Lana's Sister

I stood paralyzed in front of the automatic doors, watching them open and close under the fluorescent lights. I could see outside and although the rain had stopped, every taxi that passed made an unmistakable SWISH beneath its tires. I lingered in the waiting room’s lobby, watching those doors for at least two ambulances; pulling up and unloading their unlucky cargo. I finally took the twenty steps to the other side of the doors, black garbage bag in hand. The thick dampness of the evening air prompted a deep inhale, but all I could smell was the devastating aroma of spring lightning ozone, blooming with anger and utter despair.

I walked around the corner, dragging the bag behind me. The headlights of oncoming traffic created misty spheres of light, blinding me as I followed the sidewalk down the block and up the grand stairs of St. John the Divine Cathedral. But I wilted into a sitting position before I reached the entrance. Suddenly, an outburst! Like a ruptured drum, anguish echoed around me. It seemed to go on forever and I couldn’t determine its origin, until finally realizing the sound...was coming from me. A shuddering heap, gripping at the concrete stairs for comfort, I sat in front of this magnificent structure, in the most magnificent city. Broken. I was now an only child. My sister was gone and I was left here alone, and all I had to prove her existence was in this black plastic garbage bag. I don't really know how long I sat there sobbing, forehead pressed firmly on my knees. Tears soaking through my jeans. I felt a hand on my shoulder and rolled my face towards the touch. An unkempt man stood over me. Sun and circumstance created a roadmap of shadowed ravines across his face. He wore one sneaker and one boot. He looked into my eyes as he spoke, “Some people are just too delicate for this world and you have to let them go.” Before I could respond he had already turned away, hobbled down the stairs, and was now pushing his over-stacked shopping cart out of sight.

Sunlight crept through the windows of my Morningside apartment. I woke up uncharacteristically early, eyes puffy and swollen, barely having slept; desperately seeking the small comfort of a French Press coffee. Black. I sat down in a warm square of sunlight on the hardwood floor, emptying the contents of that damned black plastic bag around me. Hardly anything fell out. It all seemed really poignant, then somehow cliché. There was nothing there. A navy blue canvas satchel, a pair of Levi’s, her plaid flannel button-up and a pair of Air Jordan in size 9. Twenty eight years of living; not even filling the bottom of a Hefty bag. I opened the satchel and started removing its contents: makeup bag, fruit rollup, half pack of Newports, matches, Metrocard, ID, Medicaid card, a prescription bottle for Xanax... But the purse is still heavy, even though seemingly empty, and I know that inside the liner she’s hidden the most important items. It doesn’t take long to find a tear in the fabric and I can’t help but laugh to myself that anyone with half a brain would see right through this trick. Someone who’s used to locating, concealing and exploiting the secrets of the weak. Someone like my sister. I retrieved an empty baggie and a little black notebook.

I started pouring through the notebook looking for something. I didn’t know what. Just something. Anything. Any connection to her final days. What I found within the pages only added to my questions. Just a series of 347 and 718 telephone numbers, addresses with cross streets, soup kitchen “reviews”, an appointment schedule for various doctors and social workers, lists of NA meeting locations and times...short vignettes detailing the randomness of city life. Insignificant bursts of wit. Snippets of her harsh existence:

The shelter was full by the time I arrived today- AGAIN- so I have to bench it in Central Park. Hope I find a spot away from garbage cans.. those raccoons are too feisty for my liking.

On my way to NA today on the “6” Train. A homeless dude comes through the door and sits across from me. Next thing I know, he’s peeing into a Tupperware container! Didn’t really want to make eye contact but also couldn’t look away lol. We get to the next stop, the doors open and he just tosses the container out the door and when it lands, the lid pops off and splashes everyone standing on the platform. !!!GROSS!!! Nyc is crazy!

Why was there a man outside my bodega this morning trying to sell a prosthetic leg for $18?!?! Hahaha

Got arrested again last night for jumping a turnstile at 96th St. Ended up in the holding cell with Jess tho, so it ended up being an ok time. How messed is everything I just said, right?!

Will I ever get out of here? Can I ever live like a normal person?

I just hopped on the downtown “2” Train @ 149th St. and the coolest thing happened! A woman sitting across from me was writing in a notebook .. turns out she was sketching me and I got to keep the pic! Looks just like me :) Before she got off she said to me: “This phase of your life is about to end. Godspeed.” Kinda exciting- hopefully things are about to get better!!! Haha cause they couldn’t get any worse.

I flipped the page and there was the sketch. The likeness was hauntingly accurate. It was dated five days ago. My heart literally-stopped-beating. Attached to the notebook’s back cover was a little folder sleeve. Inside there were slips of paper with more 718 numbers, a blank personal check from a name I did not recognize, a photograph of our mum as a teenager, and a ticket from a pawn shop on Jerome Avenue in the Bronx. On the backside of the ticket there was a tiny sketch of a dog and a Milk Bone. I immediately grabbed my jacket and was out the door, heading towards that pawn shop off the uptown “2” Train.

I made it to the shop just before 8pm. I gave the ticket to a handsome man who was sitting under a Dominican flag, behind a plexiglass divider. He scanned the ticket, flipped it over and a wide smile flashed across his face, “Oh, you’re here for Lana’s stuff? Espere te, Mami. Be right back.”

Totally confused, I tried to connect the dots on my own, unsuccessfully. Moments later, he returned with a clear plastic bag and sat it on the counter.

“Ok it’s twenty. You got ID?”

I slid my ID, along with a $20 dollar bill, through the slot.

“You almost missed the deadline y’know,” he said, untying the bag.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I’m here for my sister,” I said.

“Ah! I see the resemblance! You have the same pretty eyes.” He continued, “We have an agreement. Sometimes Lana comes in and gives me things to hold. Like, for temporary safekeeping. For $20, she has one week to come back and pick up, before I put out to sell. If she doesn’t make it back, I sell and she gets some cash. Mostly though, she comes back.”

He pushed a property release form under the partition. “Sign here,” he said, pointing to the line at the bottom. “Okay, that’s one diamond ring and one green jacket.”

I didn’t have to see the ring to recognize it. I know it is mine. It’s the ring I’ve ransacked my apartment to find. The ring I asked her repeatedly whether she had. MYYYY DIAMOND RING!!! In that moment, any rage I should have felt just shriveled into a little pit of nothing in the back of my throat as I realized there was zero left to be angry about. I would never have another argument with my sister again...there was nothing more to say. And the words began to liquify and accumulate until they had nowhere to go but out of my soul and onto the counter. The handsome man finally had to come around from behind the counter to escort me out of the shop.

The temperature had dropped at least 10 degrees during the time I was inside. I took the coat out of the clear plastic bag and put it on, overtop my leather jacket. As I started to walk away, stuffing my hands deep into my sisters empty pockets, I looked down and noticed a $20 bill float towards my foot. I bent to pick it up and felt the lining along the shoulder of her olive green, military surplus coat rip. I swooped up the cash and put it in the right pocket of the coat, somberly walking back towards the subway.

Then the oddest thing happened on the train. The doors opened at 149th Street and a woman got on, sitting down across from me. She opened a binder and started making notes. After several minutes, she got up and handed me a slip of paper. It was a sketch of me and I realized this was the same woman I had read about earlier in Lana’s little black notebook. Total Godshot. As she exited the train she said to me, “The next phase of your life is about to begin.” Then she turned away and the doors closed behind her.

By the time I got back home, I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and drift off into a dreamy unconsciousness. But as I started to undress, completely grief stricken, I was overcome by an irrational need to mend the tear in my sister’s jacket right that second. Her life was a torn mess and you cannot sleep until you can at least fix this ONE LITTLE THING for her. As I pulled out my sewing box and attempted to thread a needle, I repeated to myself, “This, at least, you can do.” I slumped down onto the floor and began to smooth the coat’s lining, but my fingers detected a stiffness underneath. Running my hands along the center and sides of the coat, this sturdiness seemed to run along the entire interior perimeter. In a moment of both curiosity and dread, I slid my fingers up towards the hole and forcefully ripped it wide open. Much like down feathers exploding from a successful pillow fight, a burst of green and white bills flew into the air in a paper cloud, as thousands and thousands of dollars slowly cascaded down, gingerly covering my hardwood floor, like the shadowy existence of her last days.