24. It's Been So Long

Richie returns to Queens.

I’m thinking about you for the first time in a year. Okay, maybe it’s not the first time, but it’s the first time I’m completely honest about it, as if being dishonest to yourself in your own head makes any sense. Whenever something reminds me of you I have a tendency to push it to the back of my mind and do mental gymnastics to avoid giving in and picturing you, but that only makes the next time harder. And the next, and so on.

I put my headphones in as the plane takes off, watching the world fly by faster and faster until it’s below us and all I can see is the empty sky. I used to be afraid of heights. I mean, everyone’s afraid of heights, but I used to be unable to handle being up off the ground for too long. If the teenage me was on an airplane, a million miles up with absolutely nothing but air separating me and the ground, I would be freaking out, closing my eyes and pretending I’m on a bus until I will myself unconscious and hope to remain that way the rest of the flight. But for whatever reason, now all I can do is look out of the window, at the clouds lined up beside us, and down at the nearly microscopic civilization beneath.

From up here, the buildings, cars, buses, and trains look like tiny children’s toys, and the people are completely invisible. Only seeing the larger constructs around them prove their presence. I think about every single tiny person I can’t see; we must’ve passed over thousands by now, and I can only imagine what any of them even look like, let alone what they’re doing or if they have families or friends or pets, anybody or anything around them. Their whole lives are invisible to me, and that makes me think about all the people I’ve ran into on the ground who I saw completely but were still invisible to me. That’s how life is, there’s millions of people but we keep most of them far away and in our minds they aren’t fully people. Only when we get close to one another do we see the flaws, dreams, secrets and history that make them a person. For the most part, maybe we’re all in our own personal airplanes, looking down at the invisible lives around us, never fully taking it all in. I wonder how many people I actually know I’m passing over, creeped out by how distance can turn the ones who were once in our lives to just more invisible ants, with your memories being the buildings and cars that prove they exist.

In six hours, we are on the East Coast. In twenty or thirty more minutes, we’re landing. Over the next twenty minutes everybody’s getting off the plane, grabbing their stuff, navigating through the commotion of the airport and being harassed by the TSA. You told me once that the TSA is all just a show and how they’ve never actually stopped an act of terrorism on any plane before. I wonder if that’s changed at all since you said it as I leave the airport.

In another hour and some change I’ve gotten into a taxi and made my way through the congested traffic of New York’s highways, all the way to the doorstep of my Uncle T’s house. It’s four o’clock as I step on the curb and the cab takes off behind me. The sun is still out, and the weather is great, but the neighborhood is eerily silent. My uncle’s car isn’t in the driveway, but it’s not an issue. For whatever reason, I never removed the key to this house from my keychain. For the past few years I’ve been carrying it around the other side of the country without ever thinking about it.

At first glance, the house is exactly the same as I remember it. It seems frozen in time, as if it ceased to exist the day I left. That is until I see the kitchen tiles have been replaced and there’s a new, more expensive seeming refrigerator. There’s one less couch in the living room too.

I don’t know what I’m expecting when I turn the knob on the door to my old room, but I’m still taken back anyway. The room is completely empty, save for the old bedframe. Of course it is, but seeing it like this takes me back. The last time I stood in this room and it was this empty, I was seven years old. I had buried those memories deep in the contours of my mind with no intent to ever revisit them, but here they are being dragged up against my will. An all too familiar emptiness reaches out to me, and for a reason I can’t explain I have to leave that room immediately.

I wander back downstairs, making my way to the living room. This time, the pictures hanging on the wall catch my eye. The three pictures I’ve walked past countless times over the years, but now there’s a new one beside them. Hanging there is the picture of my Uncle Keegan, my mom, my Uncle T, then beside them is my senior photo from high school.

I hear the front door opening again. The moment I’ve been waiting for, or more accurately the first of many predestined moments. I walk back into the hallway. Uncle T is walking in, with his head, his eyes focused on the small stack of envelopes in his hands. When he notices my presence, he looks up. Immediately shocked, he almost drops the envelopes and lets out a small gasp before processing what he sees.

“Richie…” he says, partially in greeting and partially in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit,” I explain. “Sorry for not calling ahead of time.”

He shakes his head in surprise, then begins to smile. He speaks, his voice nearly breaking.

“It’s been so long…”

After an hour or two of catching up with my uncle, I go for a walk. I feel the life of the neighborhood around me in a way I haven’t felt in years. The sight of all the houses and streets, the sounds of New York, it all floods my senses. My journey starts off aimless, but deep down I know it’s not, and soon I find myself taking every shortcut I can think of. Soon, I’m standing before a familiar set of glass double doors.

I don’t know why I came here. I guess I wanted to see if at least some small part of my old life had been spared by the years. But on the other side of the glass is darkness, and if I squint hard enough I can see the empty space that used to be a busy cafe. I think of all the music and all the exotic flavors of coffee that once filled these walls, the small building that collected my friday evenings for almost a year. Noticing the sign beside me that reads ‘Space for Lease’ above a phone number, I want to give some kind of eulogy or moment of remembrance, but all I can do is absently turn away and continue walking.

My next stop isn’t empty, but I imagine what I’ll find here is going to surprise me nonetheless. I stand on the porch and knock on the door a few times. In a couple of seconds, the door swings open and a tall black man in sweats stands in the frame. His hair is cut as short and low as possible, and the lack of dreadlocks on his head trips my mind up from recognizing him immediately.

“Theo!” I laugh in almost disbelief.

“What’s good, bro?”

We extend our arms in a handshake that turns into a hug. He holds the door open and I enter his house. I begin to remember coming here after school, eating junk food, watching music videos and talking about grades and girls and cars and things.

“It’s been years, man.” he says, closing the door behind me.

“Too many,” I say, shaking my head and taking in the familiarity of his house. “What’d you do to your hair?”

He shrugs and runs a hand over his buzz cut. “Couldn’t rock the locs forever. Times change, Rich.”

I sigh. “Word.”

“So what’s life in Cali been like?”

“Crazy, man. I was supposed to stay there with my uncle for a year, but I ended up getting a job and renting an apartment with these three guys.”

“New squad, I see.”

“They’re really cool. You’d like them.”

We sit on his couch and catch up, I tell him about Los Angeles and art shows and raves and nursing homes, and he tells me about his newfound stresses, which are laid in front of my eyes moments later.

“Look who woke up from her nap.” Theo’s mother calls out as she enters the living room, holding the hand of a toddler. The kid is wearing pink pajamas and has her hair in braids. Mrs. Barnes sees me and freezes for a moment as if shocked, then a big, motherly smile stretches across her face.

“Hey, Richie,” she greets warmly. “You’re back!”

“Yeah,” I reply with a smile. “You know I had to visit sometime.”

“Well it’s good to see you.”

She walks the little girl over to Theo.

“Hi daddy.” the child says in a little voice that has only barely grasped the English language. Theo takes her into his lap and kisses her forehead. His mother pats the girl’s head and then leaves the room. All the while, I sit there frozen in shock. Theo looks up and notices my expression.

“What’s wrong, Rich?” he laughs.

“Bro…” I utter, still trying to get a grip on reality. “You have a kid!”

“For real?” Theo replies. “I didn’t notice.”

“She’s like… Actually here.”

“Yeah, bro. That’s usually what happens after a woman gets pregnant. You were there when her crazy mom announced it.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s different now. Actually seeing the kid.”

This little girl was now looking up at me confused, and I realized there was now a member of Theo’s family that I was a complete stranger to.

“She was born after you left,” Theo says. “If only you coulda been there.”

“What’s her name?” I ask.

Theo smiles and looks down at her proudly. “Sierra.”

The surreality of it only increases.

“Wow,” I exclaim, placing a hand on my temple. “You have a whole child.”