An Autumn to Remember: A Novel (Elmtown Series Book 1) (2 page)

3

   One row.

   Just one row of houses.

   One street.

   Just one street separated the rich from the poor in Elmtown. A town split in two parts, one bigger than the other both in size and lifestyle, was a coexistence of light and utter darkness.

   Most people who lived in Bluewood Village had never even been to the side of the well off–they had no business there. Plus with all the trees planted there, they couldn’t even see what was on the other side.

   Jamie made his way past number 23 Avanzar Drive. It was the last house on the street. On top of it, two national flags blew in the wind: one was American and the other, Canadian. He heard once that it was owned by a Canadian diplomat, but he had never seen anyone come in or go out. Regardless, it was an intriguing edifice. Something about the number 23 and the word Avanzar always jumped out at him, but he didn’t know if it had any significance or if it reminded him of something.

   He walked a little farther, turned onto Freedom Avenue, and was welcomed by the almost-dilapidated public housing complex that was home to about two hundred people. Although only a few meters away, it was a sharp contrast to the houses on Avanzar Drive.

   The housing complex on Freedom Avenue was the first sign that indicated one was in Bluewood Village. Washed clothes hung over the windows of some of the apartments like capes; most of the windows were half-broken.

   Jamie saw a young Hispanic woman on a balcony holding her baby as she yelled at a bald white middle-aged man drinking from a can of beer. The man walked unsteadily and stumbled away from her. Jamie wondered if he was the father of the woman’s child or just a drunk customer who didn’t want to pay. Maybe she didn’t even know who the father of the child was. He heard rumors of the people who lived in that building. Many of the other housing complexes in the area were inhabited by ex-cons, troublesome teenagers, drug dealers and gang members, but this one was nicknamed Bordello for a reason, it was known for prostitution.

   A couple of guys were playing basketball on the court right beside the complex. Jamie had never gone back to play there since he was fifteen when he witnessed an African American woman being beaten by a couple of boys he had been playing with. That day he pleaded with the boys but when one of them punched him in the stomach, he knew there was nothing he could do.

   He looked at the empty skateboard park next to the basketball court and remembered the first time he skated there. Although it was disturbing that the same spot where he used to play as a teenager was the scene of a murder early in the year, it wasn’t a surprise, nothing new. The bloodstains had been cleaned and the playground reopened after police finally caught the suspect.

   When Jamie saw it on the news, he shook his head knowing his mother had been wise to ignore his foolish tantrum when she broke the news to him: he wasn’t allowed to play there anymore. Her son wasn’t going to hang around gang members.

   “Yo! Jamie. How is it going my friend?” someone shouted from the basketball court. Jamie recognized the accent with its rolling r’s and short o’s. It was the Russian, Yuri, who moved to Elmtown shortly after Jamie and his mother moved down from Chicago.

   Jamie looked up, smiled and waved.

   “Hey Yuri, I’m not doing bad,” he lied. “Just trying to survive. How are you doing buddy?”

   He kept walking not wanting to give the impression that he had time for small talk. He really didn’t want anything to do with most of the guys in the area. Yuri was OK, but most of the other boys he hung out with were nothing but trouble. Besides, there were pressing issues waiting at home.

   “I don’t want you hanging out with those boys,” Jamie’s mom Helen would often complain when he first started going to the playground.

   “Its safe Mom, it’s just a playground. People just play basketball, ride bicycles and skateboard all day,” he assured her. But his reluctance to take Chelsea there despite lots of begging from her contradicted his claim that he believed it was safe. Someone would have noticed immediately that she was from the other side of town and that could have its own inherent risks. Even at that age, he knew such an adventure would be fraught with danger. If there was one thing Jamie would never do, it was hurt Chelsea.

   As he got closer to the house, he checked his cell phone to see if his mother, Helen, sent him a text message. He’d been doing that all day waiting to hear about how the job interview went. Did she get the job? Was there going to be another interview?

   She needed to get that job very badly. It was their last hope of keeping the house. Jamie didn’t even want to think about the possibility of her not getting hired, let alone the consequences. To say that they were on the brink of another collapse would be stating it mildly. He wished there was something he could do to avoid anything that would give his mother more heartache. But even if he found a job, Helen would never allow him to drop out of school in his final year just because he didn’t want them to lose the house.

   She made it into the second interview with five other candidates and seemed like the hiring manager really liked Helen.

   Jamie looked at the screen, saw the message icon then pressed his thumb on a key to open the messages folder.

   It wasn’t his mother.

   He angrily ignored the low-credit alert from his service provider and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He didn’t have time for their crap right now. When he got paid on Friday, he would complete the refill with whatever was left after attending to more important needs. Thankfully he was on a pay-as-you-go plan; a ten-dollar top-up was all they required monthly to keep his number.

   He put his hand in his pocket again, fidgeting and fiddling with the phone. He couldn’t get the anxiety off his mind–he needed to know what was going on.

   He decided to send her a text.

-How did the interview go? Don’t call, text me. I don’t have enough to take calls.

He toyed with the idea of asking Mr. Guerini, the owner of the jazz nightclub where he worked, for a small loan but immediately discarded it.

   If only Malcolm Vale wasn’t so expensive, his scholarship funds could have gone further.

He retrieved the house keys from the secret place his mom hid them around the porch, went in and shut the door behind him.

   He opened the refrigerator in the kitchen and a burst of cold air escaped and kissed his face. He scanned through–nothing new, just a couple of leftovers, some milk, and some fried drumsticks. He grabbed the container of milk and emptied the remaining portion of cornflakes into a white bowl.

   He leaned on the kitchen counter and looked up. Why us? If only Dad was alive, things wouldn’t be this hard, he thought. He sat there in the kitchen and ate his cereal in silence trying not to think of the hardship of the past months. He looked around remembering how empty the whole house was when they moved in. They furnished it gradually over the years by their resourcefulness.

   They bought the brown wooden dining table at a thrift store and picked up the chairs from the side of a neighbor's house. Thankfully the kitchen came with a working fridge.

   The picture on the fridge also caught his attention. He hadn’t really looked at it in years. His missing front teeth didn’t stop him from smiling at his father’s camera, the weight of the guitar bending his six year old body into a funny angle. That guitar always made him dream. He was still a dreamer. Dreaming was the one thing he felt he had complete control over; the one thing no one could take away from him.

   Suddenly he saw himself in one of those jazz nightclubs he created in his own mind, singing on stage as people filled the club to the brim. There was a long line of both old and young people outside waiting to get in, just to see his performance. Even though most of them had copies of his album, this was their opportunity to see him live.

   He could almost hear their conversations as he imagined fans getting excited about finally getting their hands on his tickets.

   Suddenly Jamie heard the doorbell ring.

   Back to reality.

   Sometimes he wished that one day he would wake up to realize that what he thought was real was only a dream and his dreams were reality.

   Jamie opened the door and there Helen was, crying profusely. Teary eyed, nose running, she passed Jamie as if he was invisible and dropped her brown tattered handbag on the floor. As she sat on the single couch, she abandoned her face in her hands, crying like a child.

Jamie walked over and patted her back.

   “Its OK Mom, it’s OK. Don’t cry, we’ll figure something out,” his normally reassuring voice now reflecting doubt, rather than mettle.

   He bit his lip as his eyes searched the ceiling for answers, fighting hard to resist the tears building up behind them.

   “Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked softly.

   She gave no response but kept on crying. A feeling of failure wrapped its arms around her, breathing helplessness like hot air into her face; all of her plans had come undone.

   “I didn’t get the job," she said, her voice sounding raspy like she had a cold. “There were three people with masters degrees there and one with a doctorate. For some reason I still believed I would get the job but obviously they were always going to hire the more qualified ones.”

   She cried all the way on the bus from downtown to Bluewood and was now feeling a lump in her throat. Her hazel eyes turned green and her head hurt like she just woke up with a hangover.

   Jamie got his eyes from her. He got her oval face too, but that prominent chin that so complimented his set of delicate soft full lips belonged to his father.

   His mother’s words fell at his feet and rendered his body motionless. He opened his mouth but words refused to come. Comfort was nowhere to be found.

   Both mother and son were in a dire situation yet again.

4

   At 11 p.m., dark, breezy with loud successive thunders, it started to rain. Whilst Jamie clung to his bed thinking, contemplating, worrying, not able to sleep, the sound of rain beating against the rooftop woke Helen up from slumber. She got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen.

   She glanced through the window and saw how heavy the rain was; water poured down the large kitchen window.

   In the kitchen, most things were hidden in cupboards except for shiny pans and cooking utensils that hung on the white tiled wall. Helen liked to keep a neat and tidy work area.

   Even though four years had passed since they fixed the leak, she looked to see if there was water dropping near the side of the fridge. They discovered it five days after they moved into the house and waited for months to save enough money to fix it.

   It was her whole life that needed fixing now. If only it was that easy to fix our lives, take a couple of tools and just plug all the holes, she thought.

   Helen didn’t come to love the idea of owning her own house just for the sake of it. Rather, it was the one thing that proved to her that they too could dare to dream for a better life. They too could work their way up in life and they had done well in light of where they were coming from– they worked so hard to get here.

   She opened a half-full white coffee jar, grabbed a clean mug and turned two scoops of instant coffee into it–there wasn’t going to be any sleeping for her that night, there was way too much to think about. She turned on the kettle after filling it with water and waited for it to boil.

Could the bank possibly give them more time? She thought about the contents of those warning letters and it sent her mind reeling, her body almost broke into a sweat.

If you do not bring your loan current within 30 days of the date of this letter, Harrison Capital will demand the entire balance outstanding under the terms of your mortgage agreement.

   Restless, she put dry dishes back in the cabinet, silverware in the upper drawer close to the sink, dusted the pantry, changed the trash bag and when she heard the kettle switch itself off, she washed her hands with dish soap.

   As she sat down to have her coffee, she found the picture Jamie had been looking at on the kitchen table. Why does he always move things away from their place? She pinned it back against the door of the fridge where it was supposed to be and for a minute lingered in front of it.

   The black and white dress she wore in the picture was her twenty-first birthday gift from Benny, her late husband. “It’s not been the same without you Benny,” she whispered, imagining Benny in his brown shorts, holding the camera bidding her and Jamie to smile and look towards him. Even though he wasn’t in the picture, she knew he was there in the background watching them, taking pictures. I can’t smile for you right now Benny, she thought.

   In the picture, she noticed her smooth shapely shoulders and the way the dress held her waist and hips firmly. She kept that dress but only as a symbol of the past, a piece of her history to remind her of what she and Benny had. She couldn’t fit into it anymore anyway. She didn’t have that body anymore.

***

   “Can’t sleep?” Jamie asked. “I saw that the kitchen light was still on.”

   “Don’t want to.” She sat down and took a sip of her coffee. “Coffee?” she asked raising her mug.

   “No Mom, but thanks.”

   “You couldn’t sleep?”

   “You know how I feel about sleep,” Jamie said.

   “It’s overrated,” they said in unison and both smiled.

 Jamie walked into the kitchen, sat next to her and folded his arms.

   “You always say that when you can’t sleep, which is mostly when you’re worried about something,” she said in that motherly interrogatory way.

   “Isn’t there enough to worry about?” Jamie asked.

   “There probably is but could you please leave the worrying to me? You just focus on school mister. You don’t need any extra baggage in that head of yours. You only have three months to go,” she said rubbing his head. 

He was going to graduate early with the other December grads. He just needed to focus on getting a very good job. She didn’t want him to be distracted.

   “I’m fine with things at school, but you can’t expect me to just shove everything aside and act like nothing is going on at home. What kind of a heartless bastard would that make me?”

   “I know you care but this isn’t the time to be distracted. You have to be on top of doing everything necessary to secure a job before graduation or at least right after. I know they were impressed with you during your internship but with the economy the way it is, it’s too risky to think you’ll definitely be given an offer,” she said referring to Stephenson Financials Inc. where he did his summer internship.

 Jamie nodded in agreement, knowing deep down he wasn’t going to be at peace until all was well. He knew this could shatter his mother. He was more worried about her than the situation itself because he knew how hard she worked over the years. In the past week, horrible memories of their time in Chicago came to him in quiet moments. Images of when they stayed at the homeless shelter seeped into his consciousness.

 He placed his hand on his chin, letting the scent of Helen’s coffee waft through his nostrils; memories were kindled as his eyes traveled round the kitchen. It was here she had taught him how to cook. She didn’t think it was good that at seventeen, apart from making butter/jam sandwiches and boiling eggs, he still couldn’t cook to save his life. So they started with simple things he liked such as scrambled eggs with cheese, pancakes and then pasta, rice, Asian curries and roast chicken. He fell in love with life in the kitchen so much so that he started picking up recipes himself and trying things out.

 Basically, he owed everything he knew, everything he was, to this woman and he couldn’t bear the sight of her suffering again.

“The Braithwaites are back,” he said as he scratched a nagging itch off his elbow.

“Who?” Helen asked squeezing her face into confusion.

   “The Braithwaites, Chelsea, her parents and her brother. They are all back from England.”

   “Really? You saw them?” she asked. 

   “I saw Chelsea on my way home. We talked for about fifteen minutes. You had no idea they were moving back?”

   “No, I haven’t heard Father Joseph say anything about Teresa in a while,” referring to their mutual Catholic priest. “I didn’t have a clue they were moving back. I thought Teresa loved it there. Chelsea must be all grown up now.”

   “Yes, it’s been about six years. Can you believe that? She looks a lot like her mom.”

   “Chelsea, I’ve always liked that girl. She was a blessing to me in your teens.”

   “A blessing to you? You didn’t know her that much.”

   “Yes Jamie but at least I knew she was a huge influence in your life and for that I’m grateful. I can’t begin to imagine how much of a recluse you would have been if not for that lovely girl. She brought you out of your shell immediately after you became friends. Something I couldn’t do after we lost your father.”

   “Was I that bad?”

   “You still are,” she teased.

   “Whatever.”

“Anyway, I’m guessing her father got another big contract here in the states. Trust him to always go where the money is–Helen seems like an expensive wife to maintain.”

   “Maybe, but you can’t blame a man for doing everything possible to take care of his family. Maybe I’d be able to take care of my mother too if I took more risks.” He winked at her but she didn’t laugh, she knew he meant what he said.

   “Dropping out of school just before your final year would have been a stupid risk and I’ve told you to stop doing that. None of this or anything we have ever been through is any of your fault. You can’t always blame yourself whenever something goes wrong. You came up with a quarter of the down payment when we wanted to buy this house. How many nineteen-year-olds have you seen doing that? Don’t be so hard on yourself honey. Besides, you’re not my father, you are my son.”

   “So you’re saying sons shouldn’t take care of their mothers? You didn’t bring me up that way.”

   “Look, I’d rather you graduate with honors, that’s all I want from you. That’s your responsibility and you are well on the right track.”

   “I should have dropped out for a year and gone full time,” Jamie said. A year before, his manager at the toy factory where he worked announced that they could no longer offer part-time work and since Jamie couldn’t go full time they had to let him go. That loss couldn’t have come at a worse time because practically no one was hiring. The only hiring manager who was interested in him was also looking for full time staff.

   “You are so stubborn sometimes,” Helen said shaking her head. “Are you trying to make me feel we made the wrong decision? I don’t like that so stop it.” He noticed the glare she directed at him.

   “OK, I’m sorry. Like you said, it’s not my fault things are this way. It’s just so frustrating, that’s all.”

   Her eyes softened.

   “Listen, I know baby. I know you always want to be there for me and I appreciate that.” She rubbed his hand and said, “Just a few months to go and you’ll be able to be my superman all you want. Just focus on your job search. For now we may have to accept what life is throwing at us.”

   With Jamie’s grades, he could walk into any organization and get a job easily. Like the dean said, even with the slump in the employment market he was still better positioned than most of his colleagues to get a really good job at one of the top investment firms. Helen counted on that and wouldn’t let anything disrupt it.

   For a minute, they sat there within the silence that ate up the room. The rain stopped and the sound of the wall clock was all they could hear.

   “So umm...how many days do we have left?” Jamie asked. He reasoned that at least he could still try to see what he could do in the coming days.

   “Today was…” she looked at the clock, it was fifteen minutes past midnight, “yesterday was our last day.”

   Jamie swallowed her words in hard morsels and felt them turn his stomach. His face was drained of color. Looking at each other, they both knew there was no immediate solution.

***

   When Jamie got back into his room, for the first time he felt like a guest, like the whole house belonged to an unseen host who was looking at his watch, observing a countdown. To feel like an alien in your own home, like your time was soon running out was a new feeling–not that it was the lowest thing he had ever felt or experienced, just a different one.

   He picked up an Ella Fitzgerald record from the side of his bed but then put it back in its place. He listened to it too many times now. Then he looked between his other records and retrieved one of his Frank Sinatra ones. He opened the 1978 JVC turntable that once belonged to his father and placed the record gently on the platter. Carefully lifting the tone arm he placed it on the record and pressed start.

   The posters on his wall were a reflection of not only Jamie’s music tastes but his parent’s also. He covered his room with one of each of their favorites: Ella Fitgerald, Billy Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennet.

   However in Jamie’s opinion, the greatest jazz artist who ever lived was Robert E. Benson whose book,
The Jazz of Life
, he was presently reading and discussing with his music teacher-turned-friend and life-mentor, JazzyTee.

   It was Jamie’s father who kindled his interest in jazz, its history, and how it related to life by telling him little intriguing stories that fascinated him every night at bedtime such as how it had started in New Orleans and how at first people didn’t seem enthusiastic about it.   He told him about the Dixieland bands and how jazz migrated from New Orleans to Chicago and then New York City.

   Jamie especially loved the one about Louis Armstrong’s arrival at Chicago’s 12th Street station. How Armstrong felt he had made a mistake because his mentor didn’t met him at the station and wanted to go back to New Orleans. Armstrong had never seen a big city before and thought the tall buildings were universities.

   Those stories created pictures in his mind and made Jamie long for his own adventure. One day when he grew up, he thought, he would also travel to a different city and become famous, just like Louis Armstrong and Robert E. Benson.

   The music, dappled with Sinatra’s voice, soared and swirled around the room as Jamie lay on his bed. It was one of his father’s favorite records and it was this song that was playing the day when they received the call. Fifteen years had passed. People say you get over it with time, but it had now been fifteen years. Not that it still affected him in any serious psychological way, at least the hallucinations had stopped since he was eleven, but the pain was forever tattooed on his heart and it left a hole in his life.

   Sometimes he wondered if people who say time will heal everything knew what it was like for a fatherless child to watch other people’s fathers cheering them on at baseball games and other school activities. To hear over and over what advice their fathers gave them about life, sports, education, girls and romance. To hear a friend talk about the camping trip he went with his father during the summer. To stay there in front of your friend and smile as you hear how they went fishing together with their father while inside you are hurting and longing for what you could never have. To face the world alone while you try to figure out what being a man was really all about.