I moved out of my house in Oak Park at seventeen. I was in school full time at Sacramento City College, and
working in a retirement home serving food. I had a one bedroom apartment downtown on N st. It was fu-uh-nky. Homeless people would sleep in the hallways inside the building. When I left for swim practice at 5am, I was always tempted to bring a blanket down with me to tuck them in as I passed by. I kinda wish I had. I have rarely regretted those kind of actions.
Eventually, I couldn't afford to live there anymore. By then, I had made friends on the swim team with nearly everyone, but especially to two girls in particular. One girl was a single mom who lived across the street from Sac City. The other was the lone Mexican on the team. She and I hung out a lot. She was from Los Angeles and would tell me stories about drug dealers who drove around in Ice Cream Trucks. And I would tell her about the whorehouse that was next to the candy store in Courtland. We had quite a bit in common. Ha.
When her cousin who lived across the street from her decided to rent out two rooms in her house so she could make rent, I happily volunteered. Another girl had the room next to me. She was a curvy, young black woman with an infant. The baby rarely cried. He was very solemn in the eyes and and a small, week voice when you heard it. One afternoon she was out in the living room with her baby. I held him in my arms. Soft dark curls adorned his small head in large whirls. He calmly accepted me, and even smiled up at me. I was inexperienced holding any infant and didn't really give him the support for his neck that I should have. He was strong, though. The mother stood in the kitchen, talking on the phone. Minutes later, she had changed into shirts and shorts and had the baby bundled up. A large white van pulled up and she climbed in, putting the baby behind the passenger seat. A man slammed the van door shut. I didn't see him, just his lanky arm.
I asked her later and she told me. Quietly. She asked me not to tell the woman we rented from and I didn't. She was very shut down and numb-looking around the eyes. But she also spoke of it all with a nonchalant acceptance. I had seen that not-home look before, in the eyes of my mother. I had no illusions that I was any different than this girl, just luckier. Chances are, if she and I compared stories, there would be more reason for me to be in her shoes and her in mine.I had always seen people running "the game" in the neighborhoods around me. But this was the only time I had lived with a certified player in the game. I often think about her and that precious baby I held in my arms- the baby with no name, a strong spine, and a week voice. I have prayed, and continue to pray for them both. Lord, let them be as lucky as I have been. Thank you for watching over us all.
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