I’ve dreamt about this girl a few times. A couple nights ago, to be exact. This time we ignored each other. Does that mean that I’m over it? It has been about three and a half years since we last spoke. Her last words: “Alright, Latrice”, nastily. An abrupt dial tone.
Okay.
I’ll start from the beginning.
It was Bronx Community College. Most likely English. Seemed like the whole freshman class was in it. She sat next to this rambunctious five foot one who I remember storming out one day because the professor gave her a tardy; 13th grade, indeed. I remember thinking, “Damn, she’s really following her out? She’s mad dramatic, but that’s your friend. Defend her, girl.” Everyone else looked around baffled. I remember her name too, but I won’t put her out there. Not sure how me and Miss Townes even connected. It’s been long enough. I remember hanging with her a few times at her outreach program and me thinking, she’s kind of cool. Loud. A little self righteous but cool, for the most part. She was always super reserved with her personal life, but spoke in code about it. A lot. Said she only had one friend. I wondered why. It was hard to read her personality at first. Couldn’t really place it.
Eventually, we started to hang outside of school. She was that friend that you could call to go anywhere or do anything. Ride or die is what they call it? It could be, “I wanna go outside. You wanna come?” She would be on her way already having thought the same thing. Until she wasn’t. Even with her eccentric ways, and they definitely were something, she was cool. She was cool, until she wasn’t. Other people around me were concerned about her. Often called her ghetto. Crazy. “Off the chain”. She could be, but I didn’t judge. We were cool until we weren’t. We never argued; rarely disagreed. We had some good debates though. I believe she went on to do Criminal Justice. Not sure if she finished. I think she did.
She struggled a lot with her spirituality, swinging her feet on the ledge of Islam, having been raised that way. She often questioned her ability to live the right way, but she was human enough to accept that she would and could make mistakes. That, amongst other things, jailbird first love who was in and out of her life since they were preteens, random rendezvouses in between, taking care of her household because her mom was a free spirit, made our friendship really interesting. I knew our time together was her time to escape… or to deflect. A bit of our friendship was crickets. Ignored texts. Dropped calls. You would’ve thought I was a bill collector. Scam likely, maybe. I was extremely confused because like I said, we’ve never even sideeyed each other. I did nothing to her. Her conflict resolution skills sucked. I was told by others to relax. That perhaps, she handled things differently.
A year passed.
She was as good as dead, until she wasn’t. I think she finally decided to answer a text or that she called and requested that we meet up. I contemplated a bit. Should I have went off? Should I have been understanding? Console her in her time of need? Obviously something was going on, but one thing’s for certain. It had nothing to do with me.
We sat in a Bronx diner somewhere off the Grand Concourse. Her approach was awkward, but comfortable as if we just saw each other the week prior. Over a steaming plate of pancakes and eggs, she proclaimed, “I just didn’t feel like talking.” You know that meme of that white guy with the ‘excuse me?’ face? That was I. Granted, this was long before talks of mental health and before I realized how bad I was at reading the room, so please don’t judge. I was pissed. In what hell is that a good enough reason to intentionally ignore someone? You weren’t in the mood to talk, for an entire year? A week? Yeah. A month? Maybe? A year? Eh. I think I asked her and instantly felt bad because I’m pretty sure my tone was less than welcoming. We made up, I guess.
Back to hanging out in lounges, getting wasted (well, moreso her), carrying her weight on my shoulder (literally) as she slept or involuntarily leaned on me, we were back in full swing. I remember the pictures of us cheesing at some rooftop party. Her dancing on girls and regretting it instantly. Me standing on the side letting my friend enjoy herself. Good ‘ol nights on the town. Standing in line at the White Castle, guarding her ass (literally) from some drunk white dude trying to grind on her. He knew better than to do that sh*t to me. If I was anything, I was people’s bodyguard. Creeps galore on those late nights. Another time, we got a ride from one of her long lost flings in a grey Mercedes. We got from Houston St to the Upper East Side in three minutes. I think I died three times.
All in all, she was my friend.
I remember the day I got fired from the law office, she met me on the train at Union Square and let me cry in her bedroom for hours. I was avoiding going home. She knew how my grandmother was. She just sat there and rubbed my back. I remember when this girl and her boyfriend stole from me (see Miss Martin later in the series). Miss Townes was ready to pull up. “Where she at, Latrice?! ‘Cause we could be there right now!” I thanked her but politely declined. I wasn’t ready to accept that I associated myself with hood boogers and scammers. Who knew that a year later, she would be lining up with the rest.
It was March 4, 2017. Around 10am, I called her during her shift at Nordstrom Rack. “Let me know if you want to hang out later.” This was regular. Something was off, but I didn’t sweat it. We’ve already established how she gets down. “I’m tired. I think I’m just going to go home. I’m on break now.” It was cool though. I was sitting in the living room with my grandmother as she braided Sylvia’s hair. Left my phone in my room. Didn’t think I would hear from anyone else. Something told me to go check.
Multiple texts and missed calls from Miss Townes. Um, aren’t you at work?
Phone in hand, it rung again. “Can you do me a favor? Can I borrow $1000 and I’ll give it back when I get paid next week?”
*insert white guy’s face here*
“Girl, I don’t have that. Sorry!”
“Okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll call you later.”
An hour later….
A call from an unknown person. “You know *insert Miss Townes’ name*?”
My heart raced as I hung up and called her phone. It went straight to voicemail and in a millisecond, the unknown number called me back. “Don’t call her. She’s right here.” Um.
“I was trying to be cool earlier but now I’m not.”
*voice in the background* “Tell her that you hit my cousin and if you don’t pay, I’m going to kill you.”
“I hit their cousin in a car and they’re going to kill me if I don’t give them the $1000. Can you please send me the money? They’re going to kill me. They kidnapped me.”
“And she better not call the police.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have that. Why didn’t you call your mother or *insert boyfriend’s name*?”
“I didn’t want to involve them.”
Well, fuck me.
There was a bunch of shuffling in the background and quite frankly, it sounded like a 3-way call, but I let her be. What I should have said was, “Sis, you’re at work and it’s probably your boyfriend trying to con me. And, bitch, you don’t even drive! You don’t have a license! Never drove in your life! Was you not just “on your break”? How the f*ck did you miraculously end up in a car accident? Get off my phone!”
Instead, I said, “I cannot help you.”
“Alright, Latrice.”
*click*
I sat dumbfounded, as Sylvia and my grandmother stared at me. They heard the entire conversation. Of course, Grandma got a kick out of it, letting me know that she didn’t like Miss Townes anyway, saying that I befriend too many ‘crazy’ people.
“Where you does find these girls? That’s ridiculous. So, where she said she deh?”, prying for more information, with a sarcastic cackle.
Told my cousin, who was in the police academy at the time, and possibly had the resources to track her down. He cackled too.
One big joke.
Sylvia mentioned that it may have been a scam.
Googled it.
It sure was.
I considered calling her job after, possibly passing by. Didn’t have it in me. I let it fly.
What’s crazy is I continued to hope that I would hear from her. Run into her on the train. I knew I wouldn’t, but I’m the queen of giving a thousand chances. Not as good as a thousand dollars. *ba-da-tskkkk* Maybe she’s embarrassed. Too proud to admit that she ain’t sh*t. Maybe, she forgot about it like it didn’t happened. Maybe she’s mad. Probably tested my loyalty and I failed. Easy way to drop someone. *shrug*
Or like she said and how I refer to her now in conversations,
Kidnapped.
She’s not your friend, that girl…
Til the picture on the milk carton flies,
Ella.
The Daily Ella 