Things Fall Apart

I waited on the porch from 8:45 to 9:00 in the morning. We were supposed to go cook for some kids. I was a little nervous about the situation and frankly, tired. Nevertheless, I waited for Ms. T. for about 15 minutes. At about 9:06 a man appeared at the door, also waiting for Ms. T. I’ve seen him around before. He is another interesting person who, due to certain unmentionable actions, I believe he is in a gang too. We will call him Terrence. About 20 years old, his dark brown skin sets off his perfect locs. If I could guess his past, by the strange long-johns he donned, I'd say he was previously on a football team. He floats around the building at random hours of the night. Though he seemingly lives here, he doesn’t have a key. I learned later he is the non son-son of Ms. T. and the actual son of a woman who I have yet to meet, though her name has been floating around since my first encounter with this fateful house. We shall call her Nadia.

After calling and banging on Ms. T’s door for some time, she eventually came to the door yelling at Terrence. She wore a large white, floral night gown and slippers; her hair was in a doobie bun which made the tattoo of two tear drops on her left eye stand out. I don’t recall what tear drops mean but if anyone would like to comment on the meaning, please feel free to do so.

Apparently, she forgot our planned rendezvous. This was fine with me being I was overdue for some sleep and freezing my tocus off. After she apologized I said it was fine and opted to go back to my room. She stopped me and had me listen to her story. She spoke about the unfortunate events that occurred last night with her sons and the trouble they were in. she then stopped to note: “You always seem to be around right after something has happened.”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” I replied. “Or I’m just bad luck.”

After explaining her situation that resulted in a late night and two (hopefully) temporary new tenants I offered her some extra towels, blankets, washcloths and toilet paper. She then, offered me tea and a bagel. We spoke for a bit while she started the tea. She spent the rest of the time on the phone, catching her friends and family up on the situation. I sat listening while “The Hills” played in the background. Now that I think of it, it is a very ironic show compared to the situation. Eventually, I pointed out my tiredness and stated I should probably be on my way.

As I began to leave, she stopped me. She continued to tell me some of the sadness that occurred in her life and I asked her if she prayed on it. “I prayed, cried and everything,” she said. I’m not one for praying in front of people over anything besides food but for some reason the urge to ask nagged at me. Once again, my decision became a pride issue. Before I’m even sure I made a conscious decision I managed to blurt out “do you want me to pray with you?” She said yes. We held hands and I prayed. She began to cry. I hugged her, thanked her for the food and went on my way. Sometimes I wonder what God is doing to me. It's funny how things work out.

-O.T.