Chapter 13
Nicholas
The months fly by. When I spent summers with my grandfather, he would say to me, “Time flies faster when you get older.” I think I get it now, Grandpa.
The first few months of living with my grandparents moved incomprehensibly slow.
There were no video games or even cable television, just an antenna picking up two channels.
Sometimes, on the weekends, it would pick up a third channel, but it was grainy.
After the affairs of my mother’s estate were settled, my grandpa got me a PlayStation. Time normalized.
Welcome to New York, the big green sign read in the backdrop as I got off the plane. A very useful sign indeed, as I did not realize that when I took a flight to New York, I was actually in New York. Imagine that.
I haul my suitcase off the carousel and exit the airport. My cousin, Jordan dressed in a Knicks jersey is waiting for me, leaning up against his Ford Ranger.
“What’s up bro?” I try to fist bump, but end up doing that handshake where my thumb locks into his thumb, and then my right shoulder leans into his right shoulder. So, unnecessary. Like when basketball players give variations of handshakes after every free throw. Whether they miss or score. SMH.
“I’m good. What a gwaan?” Of course he said that, trying too hard to sound Jamaican, as all the second-generation kids like to do. Same thing my Trinidadian friend says about her second-generation cousins.
“Me deh ya,” I respond while throwing my slightly damaged suitcase in the trunk, shortening what’s left of its remaining useful life and climb into the pickup.
“What brings you to the Big Apple bro?” he asks as the truck merges on to the highway.
“Just a mini vacation, dawg. I came to spend time with fam,” I reply sarcastically, unable to hold back my laughter.
“C’mon cuz, what you got going on up here?”
“I’m here for a good time with a chick I met in Jamaica. You know how di ting set [translation: you know how we roll].”
“Nice. You here to get some action… lemme see a pic bro,” he grins, taking his eyes off the road while reaching for my phone.
“She’s private, not on IG or any social media.” I am proud to be fucking her and really want to show him but have to keep it under the quiet.
Grilling me further, “She got any cute friends or a sister?” He’s hoping to get something out of me, but I give away nothing. I can’t.
“I’m starving. Where in Manhattan can I get good pizza?” I ask, killing two birds with one stone. I am hungry and want to change the subject.
Being a good host, he takes me to the five-star pizzeria with the over a thousand reviews, not the ones with like ten reviews, where friends and family write fake ones. This joint is legit (is this how New Yorkers talk?)
While waiting for my Hawaiian pizza, I send a message:
Hi Mrs Davis, please let me know what time I should come by for dinner tomorrow. I look forward to meeting your family, and to continuing the career discussion on Monday. Thanks again.