Fifty Nine: Harlem
Fifty Nine: Harlem
I was sitting in seat 34D wondering how the fuck, out of all the seats on the plane, I was sandwiched between the woman playing solitaire and knocking her elbow into me every five minutes, and the man with the turban. If he did in fact attempt to highjack the plane, I was pretty sure I’d be the first to go. I had gotten my ticket only 3 hours before the flight took off, so I should have expected a shitty middle seat, and yet somehow it still surprised me when I saw the tiny seat I’d have to wiggle my ass into.
How I made it 3 weeks without Gabrielle, I wasn’t sure. The days had been a blur. I could just remember small moments- getting up and taking Top Gun out of the DVD player and replacing it with another trite classic, lighting up a cigarette, getting up and pissing into the toilet. Truthfully, that was a big success for me. There had been times in the past during my depression that the bathroom was just too far away and peeing into a coke bottle seemed like a better idea at the time.
My mother came over to my part of the house every evening with dinner telling me to get my ass out of bed, I was just being dramatic, and although I pulled the covers over my head and told her to leave me alone, I was thankful that someone was at least making sure I was still alive in there. Barely.
Eventually Miss Solitaire tired herself out and put on headphones to watch on the on flight movie and Osama fell asleep. I just sat and stared, running every possible scenario through my head- what I would do if she wasn’t there, what I would say if she had moved on. I was scaring the fuck out of myself, but to be honest, it was an adrenaline rush that felt good. Gabrielle made me live. Sure, she made me a little insane too, and I tended to do the stupidest things when it came to her, but she made me feel alive.
I only knew where she lived because she sent a card to my Mom telling her that she was sorry she couldn’t come to dinner before she left, but would be home for Christmas hopefully. She would try. I had snatched the envelope and had googled the address in hope of finding out a bit more about her life in New York, where she lived, what her new world looked like, if it even compared to her life in Tulsa.
I got off the plane, with only a large backpack of clothes in tow, and made my way to the taxi stand where I handed the envelope over to the driver.
Truth be told, I was still angry with Gabrielle. I was angry that she left me so carelessly. I was angry that I didn’t mean more to her.
I pulled my sunglasses down over my eyes and watched out my window on the hour long drive into Harlem. It was different than the rest of New York, and yet it was nothing like the 1960’s images I had in my had- little black girls playing jump rope in the middle of the road or kids dancing shirtless under a spraying fire hydrant.
There was a lot of graffiti, a lot of teenage girls bundled up in winter jackets sitting on front steps talking on cell phones, a lot of construction. It was the only part of New York I’d never been to, and it was weird to look around and realize it was Gabrielle’s new home. I could only picture her in Tulsa.
Her building looked like I expected it to- a light brown brick- on one of the nicer streets in the area. There was a convenience store on the first floor, and I got pretty confused, but the man behind the counter told me how to get upstairs.
As I knocked, I could feel my heart beginning to pound faster and my hands beginning to get clammy. I’m generally not one of those clammy hands people, but I guess at that moment, the nerves did it to me.
The door opened, and she stood before me. It almost took me a moment to realize it wasn’t even Gabrielle.
I cleared my throat and looked at the young black woman holding the door open. “Hi, I must have the wrong address, I’m sorry. Do you know where this is?” I held the envelope out to her.
She looked it over. “Are you looking for Gabrielle?”
It took me a minute to realize she’d read the name on the return address, but once I did I nodded.
“I’m her roommate. Shaina. I’m guessing you’re Taylor?”
I nodded a bit. She recognized me.
“I figured you would be. Gabrielle talks about you a lot. You can come in and wait for her, or I can call her,” Shaina said.
I guess I could have just called her myself, asked her where she was, but I needed to make this a moment to remember. The melodramatic side of me did. I needed this to be right. I nodded at her and stepped into the apartment. “Would you mind? Don’t tell her anything, but just ask where she is… if that’s okay,” I added, not wanting to sound overly demanding.
I looked around the apartment, noticing a lot of Gabrielle’s things. I smiled faintly as I looked over and spotted the vibrant African painting above their kitchen table. The place was small, and a lot of dingier than her place in Tulsa, but it felt like her.
Shaina picked up her cell phone and began to dial. She had long black braids down her back and a similar bohemian feel as Gabrielle. She was standing barefoot in a long skirt and tank top. “Let me just find out where she is. I know she’s not working,” she said.
I had tried to work it out like that. It was a Sunday and I had hoped I’d come on a day when she didn’t have to be saving the lost girls of Harlem. I couldn’t help the part of me that found her new job to be a bit idealistic and trite.
I leaned against the kitchen table as Shaina spoke to her, and set my backpack down on the floor. I had no clue how anything was going to go, but I had faith she loved me enough not to send me back to Tulsa empty handed.
Shaina closed her phone and looked at me. “She’s 2 blocks down getting lunch with a friend.”
My heart jumped a little as I wondered who the hell it was. “What’s his name?” I found myself blurting out.
She smiled a bit. “HER name is Kiara,” she smirked.
I let out a relieved sigh and nodded, walking towards the door. “Which restaurant?”
“You don’t want to wait for her here?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? I flew across the country, and I haven’t seen her in almost a month. I couldn’t sit here and wait if I tried,” I told her.
“She did say you were a bit insane…” she smiled.
“More than a bit…”
When I arrived at Big Daddy’s Diner (I kid you not…), I could see her through the window talking to who I assumed to be Kiara and eating, surprise surprise, a salad. I smiled faintly and then paused by the door, scared of going in.
I have to admit, I was optimistic, and confident as well. I had to be. If I wanted my life back, I had to be confident.
I pulled the door open and stepped inside, glad to be free of my backpack now. I had left it at Gabrielle’s apartment and as much as it felt nice not to have it over my shoulder, I missed the false sense of security it seemed to offer.
I started to walk over to her but I could feel my legs trembling. I had to regroup or I was going to lose it. I took a moment to stop myself, closed my eyes, and then took a deep breath before walking towards her table again.
I walked over and stood at the edge of it, speechless, and having to speak on whim because I had nothing planned, for once.
“How are your meals this afternoon, ladies? Can I get you anything else?”
I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, I guess pretending to be their waiter as a joke or something. I don’t fucking know… but at the time, it’s what came out.
They both looked up, her friend frowning at me in confusion, and Gabrielle just staring, her mouth hanging open a little- much like I had looked at her the day she had told me she was moving.
“Taylor, wow,” she said a moment later.
It was not quite the statement I’d been looking for, but I forged on.
“I wanted to come and tell you, that if you wanted to apologize, I’m willing to listen. And I’m willing to forgive you. I’m always willing to forgive you,” I said. This part I had planned. “And if you’re not wanting to apologize, that I forgive you anyway. I’ll always forgive you anyway. Even if that makes me a chump. God knows you’ve been willing to be a chump a million times for me.”
“Taylor,” she said, but pausing as she was beginning to stumble over her words. She looked at her friend and began to stand up. “I’m so sorry. Can we reschedule? This is… Taylor, this is Kiara. Kiara, this is my ex boyfriend, Taylor. He must have flew in from Tulsa.”
I smiled at Kiara and nodded. “Just this morning. My plane was almost hijacked on the flight over but I think the bomb was faulty.”
They gave me questioning looks but I brushed them off. Gabrielle and the kinds of people she generally befriended weren’t the type of people to find racist jokes very funny.
I looked back at Gabrielle. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to speak with you.”
She nodded and looked at Kiara. “I’m so sorry.”
Kiara shook her head and said, “Are you kidding? Don’t be sorry. Don’t worry, I got it. Just call me later tonight.”
I pulled my wallet out and pulled 30 dollars out of my pocket and tossed it down on the table. “That should cover it.”
Gabrielle looked too stunned to even argue, and allowed me to grab her arm and lead her towards the door.
We stepped outside onto the bustling street and I immediately turned to look at her. “Listen, I forgive you. I think it was a shitty thing to do- taking a job offer, not telling me till a few days before you had to leave, not even thinking about how it would affect me. And then leaving and letting go of me. Not even fighting for me because God knows I think I’ve fought hard enough for you and after so long- not even caring. Just moving out here without a care. I think it was mean, and you hurt me, but that doesn’t change how much I love you. I wish I could be mad, and I wish I could be as nonchalant as you, but I just can’t. Even if you never apologize, I forgive you.”
She shook her head. “No. You shouldn’t. I don’t ever want you to forgive me for something that I did to hurt you.”
“I can’t help it,” I said.
“I do owe you an apology. I was just so scared of telling you, scared you wouldn’t support me, and I didn’t know how to choose between you and a job that was exactly what I always wanted to do. So I was trying not to- putting off making any decision at all. And I am… so sorry. I know I don’t say it a lot, I guess I just have too much pride, but you owe it to me, and to yourself, to expect an apology from me,” she said.
I nodded, and then reached out and pulled her close. “Of course I still want to be with you. I hate that you’re here, and I hate that it complicates things, but I fought for too long to have you- just to throw it away because you got a new job opportunity.”
She wrapped her arms around me and god… I wish I could describe it. It felt like the most amazing hug I’d ever gotten. At that moment, I wanted nothing more. It’s kind of like how a McDonalds Big Mac is when you’re starving. We all know that rationally, a Big Mac is not that amazing. Sure, they’re good, but at the end of the day it’s still fast food. But god… when you haven’t had one in months, and your stomach is hurting you’re so hungry, nothing has ever tasted better.
“You waited for me for 4 years. I would wait a lifetime for you,” I told her quietly.
She smiled and brought her hand to the back of my neck, pulling my head back and hers as well. She looked at me and brought her lips in, giving me a firm simple kiss before pulling back. “Where do you come up with these cheesy sayings…” she muttered, resting her cheek against my shoulder again.
“I watch a lot of chick flicks…” I sighed.
She laughed a little and squeezed me tighter. “God… I missed you.” She didn’t often say things like that, so I closed my eyes and let it sink in, trying to cement the memory into my mind for the rest of time.
I pulled away from her a moment later and reached into my back pocket, pulling my wallet out again. I pulled out an index card with my own handwriting on it and held it out to her. “Get us here,” I said.
There was an address written on it.
She squinted at it and then hailed for a taxi- knowing not to ask questions with me at this point.
When we arrived at 508 Lenox Avenue, Harlem, I was pretty pleased. Sure it wasn’t beautiful. The building was old and the neighborhood was alright at best, but there was ivy growing up the side of the brick and I knew based on that, the inside had to be at least a bit picturesque.
I went over to the keypad and typed in the code, 4446, and then pulled the heavy door open, holding it for her.
“Where are we?” she asked, stepping inside and beginning to go up the stairs. I followed her, finding the hallway to look pretty similar to the place she was living- maybe just a bit nicer.
I didn’t answer, just walked over to #4 at the top of the stairs and pushed the door open. “The realtor said he’d leave the door unlocked so we could get inside. I said we’d call him once we got here. He’s going to come down so I can sign all of the papers,” I said.
I stepped inside the room and looked around at the honey hardwood floors that ran throughout the apartment. It was beautiful actually. Sure, it wasn’t the Taj Mahal, but if you had told me I was smack dab in the middle of what was considered to be the ‘seedy’ part of New York City, I would have never believed you.
I walked towards the kitchen, which was surprisingly large, and laughed at the apricot colored walls. “Alright, so the kitchen is definitely going to need a paint job.”
Gabrielle walked in a moment after me, and placed her hand on my back. She smiled. “I’m thinking red. Deep red. It will inspire some zesty Italian dishes.”
“Yeah, Papa John’s delivery,” I smirked.
I’m glad I didn’t need to explain anymore than I had. She knew what I’d done. She knew me well enough to know what a nut I was.
“I don’t expect you to live with me. Of course I’d want you to, but I know you have a roommate and wouldn’t want to ditch her necessarily, so I respect what makes the most sense for you,” I said.
She wrapped her arm a bit tighter around my waist, squeezing me lightly. “Whatever makes the most sense, we are going to get our use out of this kitchen. This is huge for New York.”
I turned to face her, resting my forearms down on her shoulders and looking at her. “If you have to take a job one day in Zimbabwe, I’ll be right there with you. I’ll go anywhere you want me to go, as long as it means I can still have you.” I glanced towards the window and smiled, looking out at the streets of Harlem. “And if that’s Harlem… well, I’ll move to Harlem. Pending I don’t get shot walking down the street,” I smirked.
She smiled. “Oh come on, you have a much higher chance of being stabbed than shot.”
I laughed, surprised she wasn’t annoyed about my joke.
I leaned down and kissed her again. It was nothing earth shattering, but it felt amazing to kiss her again. Suddenly every ounce of anger I’d been feeling before was gone. Sure, I knew that one day we’d get into a fight, and I’d throw everything in her face again. That was how love worked- like it or not. But at that moment, everything felt right, believe it or not- even if my first piece of owned real estate was in the middle of Harlem of all places.
“The moving truck will be here tomorrow with all of my things. It’s going to take some fancy schedule juggling to figure out how to be in Tulsa enough for work and Ezra and Penny, but I’ll do whatever I have to do,” I said.
“You can sleep on my couch tonight, till you get your things and we figure everything out,” she said.
I smirked. “Oh, no, don’t you worry. I’ve thought ahead. The mattress is expected to be delivered…” I glanced down at my watch. “Within the next 2 hours. Spending my first night back with you on your couch? Please…”
I signed the papers for my first place later that afternoon, and our mattress was delivered only 3 hours late. We cracked open beers, ordered Papa John’s because it was the only thing suiting at that point, and passed out sometime together around 2 am, tipsy on Coors Light and drunk on each other.
It wasn’t the story I always expected to tell, and to be honest, I don’t know the next chapter. For all I know, we’ll end up in that tent together in Zimbabwe.
I wish this story had an ending more worthy- a frantic run through the airport, trying to stop her before she flew out, or an unexpected proposal in the middle of Times Square- a romantic kiss and strangers clapping- our names projected large above the Cup of Noodles.
But this is it. As it happened. The story of Gabrielle Carter, and Taylor Hanson. It’s the story of our wrongs, and the story of our rights. The story of our lowest of low points, and the victories that have never felt so good. As much as I like to think it, we’ll never be a perfect couple. I’ll always be a little bit dramatic, insistent, and insane, and she’ll always be a little bit of a prideful feminist bitch. But I love that prideful feminist bitch, more than anyone else in the world, and more than I honestly thought that I could. And I love her more for how much she’s willing to put up with, and yet for how she forces me to be my best. And believe it or not, I love her more for her own mistakes, because at least I don’t always have to be the apologetic fool all the time.
I still see that life- the house on a big lot, the kids, the family dinners. But if for some reason we spend the rest of our lives just together, in a small apartment in Harlem, sitting around a mattress in the middle of the living room sharing a slice of Papa John’s, I’ll take it. When it comes to Gabrielle, I don’t think there’s much I wouldn’t take. She’s worth the world, and I intend, for the rest of my existence, to do everything in my power to give it to her. Because in the end, she matters more than anyone else, and nothing, or no one, could ever compare.
Not even close.