If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,21
sixty-two dollars today with the sale.”
Actually, no, I hadn’t saved anything. This was a one-hundred percent impulse buy. An impulse I could barely afford. But it felt like the right thing to do and so I handed over my debit card, and said a little prayer that the tip gods would bless me this week for my generosity.
BIRD
I wrestled several bags and an easel tucked under my armpit into the dance studio.
And five, six, seven, eight. And one, two, three, four . . .
I watched as a pale, lithe brunette was thrust into the air by a limber man. I wished I could be in the show, but the cast had long been chosen by the time Jordan got the gig. Jordan was the replacement for the initial choreographer who had left abruptly for another gig.
I tried to be discreet, but my bags crumpled, and the wood handles of the brushes clapped inside of their bag. Jordan spun around and waved me over.
“Okay, we’re going to break for forty-five minutes for dinner, and then everyone be ready, on time!”
“Help,” I begged as Jordan slid some bags off my arms.
“What in the lord’s name is all this shit?” he asked.
“I got it for Ash.”
“Ash? Have you even seen him since Thanksgiving?”
“No, but he told me he liked to paint and I thought this would be a nice thank-you.”
“And where is he going to put all of this? In his apartment?”
I had thought about that. And I figured I could just hold the stuff for him and he could grab it when he needed it.
“Oh whatever, he’ll find a way. And if not, I’ll return it.”
Jordan looked at me suspiciously.
“What?” I asked, defensively. I was a little ornery from carrying all the stuff.
“I’m not gonna say what I think,” Jordan said, rolling his neck and pushing his fashionable thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Oh don’t even go there,” I sneered.
“Listen, he’s homeless and probably fucked up beyond measure, but I’m not blind and I know you aren’t either.”
“Please don’t talk to me like I’m a child when I am only five years younger than you,” I said, passing him his bag-o-food.
“Thank you,” he said, snatching it. “Well, he’s nice. Well-spoken. Don’t tell me you aren’t intrigued.”
“I want to help him because he saved me from the worst thing that could happen to a woman. That’s all. He’s homeless for Christ sakes! I think my judgment is a little better than you are giving me credit for,” I whispered angrily.
“Okay, okay, my bad. And I am not one to judge. I mean if you had seen the track record of guys I have hooked up with . . . but in all seriousness, be careful. If he is coming over, make sure I’m next door. Tell me so I can check in. I know you want to be his friend, and that generosity of spirit is what I love about you, but there is still so much we don’t know. The streets are fucked up. And if he’s out there, that means he’s fucked up too, no matter how put-together he may seem.”
“I’m not naive. I understand, but I just want to help him. I feel like I owe him. And I will, of course, be cautious. Trust me, trying to help this guy has been like pulling teeth, so I doubt he’ll even come get the stuff.”
“I think he wants your help, he’s just proud or something.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He showed up on Thanksgiving, didn’t he?”
Jordan was right. But it puzzled me more than anything. If I want someone to be a friend, I talk to the person. If I need help, I swallow my pride and lean on a friend. But why was Ash so standoffish if he really did want my help?
“Anyway,” Jordan said, biting into a piece of chicken, “I am curious to see if he’s any good.”
ASH
TOO MUCH OF a good thing.
That’s what she was. I exist in a world of extremes, and I have to stay even. I couldn’t allow myself to go where she takes me.
When we sat over Thanksgiving dinner, I tried to not to look at her, just like I always try not to look.
She could light me up. She had her finger right on the switch.
If I allowed myself to become consumed by those things that made me feel exhilarated, I would become fixated. That combination—fixation and passion—always led to the vicious cycle that I was trying to break.
But I