But I didn’t need to admit to her. “That’s pretty funny, comin’ from someone who goes into a phone booth to lie about sex to a virgin.” I guess I didn’t understand the Catholic thing, either.
There was an awkward silence while I looked at the baby some more. Maybe we could start again. I smiled at her. “He’s so pretty, Ursula. What does James think of him?”
A look passed over her face then. I don’t know what it meant. “I don’t know what James think. His mother sent him to live with relatives in North Carolina.”
After that, I didn’t see her much at all. I went to high school and worried about SATs and college and boys and my own problems, even if they were small in comparison. I thought she would come back to school with help from her family, but her parents seemed to want to make her pay the price for what she’d done. She didn’t come back, and I made other close friends, the way kids do. By that time my family had moved out of the old neighborhood a little ways south, not on Park Avenue, but getting closer. I had no reason to head back to the projects—Ursula was tied up in her own life and didn’t call me, either. As I think on it now, maybe she didn’t want to see pity on my face. She might have even thought I was wrong to feel it.
The service seemed to be winding to a close, and the priest was giving out directions to the church—this had been the wake, I later realized. The first one I’d ever attended. I wanted to pay my respects to Ursula and go home. I still wasn’t sure what had driven me to come. People had begun forming a messy sort of line to the family, so I joined in to wait my turn. It took a while. When I finally got near, Mrs. Aponte saw me and took my hand again, pulling me a bit closer to Ursula and James. “Ursula, your old amiga—you remember Rachel?” Ursula looked at her mother, then me, and said nothing. Her face was so full of pain, I wondered how she could even stand upright.
I had to fill the silence. “Ursula, it has been too long. I’m so sorry for what’s happened.” I looked at her, now full of trepidation myself, and put out my arms to embrace her. My arms hung in the air for longer than I care to admit before I let them fall to my sides. The she took my hands in hers, just for a minute, and held them weakly. After she let them fall, she finally spoke, deadly quiet.
“You come here now? After this? Where were you? You took off outta my life like a rocket. Now you’re here because you feel sorry?
“I know, you’re right. But we were kids. I didn’t know how to deal with what had gone on with you. Today I just want to pay my respects.”
“Respects? You ain’t got no respect for me. What are you thinking? Get lost, Rachel.”
I felt my face get hot as she leaned to take the hands of the person behind me. Her mother looked stricken but said nothing.
And so now I am walking back downtown, wanting a cab but finding no yellow taxis to hail up this high. The wind is at my back now, but it has gotten colder, and it bites a bit through my jacket. I make my way to Park Avenue, and a train passes by, making a racket and shaking the plastic bags that festoon the almost-bare trees. My face still burns even in this cold. I need to talk to someone who doesn’t hate me. I pull out my cell to call home. Peter answers, and as soon as I hear my husband’s voice, the tears come.
Yo Sis,
Playin hookie in the projects!
Tsk, Tsk
Love Ya