Sellout (3 page)

“And Marcia, she just gets upset over anything,” she said. “She said she doesn’t want you to dance with us anymore. But I’m sure she doesn’t really mean that. There’s no way she can’t let you dance. It’s not fair.”

Heather looked up at me as she said that. I couldn’t believe she would be talking to my enemies behind my back. I hadn’t even left town yet.

“Staying with Tilly isn’t about dance,” I lied. “I need to see something new, the world outside of this town.”

“What for?” she asked. “This town is our world. What could you possibly learn in the city that you can’t learn here with me? Dance is something new. We could keep practicing and you’ll get much better, you’ll see.”

I thought about how to tell Heather I wasn’t interested in getting better at ballet.

“I won’t get better,” I said.

“Tash, why can’t you catch a show this weekend with Tilly and then come back home like before?” Heather asked.

“Because, I just can’t,” I said, even though I probably could if I had wanted to. I zipped my suitcase closed, frustrated that Heather wasn’t willing to think of anyone other than herself.

When Heather and I finally said good-bye, she was in tears. I waved slightly as she walked away from the house, ready to be left alone.

I stood in front of my vanity and brushed my hair out. I plugged in the curling iron. I needed to learn to do my hair on my own, especially if Tilly wouldn’t do it for me while I was away. I’d never so much as seen a curling iron at her place. Her short hair had been styled in twists for years.

I pulled the first section of hair apart with my fingers and dragged the iron on top just like my mom had done so many times for me. It fell just right and so did the next two sections.

I held my left ear in with one hand and the iron in the other. I grabbed the hair and held the iron as tight as possible. I was sure to move the cord out of the sink bowl so I wouldn’t electrocute myself. After awhile, I felt the heaviness of the iron weighing down my right arm and I did my best to hold it steady.

When I let go, the iron dropped right onto my ear. Immediately I felt the pain of burning flesh. I dropped the iron into the sink and pinched the ear, causing me even more pain. The tears fell freely.

I heard footsteps and knew my mom had heard the noise.

“God, Tash, what just happened?” she asked.

She looked from the iron in the sink to my ear. She pulled the cocoa butter from the cabinet under the sink and began to rub my ear. It didn’t make it feel better, but I let her rub anyway.

“I was trying to do it myself since I’ll be at Tilly’s for so long,” I told her. I took the iron carefully out of the sink and held it out for her. “Will you help me finish? I can’t do it as well as you.”

“Sure, let’s get you fixed up,” she said. She took the iron from me and hugged me tight. “My goodness, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I guess I’m just nervous,” I said, drying my face with a washcloth. I let her work her magic. She redid most of my hair before speaking.

“What are you so nervous about?” my mom asked. “You’ve been going to stay with Tilly since you were a little girl.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been to Amber’s Place with her,” I said. “Tilly has told me stories about those girls. I don’t know if I’m ready for all that.”

“Nonsense, those girls are just like you,” my mom said. “They have just had different life experiences.”

Those girls were not like me, according to what Tilly had told me. My heart started to race just thinking about the tales of surviving on the streets.

“Don’t worry, Tash,” she said, “I’m actually really glad you’re going to spend some time with Tilly. Maybe it is better for you to leave here for a while. We did our best to protect you from the world, but now I don’t know if that was the right thing to have done for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, either,” I said. She looked at me in the mirror. “I just wish Tilly wasn’t so disappointed in me.”

“Tilly isn’t disappointed, Tash,” she said. “You’re growing into a young woman now. She just wants you to learn more about who you are.”

I thought I knew who I was. Now I felt like I didn’t know anything.

“I thought I knew that,” I said.

“I know,” my mom answered. “But it will be a good change for you. And having the extra time to spend in a different environment will be nice, too.”

“I hope so,” I said.

All of a sudden, it felt like the life I’d always known was falling apart before my very eyes and I didn’t know how to stop it. My mom finished my hair and unplugged the iron. We both stared into the mirror for a while, both knowing we wouldn’t see this same girl for a long, long time.

SAYING GOOD-BYE WAS more difficult than I imagined.

A stranger would have thought I was moving across the country. Dad could barely get out of the car at the bus station. He handed me money and held me for a long time. My mom pulled a tissue from her purse, dabbed her eyes, and hugged me so tight I almost cried. Tilly rolled her eyes, hugged them both quickly, and boarded the bus.

“I’ll miss you, Tash,” Mom said. “You’re going to have a great time, you’ll see. And you know we’ll come up to visit when we can.”

I looked at her with one raised eyebrow.

“Not to shop, to see if you’re okay,” she said, laughing. I laughed, too. She wasn’t fooling anyone. My mom wasn’t going to miss any opportunity to catch some sales. “By the end of your visit, we’ll be fighting to get you to come back home.”

My stomach started a flip-flop exercise I was all too familiar with. It was the same pain right before I got onstage to dance, before I gave speeches in front of my English class, and the same
pain before I boarded a bus to leave my parents. I leaned from one foot to the other and took a few deep breaths.

“You nervous?” she asked, giving my hand a squeeze.

I lied, shook my head, and started to gather my bags. Tilly had already taken the larger one for the driver to put underneath the bus.

“I love you,” my mom mouthed to me as I walked toward the bus.

I took one step onto the bus at a time, each one slower than the one before. I could see Mom standing outside the window where Tilly had set up shop. She raised one hand and kissed it. I kissed my own hand and placed it against the window.

Tilly handed me a peppermint.

“You should always sit close to the front,” Tilly said, sucking on her own candy, ignoring us, “so when you get off for the break, the driver will remember you and not leave you at some rest stop in the middle of God knows where. I’ve seen it happen.”

I wasn’t sure when or if that bit of information would be helpful to me, but I nodded to show her I got the message anyway. Knowing Tilly, she would keep talking whether I answered her or not.

“Okay, Tash, let me show you how this works,” Tilly said, pulling out the bus map. I leaned on her shoulder while she excitedly pointed to each line.

“You okay over there?” she asked after she was through.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” I told her, “just a little tired.”

“Looks more like nerves to me,” she said. “I know you’re scared, but it’ll work out, you’ll see. This is going to be good for you.”

“You really think so?” I asked. I was hoping that hearing it one more time would convince me it would be so.

“Yeah, it will, baby. You’ll see,” she said. She passed the map over to me and pulled out her knitting needles and yarn.

“Tilly?” I asked. “I heard what you told Mom and Dad last night. What am I supposed to learn with you?”

She put the yarn down and looked at me.

“NaTasha, I’ve never lied to you and I’m not about to start now,” she said. “Harlem ain’t nothing like what you know here. And Amber’s Place is going to be quite an adjustment for you, too. Those girls have been through rough times in their short lives, things you’ll never know about, thank the good Lord. Two different worlds if there ever were any. This is going to be tough, but I believe you can make it. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Tilly was planning to let me tag along for a few hours each day and spend some time with the girls, helping out where I was needed.

“Girl, if you can make it through this, you’ll walk out a stronger person,” she said. “You trust me?”

“Yeah, Tilly, I trust you.”

“Good, now help me make a grocery list. We’ve got a celebration to cook up tonight,” she said.

Tilly celebrated everything with food. When she moved into her new apartment, instead of a housewarming, she cooked a bunch of food and invited the neighborhood.

Our list was nearly a full page long by the time the driver interrupted us. He announced we were close to a rest stop.

“Okay, folks, we are forty minutes outside of New York City and we’ll be stopping soon for a break,” he said over the speaker. “You will have ten minutes and ten minutes only. Please believe me when I say I will not wait for you slowpokes. If you get left out at the stop, good luck.”

He laughed and set his mic down.

Tilly leaned over and said, “See, I told you.” She ran through our plan of action for maximizing our rest stop time. One minute to get to the restroom and three more to use it, wash, and exit. Four minutes to stand in line and order a snack. Two to run back to the bus. She was a pro, and as soon as the bus doors opened, she was off. Her legs moved like a windup doll.

“Tilly, wait up,” I called, rushing to keep up with her.

“You better catch up, girl,” she said. “I’m too old to hold it for very long. Step lively.”

And I stepped.

Tilly and I both deserved trophies for our record performance at the rest stop. We were back with three minutes to spare. I opened my Chocolate Delights and laughed at the other passengers running to make it back to the bus. You would have thought our driver was the ice cream man on a hot summer day. Tilly sipped her cranberry juice and shook her head, like she knew someone was about to get left behind.

The driver must have scared everyone, though, because we arrived in the city with everyone aboard. He congratulated us
like we had run a marathon with everyone crossing the finish line.

“Good job, folks, it’s always a pleasure when I can make a trip without losing anyone,” the driver said, laughing.

He opened the undercarriage of the bus and helped us unload our bags. Times Square was just as busy as I remembered—the same amount of people, the same lights blazing, and the same sense of urgency.

“It never sleeps, huh?” I asked, to no one in particular.

“Never,” the driver heard me and answered. “There’s too much money to be made to sleep. Have a good time while you’re here.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll try.”

Tilly and I took the C train to 116th Street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard in Harlem. We stepped out onto a bustling street, near a bus depot, a small bodega, and a tire store. Darlene’s Beauty Supply Shop had lines of women waiting for their turn to get their hair braided or pressed. Tilly had an extra spring in her step.

“Girl, it’s good to be home,” Tilly said. We walked past Darlene’s and around the block to Tilly’s apartment. On our way, I bought a new cell phone case and a pair of house slippers from a street vendor, because I had forgotten to pack my own. Once we unloaded our bags in her apartment, we headed to the bodega on the corner to stock Tilly’s nearempty refrigerator. The store was right next to an adult video store and a small KFC.

“Did you remember my list, Tash?” Tilly asked, pulling a
mini-sized shopping cart away from the others. “We don’t want to go at this all willy-nilly. We need a plan.”

The store was four aisles wide. I was sure we could manage without it, but that was an unnecessary argument.

“I’ve got the list,” I said, following behind her. Tilly is the kind of grandmother you prayed would not embarrass you in public. I had to watch her like she was the child. She was liable to say
anything
to anyone.

Our cart was half full and the list almost complete when Tilly’s favorite song came on. Anthony Hamilton blared through the speakers and Tilly started having flashbacks of her nightclub days. She shook her oversized behind to the beat. I covered my laugh with my hand and looked around to make sure she wasn’t scaring away any of the customers. When she finally stopped dancing, she grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the back of the bodega.

“Come on, Tash, I want you to meet my favorite meat guy,” Tilly said, loudly enough for the boy around my age behind the counter to hear. He winked in our direction when he saw her coming. All of a sudden, after seeing how cute he was, I couldn’t think straight. All noise around us faded—no more Anthony Hamilton, no more squeaky carts, and no more Tilly. I tucked my hair behind my ears and straightened my clothes.

“Looking good, Ms. Tilly, what can I get for you today?”

Tilly’s meat guy wore his black hair cropped closely to his head. He had beautiful large brown eyes and smooth skin. I thanked God for making such a gorgeous boy. The name tag on his apron said
AMIR.
He smiled widely at Tilly, like she
was his best customer. I wanted to be his best customer and I didn’t even know him.

“Same as always, baby,” Tilly told him, “but add a couple more pieces of chicken breast for me. We’re celebrating tonight.”

Amir went to work wrapping pieces of meat in white paper and placing the packages on his weighing scale. His muscles bulged under his white polo shirt.

“What’s the celebration?” Amir asked me.

I saw his mouth and watched his eyes. In fact, I’d caught his every move since we’d walked up to the counter. So I knew he wanted me to respond, but my mouth wouldn’t budge. Somehow, I’d lost my voice. My lips opened, but no sound came.

“Tash, baby?” Tilly was trying to help me out, but I still couldn’t move. He was gorgeous.

I backed up when Tilly nudged me, right into a display of canned beans. The whole display toppled like bowling pins. This might have been worse than causing a collision onstage at the dance center.

“Girl, what has gotten into you?” Tilly asked, stooping to clean up my mess.

“Uh…I’m…so…sorry,” I said, finally finding my voice.

I looked back across the counter but Amir was gone. The meat lay neatly wrapped on the scale, but I definitely scared him off. He was probably ducking behind his counter laughing hysterically or gone to grab his camera phone to snap the new girl who spilled the beans.

“Are you okay?” a deep voice asked. I felt strong arms move me out of the way of the teetering display. He wasn’t behind the counter laughing at all.

“Um, yeah, I’m okay,” I said, wishing I could crawl inside one of the spilled cans.

“Amir, this is my NaTasha,” Tilly said proudly, despite the mess I had just made in front of her friend. She winked at him. “She’s staying with me for a couple of weeks.”

“Nice to meet you, NaTasha,” Amir said.

“Thanks. I mean, you, too.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?” he asked.

Was he asking me out? I’d never even had a boy look in my direction in Adams Park. I come to visit Tilly and within hours I had the full attention of a handsome, very handsome, boy. Harlem was looking better and better by the minute.

“Yeah, maybe,” I told him. Of course he’d see me around. I was already planning Tilly’s next grocery list in my head and we hadn’t even paid for this cartful.

Tilly giggled like this was all a part of her plan for me this summer and pushed the cart off toward the checkout counter. I followed her back to her apartment like a stray cat. She couldn’t stop giggling at me. Not only was Amir probably thinking what a klutz I was, but my own grandmother was making fun of me. Tilly smiled at me and pulled on her “Grandmothers know everything” apron as soon as we walked into her kitchen. I put the groceries away while she preheated the oven.

“It isn’t funny,” I told her.

“Oh, yes it is and you know it, girl,” she said, “but don’t worry, Amir is as nice as they come. He won’t hold it against you.”

Yeah, right. I rolled my eyes.

Tilly’s apartment looked exactly as it always did, just one step away from needing serious help from an interior decorator. Tilly had definitely gone crazy with the apple decor she loved so much. There were green and red apples painted on a border around her windowsill to match the bowl of fake apples sitting on her table, which complemented the apple place mats and teacups in her cabinets. I was always sick of apples by the time I left Tilly’s place.

“The place looks good, Tilly,” I told her, looking around.

It was pretty small for a one bedroom. She had a tiny kitchen with just enough space for a bar table with two stools, a living room with a nice view of the alley in between buildings, and one bathroom. I walked around, taking it all in, until I was back in the kitchen on one of Tilly’s stools.

“Thank you, baby,” Tilly answered. “As you can see I’ve been redecorating.”

Before long, Tilly had macaroni and cheese baking in the oven—the real recipe with milk, eggs, and sour cream, not the Kraft noodles I usually microwaved from the box. Her collard greens were boiling on the stove. And the room smelled sweet from the apple pie sitting on the counter.

“So, Tash, this is going to be a great couple of weeks for you,” Tilly said. “And I hope you’ll decide to stay even longer.
It will be good to have you with me and helping out at Amber’s Place.”

“Okay, that’s nice,” I said, half listening to her, but moving toward the stove. I hovered over the greens like a watchdog, ready to pounce as soon as they were ready.

“Girl, back away from that stove before you get burned,” Tilly said, pushing me away. “Why don’t you set that table already? And you know to use my good china.”

“Okay, Tilly,” I said.

I pulled down one of her good sets, the white glass plates with a pink rose pattern around the rim, the only thing in the kitchen without apples. Tilly reached for a cup of already-used grease.

Tilly had a tendency to go overboard with a cup of grease and a frying pan. Chicken was her specialty, but she’d go as far as a fried pickle sandwich if no one stopped her. She leaned against the sink with her cup-o-nasty in one hand and a bag of flour in the other. I watched her pound the meat onto a paper towel full of flour.

She coated a wing piece and flung a dusting of flour at me. I laughed and tried to duck out of the way.

“What are you thinking about over there?” Tilly asked. “Why are you so quiet?”

“Nothing, Grandma, I’m okay,” I said, hearing my mistake before I could correct it. I waited for her to explode.

Tilly turned sideways and picked up a Cutco frying pan.

“First of all, if you call me ‘grandma’ one more time, I’m gonna have to knock you out. Do these hips look like they
belong to someone’s grandmother? And secondly, I know when something is wrong with my favorite granddaughter or my name isn’t Tillithia Mae Evans.”