Now and Then
B. Lynn Carter
THEN
She lands on my paper guided by the wind. Is this what Momma calls a sign? The light springtime breeze must feel like a cyclone to her. The pages flutter but she holds steady. I examine her closely fascinated by her wings; struck by the way she rides the waves that threaten to dislodge her. I had never seen an ant with wings before and to see one now, at this very moment, just as I sit here on my front stoop, doing the required reading for science class, an article on ants, which reads:
“Ant colonies are created by queen ants who have mated. They originally have wings but lose them after they mate. Flying ants leave the nests and swarm, congregating in great numbers and flying into the air, where they meet with the flying members of other colonies of ants.”
This ant is a queen. A virgin. She is on a mission. She is going to meet her destiny, fulfill her purpose in life and she has, obviously, stopped here to give me a sign. I am transfixed. Undaunted, she waits. Then, when the wind torrents subside, she spreads her majestic wings and departs. She has an appointment to keep. I am impressed with her determination not to let a small thing like a cyclone keep her from it.
I am so obsessed with this winged ant that I don’t feel him looking at me.
“Do you always stare at insects?” he asks.
I jump at the sound of his voice. He is looking over my shoulder, invading my space. I turn and find myself looking into his eyes. They are smiling at me. Smiling eyes. I feel my face getting hot. I am thankful that an abundance of melanin in my skin prohibits this from being obvious. It is Raymee, a new kid from around the way.
He has smiled at me before but it makes me nervous so I usually avoid his eyes and go the other way. It’s just that he’s really cute with his smiling eyes, caramel candy skin and dimples.
“No,” I say, “I mean, I wasn’t staring…. It has wings….” Flustered, I finally say, “I gotta go.”
“Where ya goin? I’ll walk ya.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m just goin in. I live right here,” I manage. He leans in, too close. I forget to breath.
“I know,” he says. “Are ya comin out later?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” I say, as I make my escape.
Once inside I can breathe and try to think. My thoughts are splayed out in a million different directions. I need to collect them. With flying ants and smiling eyes whirling around in my head, I come to a shaky conclusion. He likes me! Me! Is this what the ant queen came to tell me? Momma always says, “There are no coincidences. There are signs everywhere. You just have to know what to look for,” she says.
When my head finally clears I realize that I must be mistaken. No one likes ‘me.’ Me, I’m skinny, be-speckled, braces on my teeth, wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs. I am everyone’s best friend but nobody’s girl. Most of my friends on the block are guys. We hangout. They tell me all about their girl troubles and I give advice. I’m at all the parties but never as anyone’s date. I’m a freshman in high school and have never had a boyfriend. This guy, Raymee, he’s new to the block. He doesn’t know how it works, yet. Soon he’ll find out that I’m not someone you go out with.
* * *
NOW
It’s hectic. Tensions are running high. My head is throbbing. I’m running the claims section, working the front desk, on the front line. People have been waiting for hours. I turn to look at the other examiners. Scott has been talking to the very pretty girl at his desk for over an hour. Joann is walking around in her high heels looking for a record. Jeff is on the phone. Debbie is interviewing a claimant, leaning low so as to mesmerize him with her cleavage. Elba is filing her nails. And Molly the supposed acting-supervisor is MIA, as usual. No doubt she is sitting in the manager’s office with her legs crossed, short skirt and well toned thighs engaging his interest. The only one who is taking cases as fast as he can is Jimmy, JD. He’s working the “quickie” box, excusing each claimant’s minor infractions in rapid order.
“Scott,” I say. “Are you planning on proposing marriage?” He looks at me, annoyed, says nothing, turns back to the girl. I, after all, am not his supervisor. I am only the person who does all the supervisor’s work. It’s civil service. No one is in a hurry.
Behind me the crowd is getting agitated, led by a woman who is leaning on the desk critiquing my every move. Her voice is echoing from ear to ear in my aching head.
“This bitch is so stupid, no wonder ain’t nobody gettin outta here. Yo!” She calls to me. “Can you tell me when dey gon call me?”
“Duh me?” I say dully. “Duh, I donno. Um, uh, much too stupid!”
“Bitch, I’ll wait for you at five o-clock and kick yo ass!”
For what I do next, I have to plead temporary insanity. This is a large and angry woman. Taking off my glasses and placing them on the counter, I lean into her face and hiss.
“No need to wait til five. Go ahead make my day!”
She looks at me for what seems a long time trying to decide if I am outta my mind. She turns and goes back to her seat. Suddenly JD is at my side.
“Lynn, why don’t you take a break? I’ll do the desk,” he says.
Back in the break room I can’t stop shaking. What would’ve happened if she had taken me up on my offer? Why did I do that? But the real questions are; what am I doing here? How did I wind up here?
I do my deep breathing exercise to relax and allow the memories to consume me.
______
The city had gone bust, swelling the number of unemployed exponentially. I was counted among them. Standing on one of the lines, which extended the length of the office and out the front door onto the street, I heard the woman asking for a volunteer to translate Spanish. This happened every week and as I did every week, I trotted up to offer my services in return for being taken next. On this particular day, however, when I got to the desk the women pulled my record.
“You’re a college graduate,” she said sounding delighted.
“Yeah?” I said leerily.
“Well, we’ve got a job for you!”
“No, no, I don’t want a job,” I blurted before thinking better of it. Looking over her glasses she said,
“Young lady, are you saying you have not been seeking gainful employment?” her voice full of authority.
“No, no, of course I’m not saying that. It’s just . . . I . . . I . . .”
“Great! Take these papers downtown and we’ll see you on Monday.”
* * *
THEN
His whistle is like music, shrill, distinctive. When I hear it my heart jumps and I pop up like toast. In a millisecond I’m at the window. Below Raymee straddles his ten-speed.
“Come down,” he says. He has called for me everyday for the last three months. I am still amazed at his interest in me but I’ve gotten comfortable with it. I have a boyfriend! Me! And he’s cute with smiling eyes and dimples!
We spend all our time together after school. He’s funny with a quick wit. He seems to enjoy making me laugh.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he said to me one day and then he kissed me, a gentle kiss, the first kiss I ever got that didn’t involve spin the bottle. I am delirious! I feel like I’ve sprouted wings, can fly!
Now, we spend our time talking, laughing, making-out, studying, making out, holding hands, making-out. Raymee is everything. He is everywhere. When we are apart my thoughts are constantly of him. He occupies my every waking moment and every nighttime dream. Sweet, sweet dreams. I no longer question his motives. I’m just going with it.
_________________
I haven’t spent much time with my close friends on the block lately. They are just as shocked about this development as I am. They don’t even attempt to hide their surprise. Something in the natural order of our world has shifted and it has us all a little off kilter.
“So you’re going steady with him?” asks my friend DeeDee. “I mean he actually asked you out?”
“Well I didn’t ask him out Dee.”
“No, Um jus sayin, I mean, where did he even come from?”
“A flyin ant bought him,” I reply, growing tired of the inquisition.
“Wha?”
“Never mind,” I say turning away.
“He seems like a good guy,” from Orlando.
“Is he nice to you?” asks Hector.
“So far, he’s very nice to me.”
“He better be or I’ll kick his little ass!” from Edwin.
“Yeah, but whas gonna happen when Margie comes?” asks Little Carol.
I suddenly understand the saying: ‘Out of the mouths of babes.’ Little Carol who is at least five years younger than the rest of us has said, out loud, what they are all thinking, what I don’t want to think about. Outside of our immediate circle of friends Margie lays claim to all cute boys. That’s the rule, the regulation. Not that I ever even tried to compete. We all know that it’s just how it is. Last summer she took to wearing tee shirts with no bra. At the time I truly did not understand why. Now I get it, I do, but there’s no way I can do that.
The more I think about it, the more I realize the inevitable. Raymee with his smooth good looks, his smiling eyes, won’t want to be with someone like me. Not once he gets a look at Margie. Margie with her honey colored skin and curvy body. There are two more weeks until school is over. Then Margie and her brother Juanchie will come and take up residence in their aunt’s house for the summer. For two more weeks I get to play ‘going steady’ with Raymee. Two . . . more . . . weeks.
* * *
NOW
Molly prances into the claims section and sits at her desk. Watching her I am reminded of Katherine Parker, the character that Sigourney Weaver plays in the movie Working Girl, just not quite as classy. It’s not just the haircut and the overall resemblance. It’s something about that air of entitlement. She is ‘large and in charge’, above it all, all the anxiety and frustration of the recently unemployed, all the stress and tension of the workers who are paid to process them. She floats through the office spewing directives.
“Carter,” she says. “See what the woman in front wants.” I bristle at her tone but comply because she is, now, the ‘acting’ supervisor and I am, now, grateful to be on this side of the counter.
Lately, I have become obsessed with Molly and her sudden rise in the ranks.
“She knows how to schmooze,” says my friend JD.
“ She wha?” I say.
“Schmooze,” he says. “You know, chat it up, make nice with the powers that be.”
“Where I come from we call that brown nosing.”
“A rose by any other name,” he says.
“It’s just so unfair. I have more seniority then her. I work hard!”
“The point is,” he says, “that she got the appointment by being very friendly with the boss.”
“Yeah very, very friendly! With the shorts skirts and flashing the boobs.”
“You could do the same.”
“Me?”
“Sure you! You’re a knockout! You just need to smile a little more. If you weren’t engaged I’d be all over you.”
“I’m a female Jimmy.”
“I’d make an exception.” We both laugh. Then I say,
“It’s too late anyway. She’s already been appointed.”
“Don’t forget this is civil service,” he says. “You’re only as good as your last promotional exam. She’s acting interim now but the one with the highest test score gets the job and the raise.”
______________________
I have been thinking about what JD said. “The highest test score gets the job and the raise.” It’s been ten years since the state on New York snatched me off the lines and impressed me into service. I have resisted taking any promotional exams. I didn’t want to get any more entrapped by the money, a ‘bureaucratic-bitch’ forevermore. But now, now I need to face that fact that that’s exactly what I am. With a BA in creative writing, I had wished to be a writer. Now I sit and write statements explaining why the claimant is unemployed. Having minored in education, I had wished to be a teacher. Now I teach the new workers the in’s and out’s of unemployment law. Momma has always said, “be careful what you wish for.”
* * *
THEN
I can’t breath! Can’t breath! I’m drowning! My heart has dissolved, turned to liquid, releasing its contents, viscous fluid, coursing up through my lungs and head is drowning me. Gasping for air, I try to dash into the building before they see me.
“Yo Lynn!” Margie calls her arms around Raymee’s neck. She pulls him in closer to emphasize possession.
“Wha’sup?” I say weakly. The liquid sloshing around in my head threatens to spill out through my eyes.
“You gonna hang out later? We haven’t seen you lately,” she says, her smile malicious, triumphant.
“Yeah, where ya been?” Raymee calls, his arms around Margie’s waist. His once smiling eyes now burning through me, shooting daggers. I don’t answer, escape into the sanctuary of my apartment.
Inside, I run to the bathroom stuff the bath towel in my mouth and scream a muffled scream. I scream and scream until I can scream no more and then the tears erupt quietly flowing down my face. I force myself to breath, taking deep, halting, hiccupping breaths. I slow my breathing and try to think. I understand Margie. This is who she is. This is what she does. I expected it, prepared for it, but Raymee? Why is he so hell bent on torturing me?
The doorbell rings and I near jump out of my skin. It’s my friend DeeDee.
“I don’t really feel like company right now Dee,” I say. She pushes past me and pulls up a chair.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“No Dee,” I start to cry, “Not really!” She embraces me, holds me until the sobs subside.
“You been hiding in here for a month. Are you gonna blow the entire summer? We miss you. You really gotta let it go. Screw Margie! Screw Raymee!” she consoles.
“You think they did?”
“Did what?”
“You know, It.”
“No! Not at all!” she says. “From what I can see, he’s not really that into her.”
“He looked pretty into her just now.”
“Yeah, that was a show for you. But usually he hardly even touches her. It’s nothing like when you guys where together, holding hands and smooching all the time. It was cute.”
“Why would he do that? Purposely trying to hurt me.”
“Well duh!! You did dump him! Why did you do that anyway if you still had feelings for him?”
_____________
I drift back to that day. I had spoken to Margie on the phone. She was looking forward to her arrival in two days. It was then that I told her that I had a boyfriend and that he was cute. It felt like a confession, like I was asking for absolution, having broken the rule. “Thou shalt not have a cute boyfriend!” I could tell that she had no intention of absolving me.
I knew what I had to do. I was gonna lose him anyway. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction of literally stealing my boyfriend from me. That was out! And as for Raymee, I was doing him a favor, releasing him, saving him from the uncomfortable act of having to dump me for my more desirable friend. It was inevitable. At least I could try and save face. Yes, a preemptive strike!
________________
“I need to talk to you,” I say to him.
“Sounds serious. Wha’sup? “ He is leaning against a car. His eyes, ever smiling, look at me as though they see someone special. His hands as always reach for mine. He has come from nowhere and touched feelings in me that couldn’t possibly exist. Dangerous feelings. Feelings that can explode, turn on you, smothering feelings that can suffocate you.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” I say.
“About?”
“About us. I mean about you. Well, about you and me.”
“What about you and me?” The air is being sucked out of the atmosphere. Somewhere a vortex must be creating a vacuum. My breaths are halting and sporadic. I inhale deeply and say,
“I don’t think this is working out.”
“Wha?” he says. Then he pulls me close. His lips touching mine he whispers,
“You’re kidding right?” I pull away, can’t do this standing so close to him, lips touching, can’t breath. A little voice inside me is screaming, “Don’t do this! Grab on to him and hold tight!” It is threatening to burst into tears and take me with it. No. I won’t cry. Not now, not here. I’ll cry on my own terms.
Redoubling my resolve I say, “No Ray, I’m not kidding.” Contemplating my shoes, I can’t meet his eyes. Placing a finger under my chin, he lifts my face forcing me to do just that.
“Talk to me,” he says. “Did I do something? What did I do?” I want to tell him it’s not what he did but what he will do. What I know he will do. The inevitable. Part of me wants to slap him for being so shallow. The other part wants to tell him I forgive him. I want to thank him for waking me up inside and making me understand that there’s someone for everyone, even me, even if it’s not forever. I want to make it easy on him and on me. I won’t cry. I won’t. And I won’t say what I’m thinking. I’ll deliver the speech just as I’ve rehearsed it.
“No, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m just not feelin it, not like before. I think,” I say, “I think it’s kinda over with us.” Now he steps back from me looking confused. His eyes lock in on mine searching for understanding. I think I see disbelief there, hurt, betrayal? I look away. My insides feel like water, an ocean of salty water coursing, burning, through my lungs, my stomach, my heart. I am submerged from the inside out. I am seasick from the rocky motion of my inner tide.
“You got somebody else,” he says. It’s an accusation, a realization. I’m stunned! He truly thinks I’m dumping him for someone else? Me? As though there is anyone else in this life that looks at me the way he does. Something I never quite understood.
“You been playin me! I trusted you!” It is a roar so loud that I flinch. I am taken aback by his reaction. I don’t know what I expected but I didn’t expect this. I take comfort in the knowledge that soon he’ll meet Margie and he’ll be glad that I ended it. Maybe I should tell him the truth now. At least he won’t think I’ve been messing around on him. I am about to speak when he says,
“Just tell me . . .” he hesitates. “Maybe . . .” he says, but stops short. Then he turns on his heels
“Ray!” I call to the back of his head as he storms away.
* * *
NOW
The phone is ringing just as I’m getting settled-in to watch the new episode of the Cosby's. It is Molly. She has been very friendly lately, inviting us to a dinner party. Then inviting herself and her boyfriend to our place to play bid whist. JD says she’s ‘schmoozing’ me but neither one of us can figure out why.
“Hi!!” she sings in her ‘Molly Wholly’ way.
“Hey Molly wha’sup?”
“How was you weekend? Looking forward to rebel rousing Monday?”
“Oh yeah, can’t wait,” I say sarcastically.
“Well mine was horrible, a real bear, that is until I bothered to look at the mail just now.” I wait, she always goes on like this but eventually she gets to the point.
“So guess what?” she says. But she continues before I can guess. “I got my grade for the promotional exam. Yeah, and I had been so worried about it. I got an 87! I checked. 87 is way above the average high end. The average high-end grade is 82.5. So this is great cause now I can just make the deadline to file for the manager’s test! I am psyched! So I’ll see ya tomorrow.” I wait.
“Oh, so did you get your grade?”
“I did.”
“So wha did ya get?”
“ I got a 95,” I say trying to sound nonchalant.
“Oh,” she says. “That’s higher than me!”
“It is,” I say. I can hear the calculations tumbling around in her brain.
“Well, with these grades we’ll probably both get an appointment.” She trails off a bit and then adds, “but one of us would probably have to be transferred.” A pause, “so how do you think they’ll decide who goes?”
“I would imagine that the one with the highest score gets to choose,” I say innocently.
“Yeah, well, we’ll see” she says, and then she hangs up.
As I hang up the phone I am feeling very smug. ‘Yes’ I think ‘we will see’. But something else pushes its’ way forward from the back of my mind. Another piece of mail has arrived. It is a letter from the New York City Board of Education. I pick up the letter and read it again. They are hiring bi-lingual teachers to work with Special Ed kids. As an incentive, they will pay for a master’s degree in learning disabilities. It’s been years since I filed that application. I fold the letter and place it in my desk draw. I start laying out my clothes for work. It’s a big day tomorrow, a really big day.
________________
“She doesn’t have a civil service law leg to stand on,” JD says.
“I know,” I say trying to suppress a smile.
“She’s in there right now conniving, haven’t seen her all morning.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not worried.”
“Who knew you were such a good little test taker!” He says as he reaches over and pinches my cheek.
Smiling, I say, “I did, actually. I’ve always been a good test taker.”
“So why, in all these years, haven’t you taken these tests before. You could be running the whole department by now. And what’s with this job offer from the Board of Ed? Are you thinking about taking it? It could be your ticket out. You always wanted out of this hell whole.”
“You know what they pay? I’d be taking a 35% cut on what I’m making now, forget about what I’d make as a supervisor or manager!” The realization bubbles up from somewhere deep in my consciousness. I am not a writer. I am not a teacher. I’m a claims examiner and though that makes me sad; it no longer makes me angry. “Besides,” I say. “It’s too late for me. I gotta face the inevitable. Sometimes things in life are just inevitable so you cut your losses and go with it. I think acing this exam was like a preempted strike. Now I can face reality and get on with my life!”
___________________
The good thing, or maybe not so good, thing, about working in the local unemployment office in the neighborhood in which you grew up, is that eventually everyone one you ever knew growing up, walks through those doors. Or so it seems to me.
James Tracy Jackson, the best-dressed boy in junior high, now shuffles in, looking shabby and homeless. Sheila Melendez a scruffy looking tomboy, who struts in, brief case, form fitting skirt suit and four inch heels. Ronny Banks who tortured me relentlessly laughing at my thick glasses, now appears, bible in hand bestowing blessings on me. Paulina Perez whose small waist, full breast and round bottom were the envy of all us skinny underdeveloped girls at fourteen. Momma always said that women are like fruit. Those that ripen early, decline early. Enter Paulina looking matronly, much older than, I know, she is. So, I really shouldn’t have been surprised . . .
I feel his eyes on me before I turn to see him. He is standing at the entrance staring at me from across the office. My mouth flies open, an involuntary intake of air, before I regain my composure. I smile and he smiles, a smile that comes more from his eyes than his lips. My heart jumps as he approaches and I can’t believe he still has this effect on me, after all these years.
“Hello,” he says, sounding like we see each other everyday.
“Hello,” I say, trying hard to mimic his tone. Then there’s a long pause as we take each other in. He is taller than I remember. Well, of course, he is a man. He’s grown into a beautiful rugged looking man. Judging by his clothes, a man who works with his hands. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks and am, once again, grateful for melanin.
“What are you doing here?” I ask lamely.
“Electricians strike,” he says.
“So you’re an electrician?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to school to become and engineer.”
“Oh, so I guess you need to file a claim. I can help you with that.”
“Great,” he says. Then he blurts “can I take you to lunch?”
____________
It is a beautiful day. We opt to sit at a sidewalk table. After a long awkward silence he says,
“You grew up nice, beautiful!”
“So did you,” I say. We both laugh, a little nervous laugh. After a pause, talking into his hands he says,
“You were the one that got away.”
“The one that got away? Really? What were we fourteen?”
“Okay, okay, at that age they all got away.”
“Did Margie get away?” I venture.
“When it came to her I was the one who got away.”
“You sure did. What happened to you? You disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Well, after you dumped me,” emphasis on dump “I dumped her. Then I started hanging out around Intervale with my cousins.”
“And school? You disappeared from school. I was always hoping to see you there.”
“Were you? I transferred to Clinton, all boys, safer that way.” More nervous laughter, then a long silence as I study my French fries. It is then that I see the ring. A wedding band reflecting the afternoon sun and I realize that my engagement ring must be doing the same.
“So how long you been married?” I ask.
“A little over three years,” he says “but we’ve been together since high school.” Something brightens in him. “You would love my wife,” he says. “She reminds me of you. She even looks a little like you. What about you? Looks like you’re engaged. Anyone I know?”
“I doubt it. I met him in college,” I say.
After that, for some reason, the conversation is easier. He tells me about how he met his wife. And I’m thinking what a romantic he is. He actually married his high school sweetheart! I can hear from how he speaks of her that he really loves her. I recount my version of meeting my intended. We talk about people we knew from the block. It is like old times but without the kissing. I tell him about my impending promotion and how I ended up in this job in the first place. I expect him to laugh but instead he looks serious and says,
“Gee, that’s too bad. I remember you wanted to be a teacher.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember a lot of things about you,” he says, locking onto my eyes the way he used to. I’m looking away, counting French fries. Presently, I say,
“You know, just the other day I got a job offer from the Board of Ed.”
“So you are gonna teach after all!”
“Well, no, I’m not gonna take it.”
“Are you serious? You just finished telling me how you didn’t take those tests cause you wanted out so bad!”
“Well, I’m taking them now! I plan to take every test they give. I have to face it. This is my life now! I’m goin for the money!”
“I can’t understand why you’d do that! But, then again, it’s not like I ever understood why you did the things you did!” he says a little too forcefully. Ignoring his obvious reference to our break-up, so very long ago.
I parry, “Because I can! I’m a good little test taker!”
Our voices rising, it is becoming an argument. I am not going to sit here and argue with him about my future! It’s none of his business!
“Sometimes,” he says, “sometimes, you just have to step back and decide what’s important, what you really want.” He pauses like he’s weighing whether or not he should continue. Then speaking into his folded hands in a near whisper he says,“Sometimes you shouldn’t just walk away from what you want. I did that once and regretted it.”
I’m confused. Are we still talking about my job? Shaken, and anxious to change the subject, get back to pleasant chitchat, after an uneasy pause I say,
“You know, it’s funny that we run into each other today. I was thinking about you not too long ago.”
“Yeah?” he says, looking slightly embarrassed. “What were you thinking?”
“I was trying to remember how we met. Do you remember?”
“You were staring at an insect.”
________________
At home that evening I take out the letter that I got from the Board of Ed. Placing it on top of the desk, I stare at it for a long time as disjointed thoughts and conflicted emotions ping pong around inside me. The meeting with Raymee is replaying in my mind. Strangely, it’s the words “You were staring at an insect” that are stuck in my head. It’s true. I was staring at an insect, the queen ant. The queen ant who was blown off course, who came to give me a sign. I always felt that, somehow, she bought Raymee to me. I remember being impressed with her tenacity. Struggling through what, for her, must have felt like a cyclone. Undeterred, she would not be sidetracked. She weathered the storm and went off to do what she had to do, what she was born to do. Without further hesitation, I reach for a pen and sign the declaration of acceptance.
She lands on my paper guided by the wind. Is this what Momma calls a sign? The light springtime breeze must feel like a cyclone to her. The pages flutter but she holds steady. I examine her closely fascinated by her wings; struck by the way she rides the waves that threaten to dislodge her. I had never seen an ant with wings before and to see one now, at this very moment, just as I sit here on my front stoop, doing the required reading for science class, an article on ants, which reads:
“Ant colonies are created by queen ants who have mated. They originally have wings but lose them after they mate. Flying ants leave the nests and swarm, congregating in great numbers and flying into the air, where they meet with the flying members of other colonies of ants.”
This ant is a queen. A virgin. She is on a mission. She is going to meet her destiny, fulfill her purpose in life and she has, obviously, stopped here to give me a sign. I am transfixed. Undaunted, she waits. Then, when the wind torrents subside, she spreads her majestic wings and departs. She has an appointment to keep. I am impressed with her determination not to let a small thing like a cyclone keep her from it.
I am so obsessed with this winged ant that I don’t feel him looking at me.
“Do you always stare at insects?” he asks.
I jump at the sound of his voice. He is looking over my shoulder, invading my space. I turn and find myself looking into his eyes. They are smiling at me. Smiling eyes. I feel my face getting hot. I am thankful that an abundance of melanin in my skin prohibits this from being obvious. It is Raymee, a new kid from around the way.
He has smiled at me before but it makes me nervous so I usually avoid his eyes and go the other way. It’s just that he’s really cute with his smiling eyes, caramel candy skin and dimples.
“No,” I say, “I mean, I wasn’t staring…. It has wings….” Flustered, I finally say, “I gotta go.”
“Where ya goin? I’ll walk ya.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m just goin in. I live right here,” I manage. He leans in, too close. I forget to breath.
“I know,” he says. “Are ya comin out later?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” I say, as I make my escape.
Once inside I can breathe and try to think. My thoughts are splayed out in a million different directions. I need to collect them. With flying ants and smiling eyes whirling around in my head, I come to a shaky conclusion. He likes me! Me! Is this what the ant queen came to tell me? Momma always says, “There are no coincidences. There are signs everywhere. You just have to know what to look for,” she says.
When my head finally clears I realize that I must be mistaken. No one likes ‘me.’ Me, I’m skinny, be-speckled, braces on my teeth, wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs. I am everyone’s best friend but nobody’s girl. Most of my friends on the block are guys. We hangout. They tell me all about their girl troubles and I give advice. I’m at all the parties but never as anyone’s date. I’m a freshman in high school and have never had a boyfriend. This guy, Raymee, he’s new to the block. He doesn’t know how it works, yet. Soon he’ll find out that I’m not someone you go out with.
* * *
NOW
It’s hectic. Tensions are running high. My head is throbbing. I’m running the claims section, working the front desk, on the front line. People have been waiting for hours. I turn to look at the other examiners. Scott has been talking to the very pretty girl at his desk for over an hour. Joann is walking around in her high heels looking for a record. Jeff is on the phone. Debbie is interviewing a claimant, leaning low so as to mesmerize him with her cleavage. Elba is filing her nails. And Molly the supposed acting-supervisor is MIA, as usual. No doubt she is sitting in the manager’s office with her legs crossed, short skirt and well toned thighs engaging his interest. The only one who is taking cases as fast as he can is Jimmy, JD. He’s working the “quickie” box, excusing each claimant’s minor infractions in rapid order.
“Scott,” I say. “Are you planning on proposing marriage?” He looks at me, annoyed, says nothing, turns back to the girl. I, after all, am not his supervisor. I am only the person who does all the supervisor’s work. It’s civil service. No one is in a hurry.
Behind me the crowd is getting agitated, led by a woman who is leaning on the desk critiquing my every move. Her voice is echoing from ear to ear in my aching head.
“This bitch is so stupid, no wonder ain’t nobody gettin outta here. Yo!” She calls to me. “Can you tell me when dey gon call me?”
“Duh me?” I say dully. “Duh, I donno. Um, uh, much too stupid!”
“Bitch, I’ll wait for you at five o-clock and kick yo ass!”
For what I do next, I have to plead temporary insanity. This is a large and angry woman. Taking off my glasses and placing them on the counter, I lean into her face and hiss.
“No need to wait til five. Go ahead make my day!”
She looks at me for what seems a long time trying to decide if I am outta my mind. She turns and goes back to her seat. Suddenly JD is at my side.
“Lynn, why don’t you take a break? I’ll do the desk,” he says.
Back in the break room I can’t stop shaking. What would’ve happened if she had taken me up on my offer? Why did I do that? But the real questions are; what am I doing here? How did I wind up here?
I do my deep breathing exercise to relax and allow the memories to consume me.
______
The city had gone bust, swelling the number of unemployed exponentially. I was counted among them. Standing on one of the lines, which extended the length of the office and out the front door onto the street, I heard the woman asking for a volunteer to translate Spanish. This happened every week and as I did every week, I trotted up to offer my services in return for being taken next. On this particular day, however, when I got to the desk the women pulled my record.
“You’re a college graduate,” she said sounding delighted.
“Yeah?” I said leerily.
“Well, we’ve got a job for you!”
“No, no, I don’t want a job,” I blurted before thinking better of it. Looking over her glasses she said,
“Young lady, are you saying you have not been seeking gainful employment?” her voice full of authority.
“No, no, of course I’m not saying that. It’s just . . . I . . . I . . .”
“Great! Take these papers downtown and we’ll see you on Monday.”
* * *
THEN
His whistle is like music, shrill, distinctive. When I hear it my heart jumps and I pop up like toast. In a millisecond I’m at the window. Below Raymee straddles his ten-speed.
“Come down,” he says. He has called for me everyday for the last three months. I am still amazed at his interest in me but I’ve gotten comfortable with it. I have a boyfriend! Me! And he’s cute with smiling eyes and dimples!
We spend all our time together after school. He’s funny with a quick wit. He seems to enjoy making me laugh.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he said to me one day and then he kissed me, a gentle kiss, the first kiss I ever got that didn’t involve spin the bottle. I am delirious! I feel like I’ve sprouted wings, can fly!
Now, we spend our time talking, laughing, making-out, studying, making out, holding hands, making-out. Raymee is everything. He is everywhere. When we are apart my thoughts are constantly of him. He occupies my every waking moment and every nighttime dream. Sweet, sweet dreams. I no longer question his motives. I’m just going with it.
_________________
I haven’t spent much time with my close friends on the block lately. They are just as shocked about this development as I am. They don’t even attempt to hide their surprise. Something in the natural order of our world has shifted and it has us all a little off kilter.
“So you’re going steady with him?” asks my friend DeeDee. “I mean he actually asked you out?”
“Well I didn’t ask him out Dee.”
“No, Um jus sayin, I mean, where did he even come from?”
“A flyin ant bought him,” I reply, growing tired of the inquisition.
“Wha?”
“Never mind,” I say turning away.
“He seems like a good guy,” from Orlando.
“Is he nice to you?” asks Hector.
“So far, he’s very nice to me.”
“He better be or I’ll kick his little ass!” from Edwin.
“Yeah, but whas gonna happen when Margie comes?” asks Little Carol.
I suddenly understand the saying: ‘Out of the mouths of babes.’ Little Carol who is at least five years younger than the rest of us has said, out loud, what they are all thinking, what I don’t want to think about. Outside of our immediate circle of friends Margie lays claim to all cute boys. That’s the rule, the regulation. Not that I ever even tried to compete. We all know that it’s just how it is. Last summer she took to wearing tee shirts with no bra. At the time I truly did not understand why. Now I get it, I do, but there’s no way I can do that.
The more I think about it, the more I realize the inevitable. Raymee with his smooth good looks, his smiling eyes, won’t want to be with someone like me. Not once he gets a look at Margie. Margie with her honey colored skin and curvy body. There are two more weeks until school is over. Then Margie and her brother Juanchie will come and take up residence in their aunt’s house for the summer. For two more weeks I get to play ‘going steady’ with Raymee. Two . . . more . . . weeks.
* * *
NOW
Molly prances into the claims section and sits at her desk. Watching her I am reminded of Katherine Parker, the character that Sigourney Weaver plays in the movie Working Girl, just not quite as classy. It’s not just the haircut and the overall resemblance. It’s something about that air of entitlement. She is ‘large and in charge’, above it all, all the anxiety and frustration of the recently unemployed, all the stress and tension of the workers who are paid to process them. She floats through the office spewing directives.
“Carter,” she says. “See what the woman in front wants.” I bristle at her tone but comply because she is, now, the ‘acting’ supervisor and I am, now, grateful to be on this side of the counter.
Lately, I have become obsessed with Molly and her sudden rise in the ranks.
“She knows how to schmooze,” says my friend JD.
“ She wha?” I say.
“Schmooze,” he says. “You know, chat it up, make nice with the powers that be.”
“Where I come from we call that brown nosing.”
“A rose by any other name,” he says.
“It’s just so unfair. I have more seniority then her. I work hard!”
“The point is,” he says, “that she got the appointment by being very friendly with the boss.”
“Yeah very, very friendly! With the shorts skirts and flashing the boobs.”
“You could do the same.”
“Me?”
“Sure you! You’re a knockout! You just need to smile a little more. If you weren’t engaged I’d be all over you.”
“I’m a female Jimmy.”
“I’d make an exception.” We both laugh. Then I say,
“It’s too late anyway. She’s already been appointed.”
“Don’t forget this is civil service,” he says. “You’re only as good as your last promotional exam. She’s acting interim now but the one with the highest test score gets the job and the raise.”
______________________
I have been thinking about what JD said. “The highest test score gets the job and the raise.” It’s been ten years since the state on New York snatched me off the lines and impressed me into service. I have resisted taking any promotional exams. I didn’t want to get any more entrapped by the money, a ‘bureaucratic-bitch’ forevermore. But now, now I need to face that fact that that’s exactly what I am. With a BA in creative writing, I had wished to be a writer. Now I sit and write statements explaining why the claimant is unemployed. Having minored in education, I had wished to be a teacher. Now I teach the new workers the in’s and out’s of unemployment law. Momma has always said, “be careful what you wish for.”
* * *
THEN
I can’t breath! Can’t breath! I’m drowning! My heart has dissolved, turned to liquid, releasing its contents, viscous fluid, coursing up through my lungs and head is drowning me. Gasping for air, I try to dash into the building before they see me.
“Yo Lynn!” Margie calls her arms around Raymee’s neck. She pulls him in closer to emphasize possession.
“Wha’sup?” I say weakly. The liquid sloshing around in my head threatens to spill out through my eyes.
“You gonna hang out later? We haven’t seen you lately,” she says, her smile malicious, triumphant.
“Yeah, where ya been?” Raymee calls, his arms around Margie’s waist. His once smiling eyes now burning through me, shooting daggers. I don’t answer, escape into the sanctuary of my apartment.
Inside, I run to the bathroom stuff the bath towel in my mouth and scream a muffled scream. I scream and scream until I can scream no more and then the tears erupt quietly flowing down my face. I force myself to breath, taking deep, halting, hiccupping breaths. I slow my breathing and try to think. I understand Margie. This is who she is. This is what she does. I expected it, prepared for it, but Raymee? Why is he so hell bent on torturing me?
The doorbell rings and I near jump out of my skin. It’s my friend DeeDee.
“I don’t really feel like company right now Dee,” I say. She pushes past me and pulls up a chair.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“No Dee,” I start to cry, “Not really!” She embraces me, holds me until the sobs subside.
“You been hiding in here for a month. Are you gonna blow the entire summer? We miss you. You really gotta let it go. Screw Margie! Screw Raymee!” she consoles.
“You think they did?”
“Did what?”
“You know, It.”
“No! Not at all!” she says. “From what I can see, he’s not really that into her.”
“He looked pretty into her just now.”
“Yeah, that was a show for you. But usually he hardly even touches her. It’s nothing like when you guys where together, holding hands and smooching all the time. It was cute.”
“Why would he do that? Purposely trying to hurt me.”
“Well duh!! You did dump him! Why did you do that anyway if you still had feelings for him?”
_____________
I drift back to that day. I had spoken to Margie on the phone. She was looking forward to her arrival in two days. It was then that I told her that I had a boyfriend and that he was cute. It felt like a confession, like I was asking for absolution, having broken the rule. “Thou shalt not have a cute boyfriend!” I could tell that she had no intention of absolving me.
I knew what I had to do. I was gonna lose him anyway. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction of literally stealing my boyfriend from me. That was out! And as for Raymee, I was doing him a favor, releasing him, saving him from the uncomfortable act of having to dump me for my more desirable friend. It was inevitable. At least I could try and save face. Yes, a preemptive strike!
________________
“I need to talk to you,” I say to him.
“Sounds serious. Wha’sup? “ He is leaning against a car. His eyes, ever smiling, look at me as though they see someone special. His hands as always reach for mine. He has come from nowhere and touched feelings in me that couldn’t possibly exist. Dangerous feelings. Feelings that can explode, turn on you, smothering feelings that can suffocate you.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” I say.
“About?”
“About us. I mean about you. Well, about you and me.”
“What about you and me?” The air is being sucked out of the atmosphere. Somewhere a vortex must be creating a vacuum. My breaths are halting and sporadic. I inhale deeply and say,
“I don’t think this is working out.”
“Wha?” he says. Then he pulls me close. His lips touching mine he whispers,
“You’re kidding right?” I pull away, can’t do this standing so close to him, lips touching, can’t breath. A little voice inside me is screaming, “Don’t do this! Grab on to him and hold tight!” It is threatening to burst into tears and take me with it. No. I won’t cry. Not now, not here. I’ll cry on my own terms.
Redoubling my resolve I say, “No Ray, I’m not kidding.” Contemplating my shoes, I can’t meet his eyes. Placing a finger under my chin, he lifts my face forcing me to do just that.
“Talk to me,” he says. “Did I do something? What did I do?” I want to tell him it’s not what he did but what he will do. What I know he will do. The inevitable. Part of me wants to slap him for being so shallow. The other part wants to tell him I forgive him. I want to thank him for waking me up inside and making me understand that there’s someone for everyone, even me, even if it’s not forever. I want to make it easy on him and on me. I won’t cry. I won’t. And I won’t say what I’m thinking. I’ll deliver the speech just as I’ve rehearsed it.
“No, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m just not feelin it, not like before. I think,” I say, “I think it’s kinda over with us.” Now he steps back from me looking confused. His eyes lock in on mine searching for understanding. I think I see disbelief there, hurt, betrayal? I look away. My insides feel like water, an ocean of salty water coursing, burning, through my lungs, my stomach, my heart. I am submerged from the inside out. I am seasick from the rocky motion of my inner tide.
“You got somebody else,” he says. It’s an accusation, a realization. I’m stunned! He truly thinks I’m dumping him for someone else? Me? As though there is anyone else in this life that looks at me the way he does. Something I never quite understood.
“You been playin me! I trusted you!” It is a roar so loud that I flinch. I am taken aback by his reaction. I don’t know what I expected but I didn’t expect this. I take comfort in the knowledge that soon he’ll meet Margie and he’ll be glad that I ended it. Maybe I should tell him the truth now. At least he won’t think I’ve been messing around on him. I am about to speak when he says,
“Just tell me . . .” he hesitates. “Maybe . . .” he says, but stops short. Then he turns on his heels
“Ray!” I call to the back of his head as he storms away.
* * *
NOW
The phone is ringing just as I’m getting settled-in to watch the new episode of the Cosby's. It is Molly. She has been very friendly lately, inviting us to a dinner party. Then inviting herself and her boyfriend to our place to play bid whist. JD says she’s ‘schmoozing’ me but neither one of us can figure out why.
“Hi!!” she sings in her ‘Molly Wholly’ way.
“Hey Molly wha’sup?”
“How was you weekend? Looking forward to rebel rousing Monday?”
“Oh yeah, can’t wait,” I say sarcastically.
“Well mine was horrible, a real bear, that is until I bothered to look at the mail just now.” I wait, she always goes on like this but eventually she gets to the point.
“So guess what?” she says. But she continues before I can guess. “I got my grade for the promotional exam. Yeah, and I had been so worried about it. I got an 87! I checked. 87 is way above the average high end. The average high-end grade is 82.5. So this is great cause now I can just make the deadline to file for the manager’s test! I am psyched! So I’ll see ya tomorrow.” I wait.
“Oh, so did you get your grade?”
“I did.”
“So wha did ya get?”
“ I got a 95,” I say trying to sound nonchalant.
“Oh,” she says. “That’s higher than me!”
“It is,” I say. I can hear the calculations tumbling around in her brain.
“Well, with these grades we’ll probably both get an appointment.” She trails off a bit and then adds, “but one of us would probably have to be transferred.” A pause, “so how do you think they’ll decide who goes?”
“I would imagine that the one with the highest score gets to choose,” I say innocently.
“Yeah, well, we’ll see” she says, and then she hangs up.
As I hang up the phone I am feeling very smug. ‘Yes’ I think ‘we will see’. But something else pushes its’ way forward from the back of my mind. Another piece of mail has arrived. It is a letter from the New York City Board of Education. I pick up the letter and read it again. They are hiring bi-lingual teachers to work with Special Ed kids. As an incentive, they will pay for a master’s degree in learning disabilities. It’s been years since I filed that application. I fold the letter and place it in my desk draw. I start laying out my clothes for work. It’s a big day tomorrow, a really big day.
________________
“She doesn’t have a civil service law leg to stand on,” JD says.
“I know,” I say trying to suppress a smile.
“She’s in there right now conniving, haven’t seen her all morning.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not worried.”
“Who knew you were such a good little test taker!” He says as he reaches over and pinches my cheek.
Smiling, I say, “I did, actually. I’ve always been a good test taker.”
“So why, in all these years, haven’t you taken these tests before. You could be running the whole department by now. And what’s with this job offer from the Board of Ed? Are you thinking about taking it? It could be your ticket out. You always wanted out of this hell whole.”
“You know what they pay? I’d be taking a 35% cut on what I’m making now, forget about what I’d make as a supervisor or manager!” The realization bubbles up from somewhere deep in my consciousness. I am not a writer. I am not a teacher. I’m a claims examiner and though that makes me sad; it no longer makes me angry. “Besides,” I say. “It’s too late for me. I gotta face the inevitable. Sometimes things in life are just inevitable so you cut your losses and go with it. I think acing this exam was like a preempted strike. Now I can face reality and get on with my life!”
___________________
The good thing, or maybe not so good, thing, about working in the local unemployment office in the neighborhood in which you grew up, is that eventually everyone one you ever knew growing up, walks through those doors. Or so it seems to me.
James Tracy Jackson, the best-dressed boy in junior high, now shuffles in, looking shabby and homeless. Sheila Melendez a scruffy looking tomboy, who struts in, brief case, form fitting skirt suit and four inch heels. Ronny Banks who tortured me relentlessly laughing at my thick glasses, now appears, bible in hand bestowing blessings on me. Paulina Perez whose small waist, full breast and round bottom were the envy of all us skinny underdeveloped girls at fourteen. Momma always said that women are like fruit. Those that ripen early, decline early. Enter Paulina looking matronly, much older than, I know, she is. So, I really shouldn’t have been surprised . . .
I feel his eyes on me before I turn to see him. He is standing at the entrance staring at me from across the office. My mouth flies open, an involuntary intake of air, before I regain my composure. I smile and he smiles, a smile that comes more from his eyes than his lips. My heart jumps as he approaches and I can’t believe he still has this effect on me, after all these years.
“Hello,” he says, sounding like we see each other everyday.
“Hello,” I say, trying hard to mimic his tone. Then there’s a long pause as we take each other in. He is taller than I remember. Well, of course, he is a man. He’s grown into a beautiful rugged looking man. Judging by his clothes, a man who works with his hands. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks and am, once again, grateful for melanin.
“What are you doing here?” I ask lamely.
“Electricians strike,” he says.
“So you’re an electrician?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to school to become and engineer.”
“Oh, so I guess you need to file a claim. I can help you with that.”
“Great,” he says. Then he blurts “can I take you to lunch?”
____________
It is a beautiful day. We opt to sit at a sidewalk table. After a long awkward silence he says,
“You grew up nice, beautiful!”
“So did you,” I say. We both laugh, a little nervous laugh. After a pause, talking into his hands he says,
“You were the one that got away.”
“The one that got away? Really? What were we fourteen?”
“Okay, okay, at that age they all got away.”
“Did Margie get away?” I venture.
“When it came to her I was the one who got away.”
“You sure did. What happened to you? You disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Well, after you dumped me,” emphasis on dump “I dumped her. Then I started hanging out around Intervale with my cousins.”
“And school? You disappeared from school. I was always hoping to see you there.”
“Were you? I transferred to Clinton, all boys, safer that way.” More nervous laughter, then a long silence as I study my French fries. It is then that I see the ring. A wedding band reflecting the afternoon sun and I realize that my engagement ring must be doing the same.
“So how long you been married?” I ask.
“A little over three years,” he says “but we’ve been together since high school.” Something brightens in him. “You would love my wife,” he says. “She reminds me of you. She even looks a little like you. What about you? Looks like you’re engaged. Anyone I know?”
“I doubt it. I met him in college,” I say.
After that, for some reason, the conversation is easier. He tells me about how he met his wife. And I’m thinking what a romantic he is. He actually married his high school sweetheart! I can hear from how he speaks of her that he really loves her. I recount my version of meeting my intended. We talk about people we knew from the block. It is like old times but without the kissing. I tell him about my impending promotion and how I ended up in this job in the first place. I expect him to laugh but instead he looks serious and says,
“Gee, that’s too bad. I remember you wanted to be a teacher.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember a lot of things about you,” he says, locking onto my eyes the way he used to. I’m looking away, counting French fries. Presently, I say,
“You know, just the other day I got a job offer from the Board of Ed.”
“So you are gonna teach after all!”
“Well, no, I’m not gonna take it.”
“Are you serious? You just finished telling me how you didn’t take those tests cause you wanted out so bad!”
“Well, I’m taking them now! I plan to take every test they give. I have to face it. This is my life now! I’m goin for the money!”
“I can’t understand why you’d do that! But, then again, it’s not like I ever understood why you did the things you did!” he says a little too forcefully. Ignoring his obvious reference to our break-up, so very long ago.
I parry, “Because I can! I’m a good little test taker!”
Our voices rising, it is becoming an argument. I am not going to sit here and argue with him about my future! It’s none of his business!
“Sometimes,” he says, “sometimes, you just have to step back and decide what’s important, what you really want.” He pauses like he’s weighing whether or not he should continue. Then speaking into his folded hands in a near whisper he says,“Sometimes you shouldn’t just walk away from what you want. I did that once and regretted it.”
I’m confused. Are we still talking about my job? Shaken, and anxious to change the subject, get back to pleasant chitchat, after an uneasy pause I say,
“You know, it’s funny that we run into each other today. I was thinking about you not too long ago.”
“Yeah?” he says, looking slightly embarrassed. “What were you thinking?”
“I was trying to remember how we met. Do you remember?”
“You were staring at an insect.”
________________
At home that evening I take out the letter that I got from the Board of Ed. Placing it on top of the desk, I stare at it for a long time as disjointed thoughts and conflicted emotions ping pong around inside me. The meeting with Raymee is replaying in my mind. Strangely, it’s the words “You were staring at an insect” that are stuck in my head. It’s true. I was staring at an insect, the queen ant. The queen ant who was blown off course, who came to give me a sign. I always felt that, somehow, she bought Raymee to me. I remember being impressed with her tenacity. Struggling through what, for her, must have felt like a cyclone. Undeterred, she would not be sidetracked. She weathered the storm and went off to do what she had to do, what she was born to do. Without further hesitation, I reach for a pen and sign the declaration of acceptance.
