Chapter 4

Perhaps I was addicted to the dark side
Somewhere inside my childhood witnessed my heart die

And even though we both came from the same places
The money and the fame made us all change places
How could it be? Through the misery that came to pass
The hard times make a true friend afraid to ask
For currency, but you could run to me when you need
And I’ll never leave, honestly
Someone to believe in, as you can see

It’s a small thing to a true, what could I do?
Real homies help you get through
And come to knew he’d do the same thing if he could
‘Cause in the hood, true homies make you feel good
And half the times we be acting up, call the cops
Bringin’ a cease to the peace that was on my block
It never stops, when my mama ask me, “Will I change?”
I tell her, “Yeah,” but it’s clear I’ll always be the same, until the end of time

Take these broken wings
I need your hands to come and heal me once again
(Until the end of time) so I can fly away (I can fly, I can fly, I can fly)
‘Til the end of time (time), ’til the end of time

Please, Lord, forgive me for my life of sin
My hard stare seem to scare all my sister’s kids
So you know, I don’t hang around the house much
This all-night money makin’ got me outta touch
Sh-, ain’t flashed a smile in a long while
An unexpected birth worst of the ghetto childs
My attitude got me walkin’ solo
Ride out alone in my lo-lo

Watchin’ the whole world move in slow-mo
For quiet times, disappear, listen to the ocean
Smokin’ Ports, think my thoughts, then it’s back to coastin’

It was Friday, October 10th 2003. Friday evening, and the time was 6:14pm when I glanced at the wall clock above the entertainment center. A rickety ol’ thing that has seen its share of lickins’ but keeps on tickin’. At one point, once the glass broke after a game of sock basketball (we had the hoop right above the clock..not smart), we started using it for baseball couch darts. I’d had a great dartboard, but I let my brother borrow it. Haven’t seen it since.

It was time to get up and get ready for work. I shuffled to the bathroom to grab some ibuprofen for the wicked headache that seemed to pound like a tachycardic heartbeat. My mouth was dry, I felt dehydrated, and I was still pretty exhausted. I wasn’t completely convinced that I’d be functional by 9pm, but I knew I had to try. Friday nights were usually good coin, and a good crowd. We’d have a DJ tonight, a kid I knew from Brookdale, and he had a little cult following. Whatevs, the more people the better the tip.

I walked past my kitchen table on my way back to the couch and grabbed the letter Lou had left, along with the folded makeshift envelope goodie bag. The note was sweet. “City, thanks for being the shoulder I desperately needed, and the friend I’m lucky to have. Had an awesome night. Promise we’ll do that more often, I know we could both use a little more fun and a little less stress. Enjoy the gifts! Call me later, Love Lou” Cute. I’m glad he had fun. I did too. It’s nice to just break free from the BS sometimes, and break up the monotony. Life can’t be so serious all the time. I opened the folded paper envelope and peeked inside. A little bit of this and that. I had saved myself one last line from the original batch, and he hooked me up with a little more of that and a few blues, and three sticks. The sticks went into my anxietyvariety tin, as I didn’t need those right now. But, it’s never a bad plan to have them on hand.

As someone with actual anxiety I can say with certainty that it can be debilitating, and yes, doing things that induce anxiety isn’t always a smart choice. I was seeing a psychiatrist steadily for about a year and a half. He was wonderful! Very helpful, easy to talk to, and he understood me and my obstacles. I was prescribed an anxiolytic, and life was good. Unfortunately he retired a few months ago and his replacement was a young egomaniac who wanted to talk more about himself than he did about anything else. After 3 appointments, I was good on it. I’ve been looking for another Doc, but it’s hard to start over with someone new, explain your personal predicaments, and hope they help. Not to mention, mental health is for those with wealth it seems. Appointments were not cheap. As a matter of fact, I picked up my second job for the sole purpose of paying for my doctor and my prescriptions. It was easier lately to just street pharm. If I had started this story, let’s say, a month earlier than I decided to start – there would be no mention of cocaine or other drugs. It wasn’t and isn’t something I did everyday, or for extended periods of time. It just so happened to have come through during the time of the experiences I am sharing. And, unfortunately, became an addiction a little later in life.

I needed to shower and get dressed, so I started there. After that, I found a black skirt to match these killer black wedge boots I’d been dying to wear. They zip up to above my knees, right under a large dedication tattoo for my mother and father I had done by this incredible artist in Matawan. Ten hours of sitting and 800.00 later a beautiful piece of art totally worth the pain and pay. My parents were beyond honored, and I was beyond impressed with how well it came out. It seems to draw a lot of attention but I love showing it off. Look good, feel good? Yessir! White, black, red Independent Truck Co. tank top, a little cardigan for cover and I was set. The hair hung loose and long down my back after a quick blow dry. In record time I found myself back on the couch. Clock read 7:45. Still pretty exhausted, I must say I was impressed by the speed in which I got ready. It takes about fifteen minutes to get to work, so I decided to power up and give myself time for it to kick in. One white line, one blue line, then one lit cigarette. Within a few minutes the headache was all but gone, and I started feeling more alive. The drip, as it coated my throat, and the ciggy tasted great. My makeup bag was on the coffee table, so I set-up shop and got to work. I’m not big on makeup but a little tinted gloss, a little mascara, and maybe a little eye slash perked the face up a bit, especially after a late night. When I was satisfied that I didn’t look like I was up all night (to see the suuuun come up again now,…Unwritten Law, anyone?), I closed the mirror, zipped the bag and stuffed it into my purse.

By 8:20 I’d done another one & one and was feeling strong, feeling good. I had the energy to sustain me until 3am (I hoped), and my body felt like I could float to work. Before I walked out I peeked through my blinds to make sure the party last night hadn’t left casualties on my porch. I could have sworn I’d heard voices out front before I hit the shower, and I didn’t feel like fraternizing. The lights were ablaze illuminating my floor. All clear. Keys out, I locked my door and unlocked my car. Double-checking I had everything, I gave a look around the apartment before pulling the door shut. I trucked down the stairs and almost ran into Dre on my way down. He grabbed my elbow and spun me around. “Gor-geous!” he said as he looked me up and down in the soft yellow light of the parking lot. You guessed it, I was blushing. Hopefully it was just dark enough for my reddened cheeks to go unnoticed. “If you were my girl I wouldn’t let you outta the house looking this fine. Shit, I wouldn’t let you outta the house, period.” I laughed. “Yeah, but you never made me your girl.” With that I walked away, and he came running backwards towards me. “City don’t play, you know there is nothing I wanted more than that.” His look was afflictive. He extends his hand. “I’m just playing.” I tell him as I grab it and deflect with, “Big game tomorrow, you got plans?” His eyes still trained on mine, so intensely I have to look away, and find myself appreciative of the fighting neighbors who have given us both an alternative place to cast our gazes. “Hit me up” he quietly suggests. I turn away, get into the car, and find the silence to be deafening. 

In my rearview mirror I can see Dre in his customary bright white tee, his braids hidden under his backwards Boston hat with the flat brim and bold red B, and his dark denim jeans. His AF1s, always looked like they were fresh out the box, complimenting his white t’s. He never had an off day when it came to looking good. But, you had to be secure and headstrong to get into a relationship with Dre. His baby’s mom just couldn’t let him be, and her immaturity had no boundaries. She would try to make both of our lives hell, I have seen it firsthand and that’s the reason I couldn’t fully commit. They’d been separated for three years now and it’s almost like she keeps punishing him for not wanting to be with her, for it not working out. And I know he tried. I know he thought that he could and should pretend to be happy with her for the sake of his son. That only made him miserable. If it’s meant to be it will be, and their relationship just wasn’t meant to be. This chick seemed incapable of happiness. From the few times we crossed paths it was clear she didn’t feel the need to be friendly, which suited me just fine because I wasn’t looking for any new friends. Cassandra considered me a threat. She knew how tight Dre and I had become over the years, and that meant I was public enemy, like I’m the reason he can’t stand to be around her. Like I’m the reason all she does is yell at him in front of their son which prompted Dre to go to court to remove his son from the unhealthy anger she seemed to have no problem showcasing in front of a young, impressionable child. He loves his son and admits he made a heat of the moment mistake. They have never gotten along, and instead of her recognizing that it’s better to just co-parent, she is emphatic about also making Dre’s life a living hell for not living in hell just to “stay together for the kid.” How many times have you watched Dateline and yelled “Why The F’ Didn’t They Just Get A Divorce?!” while the story unfolds and someone gets murked for the insurance money. So, I was legit proud of Dre for knowing when to fold ‘em. 

There have been occasions where she has tried to set him up, calls the cops incessantly, and makes false claims and accusations to get him in shit. For a period of time it wasn’t unusual to pull in after work and pass officers talking to (or just straight up bothering) Dre and Miss Johnson outside their apartment on my way to my door. I would hear Miss J. from the parking lot fiercely defending her son, as would be expected, offering them a full search of the house, insisting they had nothing to hide, because they didn’t. Even with the open offer of entrance to their place, the fuzz wouldn’t let up. A few days later I’d see or hear them again with their tired excuses, “We have to follow-up when someone calls with concerns or accusations.”

One night after work I’d seen enough and hustled up those stairs intent on telling them where to shove their concerns. I zipped around the corner and rushed towards them, my displeasure and petulance palpable. They must have sensed it as one of the male officers placed his hand on his piece, held the other hand in a “halt” position toward me, and yelled at me to stop. “I’ll stop when you stop coming up here harassing them.” At this moment I was pleading with God to make sure I didn’t have a warrant out for my arrest for some unpaid ticket, because I knew they were gonna make an example of me if they could. And boy did they try. God forbid you stand up for your neighbor. Short of asking to check my apartment, they were on my ass about what my affiliation was with the Johnson’s. Dicks. They are my neighbors, above that they are my friends, and I’m so good on this bullshit coming to their door every other night because some girl is bent because Dre is good on her. “What’s your purpose? Why do you have to disturb OUR peace with these false accusations, harass this man who is a wonderful father, and lives here to ensure this apartment complex is up to code and to protect and provide for his mother, who is in remission from cancer by the way. You come through every other day and you find nothing, so how about I file a complaint about the person who keeps sending you out here, wasting our tax paying dollars and causing this unnecessary annoyance!” I heard Dre say, “Damn” and when I looked over he was covering his mouth to keep from laughing. He shot me a wink and a smile. Man, that felt good. I stood there, puffed chest, holding my own feeling like I took on Goliath. For like 2 seconds before Officer Steroids demanded my ID and for me to shut my mouth. I wasn’t planning on doing either, for starters I know my rights, and I don’t need to show my ID or give my name because I am disagreeing with your actions. Second, YOU asked me about my affiliation, so I explained what it is. If you don’t like the answer you don’t get to go all steroid monkey on me and get pissy ‘cause you got put in your place. I unlocked my door calling out to Miss Johnson and Dre over my shoulder, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate, love you both.” Dre never lets me forget having his back like that, and his mom appreciated it as well. They never came back after that night, but I think the cops finally realized that they were being a nuisance and overstepping their boundaries. Whatever it was, Thank God it ended. 

I was asked by the Johnson family to be a character witness during the custody hearing, and all I told them was the truth, what I see and experience when little man is home. Dre is a good father. The stress of all of the bs and drama Cassy caused almost landed Miss J back in the hospital after her cancer bout. The girl just doesn’t care who she hurts, and that’s dangerous behavior.

My understanding is that she smokes crack, and even knowing this Dre has tried to make sure his son still gets to see her, so long as she is not using or high when he’s around. She was arrested a few weeks ago for possession and child endangerment. The low down of the sitchi was that her own dealer thought she was acting crazy during a drop. She had apparently been on a three day binge, and when her dealer said he didn’t feel comfortable selling her more because of her erratic behavior, vocalized hallucinations, and the fact that Andre Jr. was in the house she began making threats about harming herself, telling him that if he didn’t sell to her she’d cut herself up. He called the cops anonymously, and then called Dre to let him know what was up. Dre raced there, scooped up A.J., and gave Cass a very angry piece of his mind. He was enraged that she’d put their son in such a portentous and perilous situation. He was also completely fed-up with her antics, sending the cops to his home as a deterrent to her own behaviors. Little man has been here ever since, as Cass spent some time in jail and then in the psych ward in Long Branch. There is a hearing in a month that will determine who gets full custody, and I was asked to be present. I wouldn’t miss it, and he knows that.

The bar was a buzzin’! I guess I was a buzzin’, too. From the moment I walked, till we closed up around 2am, I was moving. Game 3 of the NLCS was on the tube. The Florida Marlins hosted the Chicago Cubs and it was Mark Redman against Kerry Wood. My vested interest in this game was scouting the opponent the Yanks may face if they are victorious against the Sawx. Now, I’m a superstitious person. So I don’t count my chicks before they hatch. I want to believe the Yankees got it in the bag, but you’ll never hear me spout off any guarantees, it’s bad luck. I notice a few Cubs hats and t’s on the patrons, not too many Marlins fans, at least not visibly. Here’s the deal, too, sports fans – pick one or the other, not both. You want to wear a hat, cool, you’re more a jersey person, great. Don’t overkill. I get it, you’re a superfan, we all are, but there is no need to rock the hat, jersey, t-shirt with team emblem, socks, scully, hoodie over all of it…you know what I’m saying. One item of affiliation is plenty. The game was in the 4th inning by the time I got settled in and had the opportunity to investigate. From the looks of it, the Cubbies had jumped on top in the first inning with Sosa driving Kenny Lofton in on a single. My old timer Cubs fan informant explained that Chicago plated another run in the second when a single and a pair of walks were followed by a sac fly by Wood. The Marlins were able to get a run back when Alex Gonzalez hit a double that scored Miggy Cabrera with two outs in the bottom of the second. It’s been smooth sailing for Wood and Redman ever since it seems. I got to work refilling mugs of Bud and Miller Lite, conversing casually with those who visited that night. Most faces familiar, some new. Justin was setting up his DJ equipment in the background, and tables began to fill with his younger crowd following. Soon I’d be mixing up trendy concoctions of liquors and filling shot glasses with weird named shots. Fine by me. It always seemed like once the younger crowd filed in the tempo went up a few notches. And before you knew it, I was cashing out, counting tips, having my 7&7, and saying goodnight. Until then, though, there was work to be done. Justin walked over and ordered his customary Vanilla Stoli & Coke. He was tall, shaved head, two diamond (or CZ) studs in his ears, light tan with blue eyes. He was in my English Lit class, and we hit it off immediately after being paired by our hippie professor to do a project on the similarities between old poetry and musicians who we may consider poets. Our taste in music bonded us, and I learned a lot about bands and music I didn’t know much about but learned to really dig, and I believe he experienced the same musical indoctrination. Friends ever since, and happy to have gotten him a few gigs in the meanwhile, not that he needed my help. He had quite a following. It’s cool to see someone be able to make a name for themselves doing the thing they love. I was super happy for him, and catching up with him allowed me to hear about what he’s been up to lately. He’d been hired this summer by a litany of the popular shore bars, which was a big deal and exciting. The locals were getting restless, so he shuffled off to crowd please, promising he’d keep in touch. A few of my friends had stopped in, looking like they stopped off at a few other places before here. I could feel the coolness of the evening each time the door opened, even though I was sweating from running around the bar. It felt refreshing. Natural reaction turned my attention towards the door when it opened, well instinct and the chiming bells that jingled. The bar had its low-lights on which gave off a smokey darkness. People were huddled on a dance floor close to the DJ booth, some dancing, others grouped together having close conversations. Justin’s set-up had a strobe, and multi-colored spotlights that darted in different directions and shone brightly up on the ceiling, providing neon lighting. We kept three televisions on, one in each corner above the bar, the other on the opposite side of the dance floor, close to the bathrooms by the bulk of the tables. 

The game was on all three, and I was surprised to see it was in extra innings. My informant had left around the time we became flooded with our younger crowd, which is usually how things go. Out with the old, in with the new? I spotted a couple with dueling Cubs and Marlins hats cozying up to one another at one of the back tables by the restrooms. Not exactly the most romantic spot, but they didn’t seem to mind. For a second I watched them, a little bit in awe as they acted as if they were the only two people at this bar, the only two people in existence. Swoon. Holding hands, snuggling close, hardly paying attention to the extra inning game perched above them, laughing and staring into each other’s eyes, empty glasses waiting to be filled in front of them. I ran out from behind the bar and hurried to their table. They were obviously too involved in what the other was saying to get up and ask for a refill, and I was the lone ranger tonight. Mikey must have gotten them their first drinks, but he was not in my peripheral now. He knew I could handle a large crowd and left me as the solo dolo this evening as a nod to my hustle and work ethic. I appreciated that. I couldn’t, however, appreciate not tending to this couple. I was mad at myself for not giving them my attention. “Hey y’all, can I refill your drinks?” I asked as I shuffled quickly to their side. They looked up at me, smiling and holding hands, like they themselves had forgotten that there were empty glasses in front of them. “Scotch on the rocks, two fingers, please.” the male in the Marlins hat requested. “Coming right up” I reply. And while I’m at it I inquire, “Are you guys hungry? Can I grab you something off the menu? Chips at least, or some fresh bread with our warm apple butter?” They pondered that, looking back and forth at each other smiling shyly and then back at me before deciding that the scotch would be all they needed for now, thanks anyway. I ran back behind the bar, fixed them up two new iced tumblers, and hustled them back. They handed me a twenty, with the female calling after as I walked away to keep the change. I smiled and waved, thanking them and bowing my head in appreciation. The two of them smiled back and waved off the good gesture. Great tip, great couple. I meant to ask them what I missed in the game, but it was obvious they weren’t paying attention. It was cute to see the sweet emotions of a couple in love. For a second I fought off jealousy. Yeah, I wish I had something like that. Who doesn’t? 

The bells above the door shook me out of my envy, and I looked to see Casey and Lenny coming in the door. She looked like she was swimming in a men’s hoodie and sweatpants, a tie-dye backpack slung over her right shoulder. She looked gaunt, a little gray, her pointed features more prominent in the light of the television as she walked past. Lenny was a bit husky, scruff covered his face and neck hiding a slight double chin. He sported a Villanova sweatshirt and dark denim jeans. Hmm, looks like she shrugged off the other guy and went straight to the source. Makes sense. I wasn’t psyched to see her, knowing now what I know about her ratting on Lou. But, I try to act professional. They snag a seat away from the DJ booth at the far corner of the bar crammed into the corner where they turn one bar stool into two. I begrudgingly walk over to the two new patrons, grab a cocktail napkin, and place it in front of them.

Looking Casey in her pin-pupiled eyes, I ask her and Lenny what they’d like. She refuses to look at me and defers to Lenny who reaches for his wallet while ordering, “Hey Stella, just a coupla Bud bottles, thanks.” He pulls out a ten and leaves it on the bar. Before moving to grab them I keep my eyes locked on Casey. It’s like a standoff, but she isn’t budging. At this point she starts to ruffle through her backpack, and I finally walk to the coolers. After popping the top on the bottles, I place one in front of Lenny and almost slam the other in front of Case. She finally looks up, startled, as the head of the bottle flows out from the neck. We make eye contact, and I ask her if she’s talked to Lou lately. Quickly, she averts her gaze to the volcano of beer erupting and grabs at the caddy for a stack of napkins. I loudly clear my throat, throwing an incredulous look her way. “I don’t want any problems, I got enough sh..” before she finishes I whisper angrily, “Then do NOT point your dirty finger at anyone knowing how unclean your hands are!” Her vacant eyes just stare as she emotionlessly denies, “I don’t know what your talking about.” I withhold the urge to lurch over the bar and grab her. Lenny senses my aggravation and looks at me apologetically. Lou is my friend, and you defend your friends. All I want her to know is that when you decide to get involved in shit that has potential consequences you are ultimately responsible for those actions. Don’t drag others down with you when the ship starts sinking.

She lights a smoke, smoldering the match on a wet napkin. I grab her an ashtray and she decides she has something she wants to add “He’s fucking up, you probably don’t even know the half. The kid is a damn trainwreck.” I chuckle. “So you feel that gives you the right to rat him out when you get busted on something that doesn’t have anything to do with him? Instead of acting like a big girl and taking your licks for the mistake you made you throw his name in the ring for what? You’ve got no problem making poor choices, but you can’t own them when you get yourself caught? It’s bullshit Case, you know it. Keep your mouth shut. If you can’t handle the fucking consequences don’t make the fucking mistake.” And with that I walk away. Look, we all make mistakes. It’s inevitable. It happens. But, you have to be accountable. I have a hard time understanding how tattle tailing on someone else garners you some type of immunity when you got yourself in trouble. That’s kindergarten shit. And I have zero tolerance for it. I mixed up a batch of LIT’s for a group of frat boys from Monmouth U. Teaks. Always a fun bunch. My cousin pledged a few years ago. Never graduated college, but belongs to the brotherhood forever. We talked for a few minutes, and I learned that the Cubbies won in 11 innings with the unlikely hero, Douggie Glanville, smoking a triple to the gap in left-center to drive in Kenny Lofton with the go-ahead run. The 5-4 victory was then secured when Mike Remlinger retired the Marlin in the bottom of the 11th. It doesn’t get much better than that. Thanks, boys! I appreciated the run-down and comped them their next round.

 After about 20 minutes of refilling mugs, fulfilling bar orders, and shaking up cocktails I wandered back to see how Casey and Lenny were holding up. They seemed deep in conversation with their barstools turned in the direction of each other, knees touching, heads bowed. I cleaned up the sticky mess I had made when I hit the bottle on the bar, feeling a little guilty for making them sit in it. I had two Bud bottles in hand, opened, although it didn’t even seem like they had put a dent in the first two. Casey looked up and was prepared to speak but Lenny put his hand up to cut her off. “Yo, Stel, we made a poor choice. And we’re sorry for that. You don’t get it, these local cops and their interrogation bullshit…they literally force you to give up someone before they let you off the hook. I wish we hadn’t done it, but those damn cops weren’t letting up, and they named him specifically, so we just rolled with it. It was stupid. Personally, it’s been eating me up. I ain’t no rat, and I know Casey ain’t either. They just kept pounding and poking and basically making accusations. All we did was agree with what they were sayin’.” Now, I haven’t been in that situation, so I took into consideration walking in their shoes for a minute. I know cops can play dirty. I just wish it didn’t result in this type of garbage where you have to give someone up to save your own ass. It seems unfair. “Thanks Lenny. I appreciate you apologizing. Shitty situation. Doesn’t seem fair. Try to stay out of trouble you two. Casey, seriously, for your family…for yourself, I don’t know your situation, but maybe lay back on this shit…can you see a doctor? Would that help?” She looked exhausted. Her eyes had circles underneath them that were visible in the darkness of the bar. “My doctor is my pusher.” she said laughing as she swigged her bud and rubbed her left temple. “Isn’t that crazy? I got hooked on PK’s after my car accident, and when I decided I didn’t want to take them anymore my body screamed in pain everyday. It’s whack. My tolerance exceeds my script for the body aches, and now they aren’t enough. So I got caught up in the other stuff ‘cause it’s cheaper. And Lenny’s doc has him hooked on the Addy’s, which causes you not to sleep, so we work together to get what helps us. It’s a shit cycle, City.” I thought about that for a minute. Damn. Nobody asks to be an addict, I know that. And what an awful series of events to have to go through day after day. You become consumed with your addiction, it controls everything you do, every move you make. It’s like a full time job just trying to get by. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Desperation can cause anyone to make mistakes. Perspective enhances knowledge, and I’m grateful they dropped some on me. Lenny placed another ten on the bar. I didn’t take the first ten, and I wasn’t going to take this one either. They needed it more than I did. I pushed it toward him, told him to put it away as he insisted on my taking it. “No, please Stella, we pay our own way.” I understand pride, and I didn’t want to embarrass them. Truth is, I’m allowed to comp whoever I want, my boss actually recommends it. He feels it makes the patrons feel appreciated for their business. I explained to Lenny and Casey, “We had an extra case of Bud sent, and I was told to give as many away as I can. We just don’t have the room, and the case was free. Don’t sweat it.” They thanked me and smiled. “Let me know when you guys need another, I’ll be around.” And I left them to their conversation. I felt for them, no doubt. I couldn’t imagine being a slave to the drug groove. That’s gotta be hard. Justin’s voice suddenly came over the speakers, announcing last call. I looked up at the clock, quarter til 2. We were still pretty full, so I started making moves. 

Forty minutes later I was saying goodnight to the last few stragglers, while wiping down the bar and wiping sweat from my forehead. I grabbed my bag, walked into the bathroom, locked the door behind me and took a deep breath. I had been running on empty for the last hour. My head was aching. I pulled out my tin, popped the top, and did an assessment. Inside there were three blues, a little white, and my anxiety meds. What I needed was some ibuprofen and after fishing around my bag I was able to come up with two. After running the faucet I placed the advil in my mouth and washed it down with handfuls of water. Because the bug bit me I decided to do a small bump to fuel up for the finish line, mixed with half a blue. I combed my hair into a ponytail, and walked back out to the bar. Mikey was having a drink with his sister and two of his friends. Justin must have walked out the remainder of his equipment while I was in the bathroom. I jogged back behind the bar, with every step intensifying the throbbing in my head. “Stella, get outta here. We’ll clean the bar up. You did an awesome job tonight, as per usual.” Mikey slurred his words a bit, but I picked up what he was putting down, and boy did I appreciate it! “You sure? I don’t” but before I could say I didn’t mind he was out of his barstool insisting I grab my tips and head home. So, I did just that. As is customary, he walked me out to my car. “The customers really like you, you know? I am thankful you’re our bartender. You do a helluva job, kid. Drive safe, we’ll see ya Sunday.” I felt my cheeks flush with his declaration. “Thanks, Mikey. I appreciate that.” With that, I got in the car and started her up, relieved it was time to go home. I had the day off tomorrow, and not a damn thing planned outside of my apartment and watching the Yankee game. I needed an R&R type of day. Alone!

On my way home I passed Seven Presidents Park in Long Branch. There was a side road that held the mighty Atlantic on one side and the skate park on the other, and I pulled into a nook between the two, rolled my windows down and chilled for a minute. There is no smell more enchanting than the ocean. When I was a kid driving with my dad to NJ from Pennsylvania to visit my mother I always got goosebumps knowing how close we were to “home” by the scent of the ocean air. I couldn’t see the ocean in the darkness, but I could hear the shore breakers collapsing on the sand. It was therapeutic. I had no desire to smoke, as the scent would ruin the exalted salty essence. The smells invoke emotions. I’ve always considered it to be a precious gift to have the beach within my grasp, and most certainly don’t take that gift for granted. It’s presence alone has helped me clear my head, work through problems, think my thoughts, feel invigorated and alive. No cliche’…I know many of you out there get it. A precious gift, indeed. While I sat I heard a faint vibration. Who would be calling this late? I plucked my phone from my center console and looked at the small screen. Dre. I answered. He asked me if I was alright. “Yeah, thanks, just left work like a half an hour ago, sitting up by the beach, are you good?” He replied that he’s fine, he was worried when he didn’t see my car, and I get the vibe he’s a little upset about the way we left things. There was silence for a moment. Dre broke it by asking, “You feel like talking?” I started the car up and put it in drive. “I’ll be home in ten,” I responded. “Cool, I’ll be up, just text me when you’ve settled in.” I tell him I will as I hit Ocean Ave. A bartender’s schedule is usually fucked up. We aren’t “officially done working” until 2am, and you’ve got to be “on” til the last patron leaves the house. After that, you clean up, count the drawer and tips, and you drive home. Your body clock starts to adjust to this schedule. And you’re not falling asleep until the energy starts to fade. Sometimes, it’s been a long day and sleep comes within a few hours, sometimes, you’re awake until the sun comes up, and that becomes “normal”. Shift work is hard to get used to but, eventually you do. 

I pulled into the lot a little after 3am. The neighbors were at it again, partying – not fighting – and I hoped Jimmy wasn’t hanging around tonight. I didn’t need hammered Jim slurring friend suggestions and life lessons my way. I quietly closed my car door, hoping not to draw attention to myself. The backs of the neighbors group seemed to be facing me and my pulling into the lot didn’t seem to interrupt the sing-a-long to Nelly’s “Hot in Here”. I dashed up the stairs, got to my door, unlocked it and ducked in. Thankfully, nobody was on the floor, and nobody seemed to notice me. I locked up, and headed straight for the shower, didn’t pass go, didn’t collect $100. The hot water washed away the last 8 hours, and I didn’t want to leave. I could feel my feet pruning, and I didn’t care. Sitting in the tub, arms hugging my knees to my chest, back pressed up against the shower wall tiles. The steam enveloped me in a much needed hug, and I felt myself begin to drift as I lay my head back. After about 15 minutes I was startled by the sound of my cell vibrating on the bathroom floor. Shit, I totally spaced. “Dre, gimme five minutes and I’ll meet you at the door.” I dried quickly, threw on a pair of boy shorts and a tank, brushed my long hair into a side ponytail, moisturized, lip balmed, lit a candle, snorted two blues, lit a smoke and opened the door. He had on a black Ecko sweatsuit and matching tims, with a sixer of twisted tea held like a football. Damnit, he always looked good. He kicked off his boots, and I ushered him in, grabbed his hand, and walked him to the edge of my bed. The scent of Gucci Rush was as intoxicating as the ocean’s aroma from earlier.

His presence always made me comfortable. I was cold, so I wrapped myself in an afghan my Mema had knit for me. Dre gets up and walks to the cd player, puts on Jill Scott, walks back to the bed with two teas. We clink necks and take a slug. We look at each other, both go to speak, laugh. “You first,” I say as I give him the go ahead by pointing my tea in his direction. “I took offense to what you implied earlier,” he starts. “What I need you to know is that I have so much love for you, and it puts me in a predicament. Until this situation with Cassandra is finally over I won’t, shit..I can’t put you through the drama and pain of the unknown. But please believe that you mean as much to me as that little boy down the hall does, and you always will.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ironically, Jilly from Philly is singing “Getting in the way”, which is fitting considering the subject matter. He nods his head in the direction of the stereo. We laugh. The two of us powered through our first tea, so I grabbed the six pack and set it on the table in front of us, handing him one and putting the empty back into the holder. I pop it open and take a long pull. Then I tell him, “You don’t have to explain. I’ve seen what you’ve been through, and how hard this has been for you and your family. You’re all heart and soul, and I’m so fortunate to be a recipient of your love. I’ve loved you for a long time and I’m gonna love you for an even longer time, you know that.” We smiled at each other, finished our drinks. He sheepishly asked me what my plans were for tomorrow (which was really today). “My mom is taking little man up to Newark to see her sister, so I have a free day if you wanna kick it.” I pointed to the bed and told him that my plans were with that big pillow top, some delivered food, and a baseball game. All day. “You down?” I asked “You’re the only person I wanna share it with” He answered by climbing under the down feather comforter, patting my place with his hand. “Sweet” was my reply as I turned down the music and the lights and hopped into bed. It felt nice to just have him there, arms wrapped around me, “He loves me” softly playing in the background as I drifted off, looking forward to a relaxing tomorrow in good company.

❤