Complex

Steven looked into his baby girl’s eyes.

 

Those beautiful hazel eyes held the key to his world. From the first moment she had wrapped her little hand around his finger, he knew she had captured his heart. And every day that Steven laid eyes on his daughter, he felt a swell of pride at the life he had helped to bring into this world.

 

“Daddy has to go to work now,” he spoke softly to the infant. In return, he received a small giggle, coupled with a tiny burp, from the little life that lay in the crib in the one bedroom apartment Steven and his wife occupied. “But I’m going to work hard and by the time you are old enough to run around and play, it will be in a yard with green grass and a big playset. All for you.”

 

Another giggle erupted from his daughter's tiny frame. This put a smile on Steven’s otherwise stressed features.

 

“One day we’ll be out of this apartment and on our way to a better life,” Steven said as he bent down to kiss his daughter. “Till then, have a good day my little princess.”

 

After kissing his daughter and looking around the bedroom that all three in the family shared, Steven made his way out to the living room where his wife was lying on the couch. She had been suffering from minor depression ever since the birth of their daughter two months ago. And today, it seemed especially bad. One year ago today was when her father had killed himself. And even after one year, Steven knew it to be something that weighed heavy on her mind.

 

“How are you holding up there?” Steven already knew the answer, but wanted to hear from her what her thoughts were.

 

“I’m just tired,” she gave her standard answer for when she wanted to avoid talking about something. After three years of marriage, Steven had figured out what her different standard responses were. “What time will you be off work tonight?”

 

“We’re supposed to be done with today's project by four,” he replied to his wife. “Though if you want to visit your father's grave, I can talk to my boss about getting off a little earlier.”

 

To this, she gave him a defeated looking smile and then began to sob. Steve walked over to his wife and put his arms around her, sitting next to her in a tight embrace.

 

“What’s the matter,” he said soothingly. “What’s got you worked up?”

 

“It’s just that between my father and the new baby my mind is going a million different directions.”

 

Steven didn’t say anything. Only comforted her through his embrace. They sat just like that for a few minutes while she sobbed softly into his chest. And then finally, after most of the tears had stopped, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes.

 

“Steven I’m afraid of the future,” she said, a few straggling tears still streaming down her cheeks. “I’m afraid that since I’m not working that we are never going to get out of this place. I’m afraid that our daughter is going to grow up in the same cycle of shit that we both saw. I’m afraid that we both finished college for nothing because neither of us can find jobs that pay much more than we were making before college. I just want Jubilee to have a better life than we had growing up and better opportunities. And I’m afraid that is never going to happen.”

 

Steven put his hand to his wife's face and used his thumb to wipe away the tears which moved slowly beneath her beautiful blue eyes. An act that was in vain, as more began to come out, her head returned to the spot on his chest where she always cried, right above his heart. He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Mainly because he didn’t know what to say. These were the same fears that he struggled with every day. Had struggled with every second since his daughter was born. Alongside the intense happiness that he felt at having his daughter in his life, was the crippling fear that he wouldn’t be able to help her have a better life than he and his wife had growing up. So instead of saying anything, he kept quiet and let her sob into his chest. After about two minutes the crying faded into a few tiny sniffles and then she raised her head again.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said using her hands to wipe away the remaining tears on her face. “I know that I need to be more optimistic.”

 

“We’re going to make it Angela,” he said to his wife. “We’re going to get through this and in the end be better people because of it. Be a better family because of it. Any day now I could get a promotion, my boss has already been talking about it now that I’m out of school. And when you are feeling better you’re going to find something too. A job that you love and that utilizes your talents. Just give it some time.”

 

This brought a small smile to her face.

 

“You’re right,” she said. Then kissed him. “It’s time for you to get going. You don’t want to be late.”

 

Steven kissed his wife once more and then arose from the couch. Before he left though he put his hand to her cheek one more time. He looked deep into her eyes, down into her soul.

 

“I love you, Angela,” he said. “I love you and our daughter more than life itself. And we will make it to a better place.”

 

“I love you too Steven,” she replied, her hand covering his as she closed her eyes momentarily and relished his touch.

 

He looked at his watch, time to leave. Before leaving, he kissed his wife on the cheek and turned around, making his way towards the door. As he opened the door he bent down and picked up his tool case, preparing for another day of construction work.

 

“I’ll see you tonight babe,” he said. “Keep your chin up.”

 

Steven received one last smile from her and then went out the door, closing it softly behind him. He would miss breakfast this morning as he was leaving later than usual, but that was something that he could live with. His only hope was that his wife would begin to feel better and break out of her depression. But he pushed those thoughts to the side as he proceeded down the hallway towards the elevators which would take him to the ground floor.

 

The walls of the hallway were covered with graffiti. When they had first moved into the apartment complex a year and a half ago, the management would repaint the halls once a month. But over the past few months it seemed that they had given up, and just let the graffiti accumulate. That combined with the rotten smell of garbage which emanated throughout the hallway, coming from the trash chute in the middle, was enough to make Steven embarrassed about where he lived.

 

He arrived at the elevator, the doors opened before he even had the chance to hit the down button. The lone occupant of the elevator walked out, a man about Steven’s age whom he knew to be named Dean. The man lived just a few units down from Steven.

 

“How are you today Dean?” Steven gave him a smile.

 

“Another day another dollar Steve,” Dean replied.

 

He liked Steven. The man minded his own business and was always friendly to him. Dean turned and watched the elevator doors close. Then began walking to the unit he lived in. He knew about this time that his crew would be there, probably pissing off his girl. But he didn’t give a shit. All she did was spend money. And the only thing he was concerned with was making more of it. So she could complain all she wanted to. But as long as he could hustle, and as long as the money was coming in, then her complaints weren’t any of his concern

 

Music was already pounding from behind the door. The hard beats that Dean and the crew liked. The kind of beats that got him ready for the streets. Ready to make money any way necessary.

 

He put his key into the lock and opened it up, greeted by a fresh blast of chronic smoke emanating from inside the room like dragons breath.

 

“Yo Dean what it do homie,” he was immediately greeted by his closest of associates, Two Hands. The man on more than one occasion had used his talents to save Dean's ass. And out of all his crew, this was the reason Dean liked to keep Two Hands the closest.

 

Two Hands was standing behind the counter in the kitchen wrapping up a fresh blunt. The other three members of his crew were sitting on the couch in the living room in front of the kitchen playing some video game. They all turned their heads whenever Dean walked through the door.

 

“Yo mother fucker what’s happening,” CJ said as Dean walked over to the recliner next to the couch and sat down. “Fucking cops ain’t gonna keep the main man down for long.”

 

Dean had just returned from the police station after getting busted for a blunt he had been smoking when he was driving around. It was nothing. He was out about an hour after posting bail. And the city was so busy with the fiends and the killers that he probably wouldn’t even get court papers about it.

 

“A little money here and a little money there and I’m out,” said Dean as his man Nate passed a half-smoked blunt his way. “A little money is all they want anywise.”

 

“True that,” Starks, the last of Deans crew, said. He was mainly focused on the fighting game that he and CJ were playing but was half listening to the conversation.

 

Dean took a fat hit from the blunt. Slowly getting faded. It did the trick. Everything that had been troubling Dean about money and the police and his girl and a better life slowly left his head space. In its place was just faded clarity.

 

“What’s the plan, Dean?” Two Hands said after returning and sitting on the recliner next to Dean’s. He sparked the blunt he had just been rolling, bringing another into the rotation. “We ain’t making money just sitting here and smoking.”

 

“No lie,” Dean said. He took a few more moments to relish in the clouded feeling permeating his brain. And then began to ponder what their options were.

 

They had just lost their main connect for yayo to the feds. And unless his other connection came through in the next few hours then they were going to be screwed on the deal he had set up.

 

The plan had been to go by and pick up six kilos of pure white from the main connect for his partner who slang in the South. However, while dean had been in holding he had seen the feds bring in his connect. The whole operation had been shut down.

 

Unless he could find six kilos in the next few hours they were going to be out a mad amount of money. And he had been counting on that money. This was going to be the deal that finally took the crew to the next level. And the deal that got his girl and himself out of this shit hole building.

 

“Any word from the Dominicans?” Dean asked Two Hands as he was passed the newly lit blunt. “If they don’t come through then we’re screwed.”

 

“Nah,” Two Hands replied. “And to be honest I don’t think we’re going to hear from them. After our friend was taken down by the feds word was the Dominicans went into hiding. Taking time off to let the heat blow over and to make sure this is a one-off incident.”

 

“Shit,” Dean said to himself. “Somebody in this town has that yay and we’re going to find it.”

 

“I put the word out on the streets,” Starks said. He had finally put down the game controller and was smoking on the first blunt which had made a full rotation. “I should be hearing back in the next few minutes from somebody.”

 

As if on cue his cell phone rang. Starks picked it up from the table and answered it.

 

“What up?” he said.

 

“Ya of course.”

 

“For sure, thanks for the word,” The conversation was short. And as soon as he hung up he had a smile on his face.

 

“That was my brother down at the 5th precinct,” he said addressing everyone in the room. “He said that one of his informants just tipped him off about ten kilos coming in today for the Russians. The drop is going down at a warehouse by the old shipping pier. The deal they set up was for just one person from the Russian side of things to meet with one person from the Colombian side to make the drop. So there won’t much security. The drop is going down in two hours. He said to give him a cut and he’ll make sure the info doesn’t get to anyone else in the precinct.”

 

“Ten kilos and whatever money the Russians are paying for it,” Two Hands said. “That’s some straight dope right there. What do you say, Dean?”

 

Dean sat there for a minute, reflecting on the information. He wasn’t worried about robbing the Russians. They would be in and out before anybody knew what happened. There would probably be a crew waiting nearby on the Russian side of things to pick their man up. But if they were quick then they would be gone before anything could be done. And Two Hands was right, they wouldn’t just be getting the ten kilos, but also the money. Which would be substantial.

 

“Like you said we ain’t making money just sitting here,” he said to Two Hands. “Let’s do it.”

 

“Aw shit here we go,” CJ said.

 

“We’re really going to rob the Russians and the Colombians,” Nate protested. “That shit’s ludicrous.”

 

“What other option do we have?” Two Hands shot back. “If we don’t then our client from the South is going to take his business elsewhere. We’re back to square one then.”

 

“I know,” Nate responded. “But this shit just doesn’t sit right.”

 

“Mother fucker we criminals,” Starks said, passing Nate a blunt. “This is what we do. Just get faded and relax. In a few hours, we’ll be sitting fat and tidy on that good money.”

 

Nate sat back and hit the blunt. He was thinking about all the options and all the rewards. But after a few moments, he gave in.

 

“All right,” he responded. “Let’s get that money.”

 

Two hands looked at Dean with a devilish smile. The same devilish smile he gave anytime he was about to do something sinister.

 

“You heard the man,” Two Hands said. “Let’s get this money.”

 

Dean got up from the chair. He wasn’t worried about what they were about to do. It wasn’t the first heist they had performed. Hopefully after this deal, though, it would be the last. But either way, they were going to need some extra fire power.

 

“Check your weapons,” he told everyone in his crew. “I gotta get something.”

 

Dean walked to the bedroom and opened the door. His girl was laying on the bed asleep. She woke up after he closed the door.

 

“What are you doing babe?” she said. “Are those dumb mother fuckers still out there smoking.”

 

“Those dumb mother fuckers help put food on the table,” Dean snapped. “Show some respect.”

 

He walked over to the closet and opened it. What he wanted lay just on the inside leaning against the wall. An AK-47.

 

“What the fuck is going on Dean,” his girl said. She knew that nothing good was going to come out of him pulling that gun out. It meant something big was going on. And something big also meant something dangerous. “What the fuck are you doing?”

 

“Just some work babe,” Dean hated being questioned. And he wanted to avoid a confrontation. He didn’t want his head screwed up before going on a job like this.

 

“How long are you going to do this shit Dean?” she snapped at him.

 

Dean ignored her, pulling out an ammo case and bag that he kept next to the AK. He put the gun and six fully loaded banana clips into the bag and then grabbed three extra magazines for his Glock 9 for good measure.

 

“Don’t just ignore me,” she got up from the bed as she said this.

 

“I’m going to do this till I get paid,” a confrontation was unavoidable. “I’m going to do this till we’re out of this shit hole. Till we’re out of this life.”

 

“We’re never going to get out of this life if you’re dead Dean,” she said coming closer to him.

 

“What the fuck else do you expect me to do Shay?” he said. “What else is there for someone like me?”

 

“Not this Dean,” tears started coming to her face. “Anything but this shit. Every day that you go out I’m afraid you’re never coming back.”

 

Dean set down the bag that he had finished packing and put his hands on her arms. He didn’t want this shit before a job like this. But he loved her. More than his crew, and more than the money, he loved this woman. She had been with him since they were in high school. She had watched over him when nobody else had been there.

 

“Baby I got big plans in the works,” he said soothingly. “After today we’re going to be moving out of this place. And we’re never going to look back. I promise.”

 

She grabbed on to him and put her arms around him and tried to hold on tight. Her head rested against his chest.

 

“Don’t go, Dean,” she pleaded.

 

He pushed her away softly and picked up the duffel with his guns and ammunition and the masks that he had also put in.

 

“I’ve got to do this,” he said and then walked out the door. Not looking back.

 

His crew was ready. They were waiting by the door whenever he stepped into the living room.

 

“Let’s do this shit,” he said and then handed the duffel to Starks.

 

“Oh yeah, got the big guns,” Starks said with excitement as he took the bag from Dean.

 

They exited the room and Dean locked the door behind him. His mind full of thoughts of his girl and getting to a better place. As he looked around the graffiti filled halls of the piece of shit building he lived in, he felt ashamed. Ashamed that he lived here. Ashamed that he wasn’t like his brother and didn’t make it through school and into college. Ashamed at the way he made his money. But most of all, ashamed that he put so much stress on his girl when she was so good to him. And all these thoughts of shame pissed him off. So that when they were walking in the hall, and another tenant was standing smoking a cigarette, he looked at her and made like he was going to lunge at her.

 

“Fuck you looking at bitch,” he said trying to vent his frustrations.

 

Rebecca heard the laughs of the men but did not see their faces. She had cowered into the side of the wall when she saw the largest of the men make like he was going to lunge for her. She had seen them coming and going from the apartment across from hers before but had never talked or even greeted any of them.

 

“Chill man,” one of the men said to the one who was harassing her. “Your girl's got you all worked up in the head.”

 

They kept walking and Rebecca stood there. The cigarette she had been smoking on continued to burn, but she had forgotten about it. Instead, all she could think about was the horrid place she found herself in. All she could think about was the situation that awaited when she went back into the apartment. And as the sounds of the men talking and laughing disappeared behind the elevator doors, and the cigarette in her hand burnt out, she took a deep breath and opened the door behind her.

 

Inside was her girlfriend Jenna crying on the couch. A piece of paper lay on the table in front of her. It was this piece of paper that caused the current stress that both of them found themselves suffering from. A letter that had arrived in the mail yesterday that informed Jenna that she was HIV positive.

 

“How could you,” Rebecca spat out. She was pissed and confused and saddened and frightened and a million other emotions all at once. And this pissed her off even more. “You promised me you were off of that junk. And now I found out that not only were you still using but you were also sharing needles. What the fuck Jenna?”

 

This only made Jenna cry harder. She was curled up into a ball crying into her knees. Rebecca knew that she should be there to comfort her, but she didn’t know how. And she also knew that now she had to worry about this disease. And that scared her more than anything. Who knows how long it had been since Jenna had contracted the virus.

 

“I’m sorry,” was all Jenna managed to say in between sobbing. “I’m sorry I lied.”

 

“How long?” Rebecca questioned.

 

Jenna sat there and cried. Nothing coming out but tears for about three minutes. And for those three minutes, Rebecca didn’t say anything else. Only sat down in a dining room chair that she had placed to face Jenna on the couch. Finally, Jenna managed to get her crying under control.

 

“About three months,” she said, using her hands to clear away the tears which littered her face. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You promised me, Jenna,” Rebecca said again. “You promised you were done. And this entire time that I had been in school and you were supposedly at work you’ve been getting fucked up instead. And what’s worse now you’ve got HIV. For god sake.”

 

Jenna started crying again. But this time not as violently. It seemed that she had just about shed all the tears she was able to.

 

“I’m going to bed,” Rebecca said. “We can discuss this later. You should rest also.”

 

With that being said, Rebecca got up from her seat and walked into the bedroom. She crawled into bed immediately, not even bothering to change out of her clothes, and lit a cigarette. She didn’t like to smoke in the room. But right now the only thing she had to calm her nerves and keep her from lashing out at the world was the soothing feeling from the nicotine she was inhaling. And after finishing the cigarette and stubbing it out in a cup of water on the nightstand next to the bed, she passed out. Emotionally spent and physically drained from the current events.

 

She awoke naturally about seven hours later. Light was peering in through the window of the room. After picking up the phone and checking the time, she walked into the living room. It was four three thirty in the afternoon. Jenna was asleep on the couch, still curled up in the same ball she had probably cried herself to sleep in. Rebecca grabbed her pack of cigarettes from the counter and walked quietly out the door. She went only two apartments over and knocked.

 

An older woman who looked to be in her seventies answered the door with a smile. The smile quickly changed when she saw the expression on Rebecca’s face.

 

“Becca honey what’s got you down?” the woman asked.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you Sarah but I was hoping to talk,” Rebecca said with a downtrodden voice.

 

“Of course darling anytime,” Sarah moved aside to let Rebeca in. “For you, my door is always open.”

 

Rebecca liked talking with Sarah. About both the good and bad times. She found the elderly woman’s wisdom to be comforting. And right now she needed an ear and some good advice.

 

“Take a seat over there Becca,” said Sarah.

 

Rebecca took the seat offered to her as Sarah was sitting in the seat opposite her. The entire apartment looked like it hadn’t changed in over thirty years. Just stayed the same since the 1970’s. There was something comforting about that, Rebecca found. Something wholesome that was like a breath of fresh air from the graffiti filled halls outside.

 

She had once asked Sarah why she still lived here. And for the response a simple, ‘I have lived here for fifty years and this is where I will die’ was what she received. Rebecca liked that. A sliver of stability in what otherwise seemed like a chaotic world that was ever changing around her.

 

“So dear,” Sarah began. “What ails you so?”

 

“It’s Jenna,” Rebecca started. She didn’t know how to say it. In fact didn’t want to say it. Because she didn’t want to believe it herself. “She has HIV. We just found out this morning.”

 

“That’s terrible,” in Sarah’s face was chiseled an expression of disbelief. “The poor thing.”

 

“She brought it upon herself,” Rebecca was shocked as she spat out the words. “She never quit using heroin. She never stopped in spite of all the promises and all the help I’ve given her.”

 

“Don’t be so hard on her dear,” Sarah said in a soothing manner. “We all make mistakes. And the mistakes we make vary in degrees and magnitudes. But we all make them all throughout our lives right up until the end. Even I falter in my old age.”

 

“It’s just, how could she do this to me?” a few tears rolled down Rebecca’s cheeks as she said this. “How could she do this to us?”

 

Sarah picked up a packet of cigarettes from the end table next to her chair and pulled one out for both herself and for Rebecca. A pause in the conversation occurred during this while each of the women lit her cigarette and took a few puffs. Ashing in the large green glass ashtray sitting on the oak coffee table which separated the two.

 

“In the end,” began Sarah after a few moments. “In the end, each of us has to live with our own mistakes as well as our own successes. We each have enough to worry about committing our own errors, it doesn’t do to take on other people's. The best we can hope for is to work ourselves to be better people, with the knowledge that we will inevitably fail on some level. And help others to be the best they can through support and love. Especially those we love.”

 

Sarah paused to take a drag from her cigarette.

 

“I know after my son killed himself, and my husband left me for another woman, I spent over a decade blaming others for their mistakes. But it was only when I realized their mistakes were their own, that I was able to find piece. If you love Jenna, and I know you do, you will accept her for the mistake she has made. And if you love yourself, then you will not take on her mistake as your own. Simply try to navigate the muddy waters that we call life.”

 

Rebecca thought about this for a moment. What she was saying made sense. But at the current moment, she just didn’t want to accept it.

 

“It’s just,  I thought things would be different,” Rebecca finally said. “I expected my life to be different. I never thought I would be in this place when I was younger. And I dread to think where I will be when I am older.”

 

“Come now child,” Sarah said. “What is this life but a long series of failed expectations filled with intense bursts of unexpected joy in between. If life was as we expected it to be all the time, then we would all be quite bored now wouldn’t we?”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Rebecca admitted.

 

“What you have to do is be there for Jenna,” Sarah advised. “And in the process be there for yourself. It may be a long hard road, but if it is what is meant to be, then it is what will be child.”

 

Both cigarettes were finished at around the same moment. Rebecca took a final puff and stubbed the stick out in the ashtray. She had received the wisdom she had come for. And had plenty to think on. Now she needed some time to think about it and figure out how she was going to proceed. So she got up and hugged the old woman.

 

“Thank you as always Sarah,” Rebecca said.

 

“Of course dear,” Sarah spoke sweetly as she arose from her seat to let Rebecca out. “You know my door is always open for you.”

 

Sarah walked with the young girl to the door and let her out. Giving her one last hug before the girl disappeared around the corner on the way back to her apartment. She then closed the door and looked at the antique wall clock which hung in her kitchen. It was getting close to her supper. Time for her daily walk. The sun would be starting to go down, cooling the temperature. So she slowly made her way to her bedroom to fetch her walking slippers. And after she put them on and put on her bonnet, twenty minutes later she was at the door ready to go. She grabbed her walking cane from the umbrella holder which was to the left of the door and then opened and locked it behind her.

 

In the apartment across from hers, there seemed to be a commotion going on. A man was distressed standing at the door. Tears were coming down his face. She had to reach into her memory but finally retrieved the man's name, Steven. She had met him on a few occasions but only in passing.

 

Sarah walked across to where he was standing by the open door to his unit to see what the trouble was. And as she stood in front of him her heart sank and a heaviness came over her. Inside of the unit, in the living room, a woman lay on the floor with slit wrists in a pool of blood. The cries of a child came from another room within the unit.

 

“No, no, no, no,” was all Steven could mumble through the tears. “No, no, no, no, no.”

 

‘Oh, the poor child’ Sarah thought to herself internally. ‘Oh, how cruel this beautiful world can be’.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 11.03.2017

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