Chapter 5
Jasmine
“Hey Jassy, do you want breakfast? I made some buttermilk biscuits and bacon.” My mama stuck her head into my room, leaning against the doorframe.
I was sitting on the side of my bed, and it was pitch-black in here, even though it was ten in the damn morning. The blackout curtain on my only window made it feel like midnight at all hours of the day. That’s why me and my son could sleep until two in the afternoon if we wanted to.
Back in high school, I used to oversleep because of these same curtains hanging in my room.
My mama had to work when it was time for us to go to school, and once my sisters turned eighteen and moved out, it was just me and Crew left in the house.
She left it up to him to wake me, because for some reason getting up was never a problem for his hyper ass.
He always claimed he tried to wake me up in the mornings, but I’m sure that was just him cracking the door, mumbling, “Wake up, nappy head,” then leaving the second he saw I wasn’t moving.
Though Crew would leave me, he told me not to come to school alone. So instead of being late, I’d miss the whole damn day because of these curtains, and I carried that same mentality throughout life. Better never than late.
“No, I’m not hungry, ma. I need you to watch Rj once he wakes up. I have to go to an interview this morning.”
“Oh, that’s good.” My mama flashed a proud smile.
“Where is your interview?”
“A clothing store a few blocks away from here.”
“Well, I pray that you get the job. I think getting a job and getting out of this house will do you wonders.” I rolled my eyes at my mother’s response because I knew she couldn’t see me.
Her hope of getting me out of this rut was annoying at times because I’m not as positive as she pretends to be.
I often heard her crying night after night into her pillow after she got word that Gio had been murdered.
Now she wanted to turn around and expect me to be so happy when I actually saw my boyfriend get murdered right in front of me.
Though we didn’t have years of history, he was the first guy to actually take me seriously in a while.
Take me on dates, call me in the morning, and treat me like a possession, instead of like a carnival prize that you win and throw in the corner once you get home.
I’ve lived in New York all twenty-four years of my life, and I’d never saw anyone murdered before, and I just couldn’t get that visual out of my mind.
I’ve seen men get beaten up at bus stops and even watched blood dripping from my homegirl Kiara’s side when our classmate Lina stabbed her in her side over Kesean Johnson.
That day at school, when she was rushed off to the hospital, clinging to life was one of the most dramatic scenes I’ve seen before now.
However, it doesn’t live up to the moment Trey died.
My sister-in-love, Pernelle, had tried taking me to a spa to cheer me up.
We’d gone to the movies, out to dinner, and even to see a Broadway play neither of us was interested in, but she was working overtime to see me smile.
What happened to Trey was a secret to the world, except for Crew, his closest friends, and, of course, Pernelle.
Pernelle, like me, had been through a traumatic situation, and she said even after having her baby and having Crew there to protect her every day, she still couldn’t get over the nightmares.
She told me the only way to get past this hard time truly was to keep busy, and I was trying, but there honestly wasn’t enough to do in the day, so I chose to sleep it off.
And to be honest, I’m tired of doing that.
I got dressed and leaned over the bed, pressing a kiss to my baby’s forehead.
He was still wrapped up in the sheets, with his fist tucked under his cheek, and a snore so quiet, you could hear a pin drop before him.
He looked so comfortable that, for a second, I thought about crawling back in there with him and forgetting everything else, but I knew I needed to go.
Getting back in this bed was not the answer anymore.
I have to try this one last thing before giving completely up on feeling normal again.
I walked into the kitchen where my mama was already up, standing at the stove in her housecoat, flipping eggs like she was a line cook at IHOP.
Living with her, I never had to get in the kitchen and make myself or Rj anything.
My siblings said she had me spoiled, but what the hell did they expect?
I’m the baby. I’m supposed to be spoiled.
“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 for me.
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.