Sitting up, I observed the light rush of snowflakes as they danced past my third floor window. It wasn’t easy to make them out in the dark, so I crawled to the foot of my bed where the window was and looked down. Clouds of brilliant snow filtered through the street lamp’s eerie light, appearing like a ghostly apparition as they slowly spun downward to finally settle below. An impending feeling struck me, a slight churning in my stomach, an ominous warning of sorts – a warning that something was out there, on the streets, waiting for me. I sat silently, wondering at my strange feeling.
The noisy jingle of the phone from the living room interrupted my unconscious behavior, and I slid off my bed as I heard my step-mother’s voice calling me. “Natasha! Natasha, honey, telephone!”
As I opened my bedroom door, the contrasting welcome aroma of turkey and a strong, stale white hallway light struck my senses. Momentarily blinded as my eyes adjusted, I stumbled around the familiar corner past my parents’ room and into the small living room. There, a flickering grey and white television sat, forgotten on our tan coffee table. There was also an old, threadbare rug in the center of the floor and a cumbersome, rather ugly walnut-colored sofa stationed in front of the balcony sliding-door. The balcony beyond the curtained glass was unsafe and therefore unused. A pair of dense red curtains, not unlike a miniature version of what would be found guarding a theater stage from prying eyes, hid the outside world from our small apartment and provided a false sense of security to us within.
Blinking lights caught my eye and I half-smiled at our short, pudgy Christmas tree in the corner of the room, a portrait of plastic greenery and mismatched ornaments. Our weathered but beautiful angel glowed peacefully atop the tree and I paused to admire its gentle repose, the spirit of Christmas warming me.
My step-mother Cary was in the kitchen with her trusted flower-patterned apron tied tight as she scrutinized the bronze turkey she had been preparing for the last several hours. I watched her work from afar as I made my way to the phone. It felt strange having a white step-mother, and though I still hadn’t fully accepted it deep within, I respected her word and usually obeyed her. I smiled in greeting as I stepped into the warm kitchen and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey, is that you girl?”
It was a familiar deep masculine voice. “Of course it’s me, who else would it be?” I knew who it was, but asked anyhow, “Who’s this?”
“Who’s this? What do ya mean who’s this?” The caller exhaled in a mock-hurt tone. “I spend every day of high school with you and you can’t figure out who I am. Jeeze.”
“Don’t give me lip, honey,” I replied in my take-command voice. “I’ve got a lot of boys hanging around me at school.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, just a slight bending of the truth.
“Oh. Well, maybe it’s the phone, then. It’s really fuzzy. Wait…” he blew into it, filling the line with false static. “Natasha? Natasha? Whooosh…. Wow, no wonder you couldn’t tell it was me.”
“This is Jarod, right? Stop playing the part of dumb redneck and wish me a Merry Christmas.”
“Hey, ain’t that right. Merry Christmas sweetheart.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, whoever you are.” I enjoyed joking around with Jarod. He was funny at times, and had a handsome face. His only problem was his knack for getting into trouble. Not just minor stuff either, but with police or street gangs. Usually, it was just plain bad luck that prevented him from keeping his nose clean – just when he’d finish with one problem, another bastard would show up to pick some bone with him. But that wasn’t the half of it, really. Ever since his older brother, Dacy, shot and killed a kid down the block over a car stereo, things had gotten bad for Jarod. Threats, that sort of thing. But he was unlike the troubled elements around him. Better, above it all somehow.
“Listen, Betsy and Lamar are go’n to Micky’s for a little bit. You know, kinda like a Christmas thing. They’re meet’n out front. You wanna go?”
Micky’s Diner was the hangout for most of my friends. It was one of the few joints in the neighborhood that didn’t hand the money and food through metal slots like some kind of bank or pawn shop. Only a few blocks away, it was relatively safe and the owner, an old-timer named Jerry, was always friendly to us. I had been cooped inside all day and most of the evening, and going out for a little while sounded okay.
I turned my head and gave Cary the sweetest face I could muster. “Uh, Cary, would it be okay if I went to Micky’s for a little while? It’s just sort of a celebration in the honor of Christmas.” I saw her doubtful look and added, “Betsy’s going. And I’ll be back before daddy gets home.”
“You know I’d rather not..,” Cary sighed inwardly. She was still struggling with the whole step-mom authority thing. “You said Betsy’s going?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s the boy on the phone?”
“Lamar,” I lied. Cary would have said no to Jarod, and would have meant it. Lamar, on the other hand, was a well-respected kid in our neighborhood. He was one of those good news stories, with high academics and a strong and accurate throwing arm, the type of kid singularly plucked from the projects by annoyingly effusive and self-important college scouts.
Cary seemed reluctant but relented with a tired smile, and her step-mother authority remained untested and intact. “Don’t be long, okay?”
I smiled with just the right amount of appreciation and turned back to the receiver. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“And be careful.” Cary hadn’t been rich when she met my dad, but the shortages she was accustomed to were abundances compared to here. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t gotten used to the danger either. There had been fifty-three shootings since she had moved in with us last year, and seven homicides.
“I’ll be fine.” It was, after all, where I lived and had always lived, and I knew the difference between living in fear and living with it. I walked into my room, pulled on some blue jeans and my favorite brown wool sweater, and then washed up in the bathroom. I made sure to take only a few dollars with me, because I didn’t like carrying around too much outside. I walked through the living room, grabbed my cumbersome winter jacket, and bid Cary goodbye.
When I got outside, I noticed the front steps were icy, and I held the rusty railing as I stepped down to my friends. Lamar and Betsy were there, along with Jarod, and two other girls, Trisha and Carol. Betsy and Carol were buddy-buddy and stood apart from the others whispering and giggling. I suppressed my own amusement at the sight of the large Santa Clause hat Jarod was wearing. I trooped across the snow and tapped him on the shoulder. “Can I sit on your lap, Santa?”
He gave me a surprised look. “Well, of course you can, little girl. Just make sure you don’t wet your pants.” There was a general round of laughter at Jarod’s remark, and I gave him a light punch on the shoulder. He held up his hands as if I’d just done him a great harm.
“You hit a man, he’ll hit you back.” He looked at me with mock seriousness and folded his arms. I hit him again and began running towards Micky’s with my frosted breath trailing, “Last one there treats!”
Inside Micky’s it was empty except for us and Jerry, the owner. The six of us paying customers crammed into a four person booth by the window and sipped sodas. The conversation waxed and waned around scandalous gossip, flirtatious innuendos, and other carefree matters, and remained pointedly clear of anything to do with gangs, drugs, or violence. Engrossed I was in the festivities, I did not immediately notice the entrance of the shadowy man in the sleek leather jacket and black cotton hat. Snow curled through the doorway as the stranger entered, and the room filled with a swift breeze of chill air. I looked up in time to see the man staring at our table. I didn’t comment and tried to appear inconspicuous as he looked us over. He didn’t seem to be anyone I knew, but I tucked his likeness away in my memory, a trick I had gotten good at over the years.
The stranger exited the shop after purchasing some cigarettes from Jerry, and after a few moments I was tugged back into the flow of our boisterous conversation.
Before I knew it, the cracked-glass clock read 7:15PM. It was getting late, at least for Christmas Eve, and I knew my father would be home from work soon. He hadn’t had this night off in four years, “but one day, sugar, when we’ve got our feet on the ground, that will change. It will all be different, just wait and see, baby. Just and wait and see.” I had stopped believing in those childhood words a long time ago, even if I hadn’t stopped believing in my father.
“Wow, look at the time,” I ventured, trying not to be the wet blanket of the group.
“C’mon Natasha, it’s only seven,” smiled Jarod, boldly wrapping his arm around my shoulders. The smell of his cologne and minty breath warmed me.
“Actually, Betsy and I should be heading back too,” Lamar said, reaching behind for his jacket. “Curfew.”
Betsy smiled apologetically. “Yeah, big brother’s right.”
Jarod looked at us, a shade of dejection crossing his face. “Oh, c’mon guys. Can’t ya stick for a few more?” It struck me that Jarod had no real family to spend Christmas with. His father was a drunkard, his mother had left years ago, one brother was in state prison, another in a jail of heroin addiction. In a sense we were his family, and in ways we probably didn’t truly understand. We filled the roles of brothers and sisters, sometimes even parents.
“Jarod,” I said eagerly as I gripped his jacket, “why don’t you spend Christmas Eve at my place? My dad and step-mom wouldn’t mind, and we’ve got plenty of turkey.” He looked up at me with sad eyes. I shuddered with alarm and my voice trembled as I whispered, “It’s okay. Spend it with me.”
I didn’t care if any of the others noticed. All I could grasp then and there was Jarod. Maybe it was the fact that it was Christmas Eve and he was lonely. Or maybe it was something else – but I felt myself suddenly wanting to be with him. In a sense, to make sure he’d be okay.
He didn’t say a word – he didn’t have to. I knew by his face that as much as he wanted to accept my offer, he was not ready to take that step. Even though it was an empty apartment that he would be returning to, Jarod could not desert it, not like the rest of his family had. I walked out of Micky’s in a somber mood. The feeling of joy and unity dissipated as the cold air greeted me.
The street outside of Micky’s was dark. Many of the street lamps were old and rusted, and didn’t give off more than a dying glow. Snow licked lightly at my face as it clouded the air. The group of us started back with light conversation. I looked Jarod’s way now and then, and noticed he was smiling again. Nothing could keep him down for long.
He looked my way once and I saw something in his eyes – something that was understood by us and us alone. Slowly I moved towards him, and just as I reached his side, he stopped short.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know… strange.” He shook his head.
“You’re strange,” I said, bravely slipping my arm between his.
He gave me a bright, unforgettable smile, “Yeah, so you know what that makes you, right?”
“What?”
“A strange guy’s girlfriend.”
“Hey!” I elbowed Jarod playfully as payback, but it did little to hide excitement that flushed through me. I exhaled softly to get my bearings. We had fallen behind the others, but I was glad that we had. My fingers were tingling despite the cold.
It was as we were reaching my street that I noticed the long black sedan without its headlights on and the back window rolled down. It was slowly approaching us as we filed down the snow-softened sidewalk. My breath froze as the car rolled to a halt beside us and we stood, motionless statues, silent.
“Hey, you’re Dacey Hoyt’s little brother Jarod, aren’t you?” The voice came from the dark interior of the back seat.
Jarod stared into the dark car. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
Jarod remained silent. Like me, he sensed trouble. Real trouble.
“Good,” the voice continued without Jarod’s reply, “been look’n for you, kid. Got a message for you.”
I gasped at a sudden motion within the shadow of the car. Before I could react, sparks flew from the dark window and for a moment the gunman’s visage was lit by a brief, fiery glow. It was the man with the black cotton that I had seen at the diner.
It took a moment for rational thought to catch up to my imaginings. There was no report from the gun, no reaction from Jarod. I realized with shocked relief that he wasn’t a gunman at all. The glow was from a match that he subsequently tossed out the window after lighting his cigarette – one of the cigarettes he had purchased at the diner.
The man with the cotton hat flashed a badge out the window, which glowed red from the embers of his cigarette. “C’mon over here, Jarod. We need to talk.”
The conversation lasted a few minutes as the rest of us stood by with arms crossed against the wind. Jarod’s head hung low as they spoke, his eyes darting nervously about. Finally the conversation ended and the unmarked car pulled slowly away, leaving us alone in the city-silent dark.
“You okay, man?” Lamar asked, his voice hesitant.
“It’s cool,” Jarod said, trying to smile. “Look, I gotta go.” He turned to leave, but his glance lingered on me. “See ya soon, Natasha.”
“Yeah. Soon.” My heart raced in my chest and the desire to call after him rose in me like fire, but the words made it no further than my trembling lips. And the moment passed.
There would be no soon. He was going to be gone for a while – maybe not from the neighborhood, but from us. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. I wanted to tell him that everything would be alright, that we were here for him. That I was here for him. We had spent a good Christmas Eve together. Things would be okay. Better than okay, even.
As he faded into the veil of dark snow, I knew I should have said those things. But I didn’t.
So I hoped he already knew.
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