Texas to Philly
I decided to leave Texas after an entrepreneurship conference in downtown Ft Worth. I wanted to start a business and had been looking around for information for awhile. But by this time I was tired of conferences. They seemed charged with a lot of momentum. A lot of confident people moving around them. But they never felt useful. It was like watching a group of construction workers run around with hammers and yellow hard hats, and realizing after awhile, they weren’t building anything.
A girl with bubbly eyes and dark hair convinced me to go anyway. She was selling discounted tickets to the conference in the main hall of Tarrant County College. I asked her if it was going to be good. She nodded, and said “It’s supposed to be very good.” So against my better judgment I went.
It was a small event being held late in the evening, at the nursing school up the street from the college. The Nursing school was brand new. Ultra smooth space grey concrete interiors, furnished with fuzzy blue comfy chairs and ergonomic tables. Yellow signs were bolted around the halls, to guide students from class to class. A few signs were put up the night of the conference to direct people toward the lecture hall. I followed them down an elevator and through a corridor. Just outside the entrance, the organizers were serving food. They had stacks of purple and white takeout boxes, spread out on long plastic tables. Some with Quesadillas inside, others with burritos. Each served with Spanish rice and little lettuce and tomato salads. I took a quesadilla box and a plastic cup of mango ice tea, then made my way inside.
The conference began when a lady at the bottom of the lecture hall warmed up a PowerPoint slide. She told us how the conference would go. It was a three day event, over the course of which we would form into groups and develop a business idea to pitch to three judges. A woman who had started a cleaning company. A guy who owned a 3D print shop in Ft Worth’s White Settlement neighborhood, and the presenter herself, who’d graduated with an MBA. When her power point ended, the lecturer asked us to introduce ourselves. Then she caught a twinkle in her eye. Her dimples quivered, like she was trying to hold back a laugh, long enough to finish a joke. And she said, “but I want each of you ... to introduce yourself … in a funny voice.”
She smiled and pointed to one person. He stood up and introduced himself in a silly voice. He was funny. He did a country Texas accent. A lot of “Well I do declare.” and “I tell you Hwhat.” The Foghorn Leghorn thing. Everybody laughed. I was mad. I already didn’t want to be there. I felt like I got conned into doing a presentation. But I laughed. She pointed at another person and they did the same. They stood up and introduced themselves in a goofy voice. This time it was less funny. But the game went on. She pointed at another person, and another person. Until by the end, everybody was talking strange.
…
7 Months later, it was late at night, and I was walking around my neighborhood before the morning flight to Philly. I was Trying to conjure up some sentimentals feelings. I was walking down the wide streets between each unit, reflecting back on what the past five years had been like. The apartment buildings in my complex were wood paneled and painted in a bright yellow color, that faded to butter during the summer heat. The arched doorways of each unit were built of brick, and our patios were shaded by pale green awnings. During the day I could hear kids running and laughing outside my window. At night the complex was stretched out like a constellation of farm houses. Everything was spacious and beyond silent. It was peaceful. Looking back, it was beautiful. But I was ready to go.
The morning came and my Lyft to DFW international. An hour after I got to departures, I was in the air, asleep. I woke up mid-flight when I heard the flight attendants pushing their cart down the aisle, handing out refreshments. They asked if I preffered a Biscoff cookie or a Nutrigrain bar. I had the cookie. The attendant asked what I’d like to drink. “Tomato juice, please.” She gave me a red and yellow can of Mott’s, and a small plastic cup filled with ice. It had the American Airlines logo embossed on the side. I popped the can and poured some over the ice. Out the window, a sheet of curly white clouds was stretched across the sky. Above them the baby blue air faded into a darker shade. Even higher where the atmosphere is thin, the color unravels into darkness. It’s space black.
I finished my cookie and tomato juice, and dozed off again. When I woke back up, everyone aboard the plane was plucking their bags from overhead bins, and shuffling out. I grabbed my little green suitcase, and made my way down to arrivals where a Lyft, headed towards North Philly picked me up.
It was a 20 minute drive. Most of the way the driver spoke to someone over the phone, very quietly in Arabic. When we reached North Philly and turned onto Franklin and Bristol his attention fell from the conversation and he looked around the street. Lam’s Kitchen, the Chinese store across from my grandparents place, had a window boarded up. Some sneakers were hanging from wires above the street, and there were some crushed red solo cups halfway in the gutter. The Alley cats were out. A black cat with short ears and green eyes, and another cat with brown spots like a chocolate cow, were playing with shiny black corner store bag floating around the street.
I got out of the Lyft and grabbed my suitcase from the trunk. My cousin opened the front door and walked down the steps. He was wearing a silk bonnet, some loose sweats, and a pair of wire frame glasses. He looked like he was wearing our grandma’s clothes. He helped me bring the suitcase up the stairs and inside. The house looked the same as it always did. The floors, the same beige carpet. The back wall of the living room, still tiled in diamond shaped mirrors. The large mirror in the dining room was still there, and another on a closet door. Framed pictures of the family, and foster kids, and friends from the community everywhere. Christian posters and quotes that said things like, “God Loves you and he wants you to serve him” or “Mathew 8:16. Profanity goes into a child's ear and out of their mouth.” Or above the coffee pot in the kitchen, a sign that say “All I need today is a little coffee, and a whole lot of Jesus.” Knick knacks and kitsch, throughout the house. Tiny flashlights, many of them, millions maybe, hidden in drawers and desk and cabinets. Post It notes with people’s phone numbers. Pennies not to be turned over before 2040. Bottles of witch hazel, and sweet oil, and anti-freeze. The house looked the same but the smell was different. The place smelled like blunt roaches and cat litter. On our way in my cousin told me “It’s been a lot different since Mom left.”
He asked if I was hungry. I told him that I was going to walk up to El Grecos and get a chicken cheesesteak. He asked if I’d come to the laundromat with him first, so he could get some cash. We locked up the place and walked into the Lucky laundromat behind Lam's kitchen. Inside, to the right there were a couple rows of washers, and a wall of double decker dryers to the back. To the left side of the laundromat was a plexiglass wall that the the store clerk was standing behind. The clerk was young. He had a very neutral expression. Not condemning or condoning anything, just watching.
Another guy was standing near the entrance. He had his hair in two long braids beneath a blue L.A Dodgers cap. My cousins recognized him. After he withdrew some cash from the clerk, he asked the guy in the Dodgers hat if he had anything. He didn’t. We headed inside the El Grecos and I ordered my chicken cheesesteak. My grandparent had known the owner George since he’d started the store. George’s daughters, tall Greek women, had worked the counter when I was a kid. Since I’d left George had retired. He still lived upstairs but didn’t work the store anymore. His daughter had all left to start their careers. I was about to ask the new counter girl if my cheesesteak came with fries. Before I could get the words out though, she cut me short, and said “It comes with fries.” It was strange. It felt like she read my mind. It felt like she was upset that she had read my mind. Like I had left something open, that was supposed to be shut. My cousin ordered a burger and fries.
A few awkward minutes passed, before our food was ready. She slid two large brown paper bags over to us, folded and stapled with receipts, then we headed home. Walking across the street my cousin recognized another guy. Tall and thin. Serious eyes, tight with puffy red bags underneath. My Cousin asked if he was selling anything. Today he was. They passed hands, and we went inside to eat.
The chicken cheesesteak was decent. The fries were alright. Kind of pale, limp. Not too bad dipped in ketchup though. Halfway through eating. I told my cousin “I feel like I’m acting strange. I’m being too bright” He laughed at me and said “Yeah, the way you ordered you sounded like an NPC”