The Yellow Suitcase

by L. W. Clark

  It was really interesting listening to Silvia about her experiences and opinions about this country and its culture, or rather cultures. She seems to know an awful lot. About their lifestyle, how they work, their dreams. What makes a country? It’s the people, always. They have their own ways that make them feel comfortable living here and now. I carry my country’s culture and traditions within me. They’ll always be there. But just because we eat free-range chicken or meat from the countryside where I come from, that doesn’t mean I need to bring cows or chickens with me. I want and need to adapt to this environment. I want to live free and easy here, without any baggage.

  When Silvia heard about my six-day work week and long work hours doing different jobs, she said my salary was way too low. Anyone knows that, even me. All you have to do is look at my swollen feet at the end of a long day. The question was, what to do about it? Right now, I’m not going to do anything. It’s still too soon for me to approach Anna or Michael about work and pay. I never responded to Silvia about it.

  It was 8:02 a.m. by the time I walked from the train station to the house.

  Two minutes late. Not bad, considering. I did it. I completed my adventure. Another learning experience. I am never, ever taking a few more extra minutes of sleep. That’s always trouble.

  I rang the doorbell and Michael opened the door, with Anna standing behind him. Kalian was approaching from the hallway. They all looked happy to see me. Even Michael gave me a nice, sweet smile and said good morning. Not the usual grouchy “Hey.” I was a little flattered that they seemed to have missed me. Then I walked into the house and knew why.

  What a disaster. As usual, after my day off, but this time was even worse. The entire house was a mess. The kitchen had piles of dirty dishes in the sink. The living room looked like a playground, with so many toys you could barely see the floor, or the furniture. The master bedroom had clothes strewn all over the bed and chairs. The main bathroom looked like they had had a wet towel fight. Aaron’s bedroom smelled like crap, literally. Old diapers in the trash.

  Jessica’s room was the worst. I guess the parents let them run wild. No constraints. As long as they were happy. There was even half eaten food in her room. All the dresser drawers were open and empty, with the clothes strewn all over the floor. Anna came to the room and saw me standing there, staring into the room.

  “Some mess, huh?” she said. “Sometimes Jessica likes playing dress-up with all her clothes.”

  She smiled at me, kind of expecting me to say, “Ah, such an adorable little Jessica.”

  “I see,” I said.

  How is it possible to make this much of a mess in a house in one day? I know it’s my job to clean it up, but would they be this sloppy if I weren’t here? How can they live like this for even a day? And I can’t believe most Americans live this way. It’s just these guys.

  After an endless day of cleaning, washing, dusting and laundering, I was exhausted, but happy. I had so much fun with Silvia the day before that dealing with this madhouse didn’t bother me that much. I crashed into a deep sleep.

  I decided to visit Silvia every other week. She was more than happy to see me anytime, but I couldn’t afford to visit every week. I was trying to save most of my money. I wanted to pay off the loan as soon as possible.

  On one trip to Silvia’s, I called Viktor to let him know he could meet me there so I could pay him. He said he’d stop by. He seemed anxious to get the money, but then again, who wouldn’t be?

  The phone woke me up. It was Viktor. He was parked right in front of the apartment building. I had no luck with napping. I hoped to get a little extra sleep on my day off but nope. I quickly got dressed and went outside to give him the money.

  He rolled the window down halfway. He didn’t even say hello.

  “Do you know what neighborhood your friend lives in?” he asked.

  “Yes, I gave you the address. You got here right?”

  “No, I mean, do you know about this neighborhood? Do you have any idea?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  I feel embarrassed about not knowing something important about this area. Maybe it has some special history?

  “Are you OK?” he asked with a slight frown.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Why?”

  “You’re staying in a dangerous place. You need to be careful, especially at night. This is a black neighborhood. It’s not safe for whites.”

  What’s a black neighborhood? I’m confused. What’s he talking about? Is he drunk? Black? White? What does that even mean?

  I handed him the envelope with the money. He didn’t even get out of the car. During the whole transaction, I was standing at the side of the car. He took the envelope, said goodbye and shut the window as he drove away. I stayed on the street for a little while and looked around.

  What was Viktor trying to say? That it’s dangerous here because it’s black? I’ve been here a few times and it’s never felt dangerous to me. Last night I got here around eleven at night. I walked from the subway to the building and I didn’t see anything or feel any danger. I stopped by the supermarket and it was fine. I bought a pack of cigarettes and some water (yes, I decided on the pack of cigarettes instead of something to eat).

  As I approached the building last night some guys were hanging out, sitting on the front steps. I passed them and didn’t say hello or anything. As I climbed the stairs one guy got up and opened the lobby door for me. Another guy jumped up and asked if he could carry the water. I thanked him but said I was fine. And then I realized what Viktor meant.

  He meant people. Black people. Why would anyone describe people by their color? That isn’t even a notion to me. People are people. Why talk about their color? I still don’t understand what he meant by a black neighborhood being dangerous. I think everyone is the same. I grew up listening to James Brown, Michael Jackson and Bob Marley. We loved watching Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan. My friends and I love all the music and sports. We never think of them as black. They’re just people. The same people Viktor was talking about. I don’t have a clue why he thinks they’re dangerous. I need to talk to Silvia about this.

  “I think Viktor is ignorant,” I said. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

  “What do you mean?” Silvia asked.

  “I mean he’s just repeating what he heard or read somewhere,” I said. “He doesn’t know because he doesn’t live here. He lives in the suburbs without any diversity, and he has some unexplained fears about people who are different. He doesn’t have enough experience.”

  “That’s probably true,” Silvia said.

  “The way I see it,” I said, “good and bad things can happen anywhere because there are good and bad people everywhere. Not only in black neighborhoods. I have experience. I’m living it. I’ve never felt unsafe coming here. Hell, until Viktor mentioned it, I never even noticed there were mostly blacks living here. So what?”

  “You’re right,” Silvia said. “I never thought of it like that.”

  By January 1997, I had a couple of more payments to make and then I was done seeing Viktor. I was close to being free. How great is the feeling when you don’t owe anybody any money? I was already getting excited about the extra money I’d have.

  I can help my family even more. That is one of the reasons I came here, to give them a better life. I don’t want them to worry about having food on the table when they wake up in the morning. It’s everything when a family has food every day and a place to call home.

  The first time I sent money to my family it was one of the greatest feelings ever. I knew how much it helped. They were happy, which made me happy. I became even more motivated to work harder every day. I also wanted money for me. I wanted to earn enough money so I could be one of those sexy girls I saw walking on the streets when I visited the city.

  Lora found a second job for me close to Anna and Michael’s house. I could work there on my day off every other week. It was taking care of an elderly man in his
house. He had a full-time person who lived in, but she wanted a day off every other week, so I would fill in for her, staying overnight at his house.

  Peter was about eighty-seven. The right side of his body was paralyzed from a stroke. His mind was sharp, but his body was weak. He had problems getting up and down and dressing. It wasn’t a difficult job, but it was emotionally hard. I could never be a nurse. I’m the one who would pass out if I saw blood. And I usually couldn’t take care of someone like Peter because I’d feel so bad and anxious about him. But the job would bring me extra money.

  I was getting paid eighty dollars for a full day. He would usually sleep through the night, so it was easy after he went to bed. But I could never sleep there. Not even one night. I was too afraid. What if he died in the middle of the night? It would freak me out if that happened. I was always afraid of dead people. Too creepy. So, I’d get up a few times during the night and go to his bedroom to make sure he was still breathing.

  Martha, the lady who usually took care of Peter, was always happy to see me. She couldn’t wait to escape. She was always dressed up with makeup on and ready to go. A few times I arrived there early, and she would just leave even though it wasn’t time. I never said anything. I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t imagine living in this house and taking care of this guy all the time.

  Peter was always happy to see me, too. He was hard to understand since one side of his face was paralyzed. I barely understood what people said under normal conditions. Trying to understand him was a nightmare. His son lived across the street and came over on my first day.

  “Hi, my name is Robert,” he said. “I just wanted to stop by to say welcome and thank you.”

  “Hi Robert, I’m Alyssa. It’s nice to meet you and Peter.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too. When are you leaving tomorrow?”

  He speaks so fast.

  “I’m living just down the road with the Weizmann’s. I help take care of the house.”

  “What?”

  “What?”

  “Leaving,” he said slowly. “I asked when are you leaving, not where you’re living. I want to pay you before you go.”

  I laughed out loud.

  “I’m sorry. Leaving and living sound the same to me sometimes. I’m leaving at 7:30 in the morning.”

  “OK,” he said with a smile. “I’ll come by early.”

  “That was pretty funny,” Peter said. “I promise I’ll help teach you English while you’re here.”

  Well, that’s nice, but I don’t see how that will work.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  During the day I sat with Peter at the kitchen table while he watched TV or listened to him talk. He loved talking. One time he fell asleep in the middle of a story. Just drifted into a nap mid-sentence. It was a nice break for me when he napped. He did like to get up once in a while to walk around, so I’d help him get up and hold his arm as we walked. And there were trips to the bathroom. The first time I got him to the bathroom I was about to leave him in front of the toilet when he pointed to me.

  “I need you to help take my pants off and sit me on the toilet,” he said.

  What?!? Really?

  I looked at him and sighed.

  Oh well.

  I undid his belt and unzipped his pants. I grabbed one of his arms so this six-foot man wouldn’t fall, then I closed my eyes, dropped his pants and underwear at the same time, and guided him as he sat down. I opened my eyes as Peter laughed loudly.

  “Well done, Alyssa!” he said. “Well done.”

  “Glad you liked it,” I said with a smile.

  When he finished, he called me in to help him get back up and get dressed. I did the same process in reverse and he laughed again. I helped him get in and out of bed as well, but at least he had his underwear on.

  He was intelligent. He seemed to get everything right away. He knew I was shy taking his underwear off, so he would start to giggle to lighten things up. I also cooked dinner for him and sat with him, although I never had much of an appetite in that house. I hardly ate anything. Maybe some ice cream. The house was old with one floor, crowded with old furniture and other old stuff. Things collected over a lifetime. There was a living room, a kitchen, a master bedroom, one guest room and one bathroom. Old houses with old stuff seem to have a unique smell. They make me depressed. I never liked going to the country and staying in old houses. They make me think of scary stories and dying. I rarely used the bathroom, and I never brushed my teeth there. I just couldn’t do it.

  Peter wanted to talk all the time, but it was so hard to understand him. I pretended I understood most of it by shaking my head in agreement. He knew I was pretending. He told Martha that I didn’t understand most of what he was saying. He liked to chat with her. She told me he would laugh a lot when talking about me. He told her he enjoyed watching me because I was pretty and had a nice body.

  Men. It doesn’t matter how old they are does it? I never got mad at him or anything. He was a nice man who just liked to chat and gossip. He was probably a player when he was younger, and now just looking at me was enough fun.

  It wasn’t long before Martha reached out to me to let me know she was leaving to take another job. She was in charge of hiring her replacement and of course, Peter would have to approve the hire. Both Peter and Martha thought switching care providers would be emotionally hard for him.

  “I have a lot of candidates,” Martha told me. “It’s an easy job and they’re paying good money.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “I guess you’ll hire someone soon.”

  “Well, the problem is, Peter doesn’t want any of them. He only wants you. It pays well. Do you want the job?”

  I don’t care about the money. I can’t do it. I just can’t.

  “I’m sorry Martha, but I already have a good full-time job, so I’m going to have to say no.”

  SEVENTEEN

  March 1997, Manhattan

  Silvia and I now had different work schedules. When I went to Brooklyn, I could only see her at night when she came home after work. I’d wait impatiently for her so we could sit in our favorite place in the kitchen to chat before going to sleep. But soon I wanted to start exploring on my day off before seeing Sylvia, so she showed me how to use the subway map to get around Manhattan. I was desperate to visit Manhattan and walk on those beautiful, crowded, lively streets.

  My first stop was Times Square. I stepped out onto the street but couldn’t move for a while. Everything was moving fast—except me. People, lights, cars, buses. The crowds and sounds made me dizzy. I was astonished by the energy. As I was standing in the middle of the city, I sensed some kind of power that made me feel stronger, and I was so grateful. I walked straight north on Broadway, taking it all in.

  These streets are dirty, crowded and noisy, but no one seems to care. They just go about their business, walking quickly to wherever. Look at these tall, beautiful buildings with large windows right next to some sleazy looking places with signs that say peepshow, with large XXXs everywhere. What does that mean? Oh, live nude girls. Interesting. How about all these men dressed in suits and ties hurrying past a man in ragged clothes, standing and muttering something. What strange contrasts. Looking down the streets I see theaters with big signs about the shows that are playing, while street musicians and dancers perform for some change. It’s such a pleasure being in this city, with its crowds and interesting people. I like every single person I see. They each have their unique style and personality. There’s the Ed Sullivan Theater. I’ve heard of that. I’ve never heard of David Letterman though. Must be someone important to have his name on the theater.

  As I continued walking north, the city became calmer, with fewer people on the streets and what looked like either apartment or office buildings. I was amazed by the architecture of so many buildings. Each had its own character. They were different but compatible. On the ground floors were boutique shops, cafes or restaurants.

  These high-rise buildings make
me feel high and strong—like them. I’ve never seen so many stores, cafes and restaurants, all right next to each other, and all crowded with people. I wonder what’s going on inside them? Next time I’m here, I’m going in.

  I reached the corner of Broadway and 59th street and just stood there for a while, looking at a statue in the middle of a traffic circle as the cars buzzed by. Across the way I saw an entrance to a park.

  “Excuse me,” I asked a well-dressed man as he rushed past me.

  “Yes,” he said as he stopped.

  “What is this area?” I asked, pointing to the statue and then at the park.

  “This? This is Columbus Circle, and that’s Central Park.”

  Ahh … of course. Central Park, I should’ve known.

  “Thank you,” I said as I turned to the man, but he was gone.

  I walked along 59th Street as I continued staring at the park.

  That must be a beautiful park, and right here in the middle of the city, surrounded by these buildings. How great is that? I definitely want to spend some time in there, but I should start to make my way back.

  I turned right onto 7th Avenue. Every building I saw was more impressive than the next. There was Carnegie Hall, soft brown with its beautiful arch-shaped windows and inlays, and the tall and elegant Park Central Hotel, with people buzzing in and out, everyone in a hurry. As I went south back towards Times Square, the quiet and quaint cafes gave way to loud, dark dive bars, and more of those peepshow places.

  I love it all. The beauty, the ugliness. The brilliance, the darkness. The beautiful people, of all shapes and colors. It makes this city what it is. It’s alive. It makes me feel free and independent, in mind and body. This is the city where I belong.

  I must’ve walked for about three hours. It was getting late, so I made my way to the subway. It wasn’t far away but it wasn’t easy because of the crowds.

  It takes some kind of navigation skills to walk in this city. But I’ll figure it out, with practice. Wait a minute. Why am I rushing? I’m free. No one’s waiting for me to be home at a certain time. This is just an old habit, from when I had to be home at whatever time I promised my mother.