The Coldest Winter Ever

  “I’m asking the questions, young lady,” the Indian doctor with the dot said, like I was a lowly soldier in her army. “When was your last period?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Try to remember.”

  “I can’t remember.”

  When it was all said and done I was three months pregnant, or more.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked with a sickening look of concern.

  “I want to get rid of it right now. Give me the abortion.”

  Pulling the rubber gloves off her hands, one finger at a time, she said, “Not so fast. Have you given this any thought, there are options to consider.”

  “Look, on your commercials you said, “It’s a lady’s choice.’ You do abortions? Now get it out.”

  The doctor got up from the chair with the wheels on it. She went to the counter with her back toward me. I’m like, This bitch is crazy. She acts like this is personal.

  “See the nurse on the way out. She’ll give you an appointment for your termination. If you wait too long this can get real messy.”

  “What’s wrong with now?” I asked her.

  “There’s another doctor who performs the procedure. You’ll have to schedule it with the nurse now.” I went right away to the nurse. It only took me two minutes of talking to convince her that I needed to be scheduled to abort tomorrow. “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for pushing me over the three-month line, now, would you?” I challenged her.

  Back at the apartment I was seated at the kitchen table. Rapid picture frames flashed through my head. I traced the baby back to Boom. It was either him or GS’s asshole bodyguard. I wished it was Bullet’s. I knew it wasn’t because I was too far along. I remember the first time me and him fucked ’cause it was on my birthday. Images merged as I made comparisons in my mind. Boom had silky hair. Bullet has naps in a Caesar cut. Boom was yellow, Bullet is brown. Boom has hazel eyes. Bullet has brown eyes. If it was Bullet’s baby he would marry me, give me the whole world, the whole nine yards. But it’s Boom’s or the other guy’s. There was no way to be sure. I couldn’t front it off. So I’d get it scraped out first thing tomorrow.

  “What you been doing all day?” Bullet’s suspicious ass asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you go out?”

  “No.”

  “How come you didn’t pick up the phone when I called?”

  “I was probably at the incinerator emptying the garbage. Why you didn’t page me? You usually page me,” I turned it around on him.

  “I did page you,” he said, staring dead in my eyes.

  “I didn’t get no beep!”

  “Then you must of been on the subway. That’s the only way you didn’t get my beep.”

  I got up, pulled my pager off my side and said, “Oh damn, I need a new battery.”

  Bullet spent the rest of the night in the walk-in closet, with the door closed and locked.

  The 11 A.M. train to the clinic was packed. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about what was about to happen. I mean, Bullet didn’t come to bed before I went to sleep. Even though this gave me the opportunity to clip three hundred from his coat, which he left draped over the chair, I was nervous. He didn’t kiss me before he left. I didn’t even hear him make a sound before he bounced. Would I be able to conceal the abortion without leaving a clue?

  These thoughts converted into new thoughts when my eyes caught the front page of the New York Daily News. The man in the trench coat sitting right across from me was reading the paper. He had it held up with both hands in front of his face. It wasn’t the headline or the big picture in front. It was a bold line typed across the top of the paper. Rap Star Bodyguard Found Dead. My eyes locked in on the sentence. I read it over and over again. Immediately I got up. I started walking slowly through the moving, packed train car, looking left to right. I knew someone would have left a Daily News on the train after being done with it. When the train paused for a stop, some people got out. That’s when I got my hands on the paper.

  As I suspected, there was the face of the asshole from the other night, Tony, GS’s bodyguard. It was a picture I guessed came from his high school days. He looked younger, with a big doofy smile. His full name was written underneath the photo. I never knew his last name was Creighton.

  Rap star GS lost friend and bodyguard, Tony Creighton, 22, who was gunned down with three bullets to the head. Police don’t yet know the time of the incident. The body was discovered yesterday afternoon in a vacant lot located on …

  Then they had the mother of the bodyguard saying he was such a good boy. He volunteered to feed the homeless on the holidays, blah, blah, blah. People were always talking shit like that after somebody dies. Everybody gets together and starts lying about how a motherfucker was all this or that. He wasn’t no saint when his ass was laying up in that bed pretending to be GS that night, fuck him.

  I was only concerned about one thing, myself. This abortion shit had to go smooth. I didn’t want Bullet coming after me. I could get this behind me. It wasn’t like I cheated on Bullet or nothing. This happened before me and him hooked up. But it didn’t matter. I knew that. I just needed to get rid of it and give him no reason to suspect me of nothing. I mean me and Bullet just clicked together. We were thick like that, business and lovers.

  As soon as I got to the clinic the nurse started asking me stupid questions.

  “Did you come here alone?”

  “Yeah, why you got a problem with that?”

  “Did you drive or take public transportation?”

  “Why?”

  “Answer the questions please, miss.”

  “I took the train.”

  “Okay. You’ll need to take this pill.” She handed me a big pill with one of those small white paper cups. The kind that are only good for one drink before they crumble. “Once the procedure is completed, you’ll probably feel disoriented. You cannot drive a car. You should really have a companion with you in case you don’t feel well and need assistance getting home. Is there anyone you can call to pick you up?”

  “Yeah. I have a ride coming for me,” I lied.

  She would read my chart, then look back at me. “Good, you’re eighteen. You’ll need to sign these papers.” After they got my promise not to sue if they accidentally killed me on the operating table, I gave them the three hundred dollars.

  The doctor came in. It was a man. He held my hand while someone else gave me an injection. “You may taste a salty solution in your mouth, it’s OK.” Then the machine roared. It sounded like a vacuum cleaner. What seemed like only minutes later, the machine stopped. In my head, I heard the voice of the girl from the waiting room yesterday, “one, two, three, over.”

  First everyone left the room. The nurse came in and began stuffing big pads in my middle. The kind I would never choose to wear, like diapers or something.

  “This is to absorb the bleeding. If the heavy bleeding doesn’t stop by tomorrow evening, call us immediately. But you should continue to have bloody spots.” She handed me another pill and a paper cup.

  “This is to help stop infection.” She handed me a small white envelope with six more pills in it. “Take these three times a day for two days. Do not bathe. Do not engage in sexual activity for the next four weeks to avoid infection. You need time to heal.” She left me alone in the small room. I was fine until I got down from the table to stand up. The stuff in the room was moving around like I was in space. It was hard for me to stand straight. I looked at my Rolex and the numbers started to float off the face. The nurse busted back into the room as I was crouched over, trying to pull my pants up.

  “Let me help you. Do you feel dizzy?”

  “Yes.”

  “This happens to some people. You don’t need to worry. You will need to lie down. Has someone arrived to pick you up?”

  “No.”

  “Just as I thought.”

  She escorted me to a different small room with a small ba
sic bed. She helped me to lie down. Without notice, I slept. About two hours later I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “You can go now. It should be OK. We need to use this bed for another patient right now.” I felt much better. Everything was steady. I headed home.

  19

  At the apartment, I ate, then slept. When I woke up, I left out to go to the drugstore. I purchased some pads for heavy-duty flow.

  I cleaned everything up. I checked and rechecked to make sure the apartment had no trace of nothing that happened today or yesterday. As I sat at the kitchen table, I felt down-low. I didn’t know why. It was like something was pulling me down, making me feel deep depression. It was something I couldn’t control.

  The lower I felt, the more I thought of Daddy. The more I thought of Daddy, the lower I felt. Tears started running down my face. I picked up the telephone.

  “Excuse me. Can I have the number for Riker’s Island … Thank you … Prisoner information please. Yes, my father, Ricky Santiaga, was incarcerated at your facility almost a year ago. I came to visit him and was told he was shipped out. Is there any way I can find out where they sent him? No, I don’t remember his prison number. Yes, I’ll hold on … He’s on Riker’s Island? But the corrections officer told me they moved him out. Oh, they moved him to another building? Twenty-three-hour lockup? Can he have visitors? Noncontact twice a week for one hour only. Tomorrow.”

  I couldn’t believe it. My pops was at Riker’s all along. The fucking fake cop lied to me. Bullet knew. I knew he knew. The problem is, he didn’t want me to know. I said I would find out myself. I will visit Daddy tomorrow. Nothing and nobody would stop me.

  Bullet came through the door quietly that night. I was up. “How you doing, baby?” I greeted him with a hug.

  “Joey said you went out yesterday for three hours.”

  “Joey who?”

  “Downstairs, the doorman.”

  “You know his name? Why is he all in my business?”

  “Where were you?” Bullet asked, looking dead into my eyes.

  “I went shopping.”

  “What did you buy?”

  “I didn’t see nothing I liked.”

  “Are you lying to me? I told you never to lie to me.”

  “I went window-shopping. It wasn’t nothing. I was gonna ask you for some money. I just went to look at a few things.”

  “Why did you say you didn’t go out?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, it was stupid. I don’t know. It won’t happen again.” I couldn’t arrange my words fast enough. Bullet had me all off guard.

  “What won’t happen again? You won’t go out again?”

  “No, I’m saying I’ll let you know if I’m going out and where I’m going.”

  A dick-suck cures everything. So I unfastened Bullet’s belt, dropped down to my knees and went to work. I centered myself so he could see my lips sucking and pulling. So he could see my tongue.

  He needed to know he was the boss. I had no problem with that. When I saw his mouth open wide, a look of pain covered his face, but I knew it was just the ecstasy of him busting in my mouth. He got down on the floor with me and we talked.

  “Baby, you’re fucking up my head,” he said in a soft tone, the anger removed from his voice. “When you fuck up my head, you fuck up my business. I can’t let nobody fuck up my business.”

  “I ain’t doing nothing, Bullet. I swear it’s all about you and me, that’s it. You think I’m leaving this good dick alone, you crazy.” He smiled.

  “This dick is good, ain’t it?”

  “It’s the best.”

  “Would you die for me?” he asked.

  “Baby, I’d lie for you, ride for you, die for you. But if I die for you, I couldn’t have no more of this good dick.” I laughed, feeding his ego. I needed to shift him off of thinking I did something I didn’t do.

  He rolled on his side with another hard-on. He began to undo my pants.

  “I’m on my period,” I said, trying not to panic. I bent over to lick his balls again.

  He pulled my head up and said, “A nigga wants pussy. This is my pussy, right?” he questioned. I answered with a nod. “A little blood ain’t gonna hurt this big dick.” He was all up in me. How can I describe the feeling? It wasn’t pleasure. It wasn’t pain. It was nothing, like a dick plunging into an ocean. But still, I conjured up some moans for him.

  I grabbed the tech nine out of the small drawer in the dresser next to the bed. It was early morning. There were crazy noises coming out of the living room. If somebody besides Bullet was in there, they was about to catch a bad one. As I yanked open the bedroom door, standing behind it with the tech, I heard growling. Not human noises, but like an animal. Walking backwards, I stepped away from the door. I heard running, barking, then howling. Then I heard chains buckling. Motherfucking Bullet had two rottweilers in our NO PETS ALLOWED building. Vicious-looking, no-nonsense killer dogs with a chain that allowed them to roam the entire length of the living room and kitchen and two feet into our bedroom.

  “Bullet! Bullet!” I yelled out to him. “Are you home? What the hell’s going on?” But he wasn’t here. I sat on the bed with the tech, debating. Them fucking dogs sat and stared as if all they needed was one miracle to pop the chain and eat my ass alive. I used the bedroom phone to page Bullet. Minutes later he called back.

  “What’s up baby, talk fast …”

  “What’s up with these fucking dogs?”

  “My bitches?”

  “Yeah, your bitches!”

  “Them some loyal bitches. They do whatever I tell them to do. I tell them to sit, they sit. I tell them to stay, they stay. Are you loyal, Winter?”

  “You goddamn right I’m loyal and I’m ready to blast your bitches to pieces.”

  “That would be dumb. You would draw attention to yourself, cops, neighbors, the whole nine.”

  “The barking dogs is gonna draw attention.” I tried to reason with him.

  “If you don’t bother them, they won’t bark. Just close the bedroom door and stay put.”

  “You crazy,” I told him, without hostility.

  “Yeah, your pussy smelled funny yesterday.” Click. He hung up.

  I was vexed that I couldn’t get out to see Pops. If I missed the one-hour visit today, I won’t be able to visit again for another four days. By evening time, that was the least of my worries. I couldn’t leave the bedroom, so I couldn’t eat. All I had was a bag of Lorna Doone cookies that Bullet had been eating in our bedroom last night. The hungrier I got, the hungrier the dogs got. By midnight, they were growling and so was I. My stomach was roaring and the pills that the nurse had given me was wrecking me on a damn near empty belly. That night, Bullet never came in. In the morning, I paged him but he didn’t call back. My mouth was so dry from the Lorna Doone cookies, I started drinking tap water out of the bathroom in our bedroom.

  For two nights and three mornings, I was held hostage by the dogs.

  Finally Bullet came in with somebody else. I could hear them talking. I listened as he fed the dogs before feeding me. He didn’t even open the bedroom door to look in on me first. I wasn’t gonna open the bedroom door. I was too mad and too weak.

  A half-hour later, the bedroom door opened. He stood in the entrance with a big smile. The same smile that I found so seductive.

  “Where are those dogs?” was the first question I asked.

  “I sent Joey to walk them.”

  “What was Joey doing up here?”

  “Someone had to clean up the dog shit.”

  “I’m hungry,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, so you remember who feeds you?”

  “I never forgot.”

  “Good.” Bullet carried me off the bed and into the kitchen. He had two big breakfast take-out orders ready for me and a large container of orange juice. I ate without a word.

  “Get dressed. Take a walk with me,” Bullet demanded. As I was learning not to resist him, I followed his instructions. When we re
ached the lobby, Bullet untied the killer rottweilers from the outside black gate where the frightened but greedy doorman, Joey, watched from a distance. We walked with the dogs, who, in Bullet’s presence, somehow turned friendly—two-faced bitches.

  “I gotta make a run. I’m taking you with me.” I smiled ’cause I like to travel. But then I thought about my father and how it’s been too long since I’ve seen him.

  “That’s right. If I leave you here, I don’t know what you’ll get into. I know if I was the next nigga I’d be willing to die tryna talk to your fine ass. Now, I could leave you with the dogs,” he said, petting them like they were pups. “But I get the feeling you don’t like them. You know I got a kennel full of these babies. They sell for eight hundred fifty dollars each. I train ’em in the basement in Brooklyn. They sell like crack; they just cost more.”

  “I thought you was gonna bounce from Brooklyn,” I reminded him.

  “I am. But I’m gonna flow from there real natural. No one will notice. I’ll just get in my car one day and pull away from the curb and never come back. No moving trucks, nothing. No one will know the difference for a while.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be some hoes left crying at the curb when you leave,” I teased.

  “I don’t fuck with them low-class bitches. They all ran through. All your girls is all fucked up, fucked in, fucked out,” he laughed. “Brooklyn got new hoes coming up. Now all the old bitches are fighting them.”

  “Whatever. So where we traveling to?” I asked.

  “Baltimore. What you know about that?” he said, peering into my eyes again.

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “Then why you had a bus ticket to Maryland in your coat pocket when I first picked you up.”

  “Damn, I forgot all about that I had that ticket. As you can see, I never went.”

  “Where was you going?” he questioned me further.

  “I don’t know, nowhere,” I lied.

  “Why you be lying so much, Winter?”

  “What?” I stalled to arrange my defense in my own head.

  “You was probably gonna check that nigga Midnight from Santiaga’s crew.” He was talking casually, and exploding bombs all at the same time.