls were everywhere. There must have been hundreds: dark skinned, light skinned, white, Hispanic, black, Indian, Asian, girls with dreadlocks, cornrows, straight hair, curly hair, short girls, tall girls. I felt like we were at some kind of women’s
expo or multicultural convention. I stood with my mouth wide open, looking at each one of them.

“What does she think this is? A circus?” a small Indian girl with a bob cut asked.

No one answered her but the two girls with her laughed and stared back at me. I closed my mouth and caught up to Tilly, who had crossed the room.

The girls chatted in small groups. Some were sitting, some were lying on pillows, and in one corner of the room others stood against the walls. They all seemed to be waiting for something to happen. A large TV played an episode of
Jerry Springer
and three girls yelled at the TV as if they were a part of the show.

“Get her, girl,” one of the girls shouted, as one TV guest punched the other in the face. “That’s what she gets for messing with your man.”

I pulled Tilly to the side.

“Do you know all these girls?” I whispered.

Only a few of the girls looked like my friends from home. One girl even resembled Heather, which made me sad, and reminded me of my promise to call her as often as I could.

“Come on, I want you to meet someone,” Tilly said.

We walked through the sea of girls, who parted only a little as we came through. I could feel their eyes on me like little lasers. Most of the conversations quieted and even stopped as we passed by.

“Hey, Tilly,” one of the girls called out.

“Hey, Martine,” Tilly replied to a beautiful Hispanic girl
with long black hair. The girl approached, inspecting me up and down like the security guard. She smacked her gum and hugged Tilly, keeping her eyes on me.

“How you been doing, girl?” Tilly asked her.

“Same old shit and you know I’m trying to be anywhere but here,” Martine said. A few of the girls around Martine laughed and so did Tilly. She actually cursed and my grandmother didn’t swing at her. I was amazed. I had no idea how Tilly was so familiar with these girls, but one of them just got away with murder.

We kept walking until we reached a long gray hallway lined with doors. On each door was an inspirational poster, like “Life has a way of knocking at your door; be sure you’re ready to open it.” Tilly knocked on the second door on the right and turned the knob.

“Inez, you in there?” Tilly called.

“Tilly, is that you?” a woman answered.

“You know it’s me, Red,” Tilly said. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“She’s a character, you’ll love her,” Tilly whispered to me. “Her name is Inez, but we all call her Red.”

A woman Tilly’s age opened the door and pulled us inside with both hands. She reminded me of a cartoon character, the fire engine red hair with one blond strip was killing me. She wore a warm smile and had chubby cheeks.