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Continuing my tour, I entered the bedroom. The view of the city was breathtaking. Opening the closet, I found a wardrobe full of new clothes. There weren’t just suits. There was something for every occasion.
This was it. There wasn’t an additional surprise. He wasn’t coming. Not tonight. Not ever again. It really was over between us. Realizing that, I stepped onto the balcony, relinquished the last of my hope, and cried.
Sleeping in the world’s most comfortable bed was weird. You would think that it would make you fall asleep faster. But who could do that, distracted by thoughts of how comfortable it was?
With a light morning schedule, I decided to sleep in. I was now only a few blocks from work instead of the 55-mile commute from New Jersey. It was like a new world. So too was my attitude on life. In the last few weeks, I had shed a lifetime of tears. I was ready to move on.
For some reason, Remy had given me a building. But not just any building. It was the one my father had lived in with his family. Remy might not have known how to be a proper fantasy boyfriend, but he understood a thing or two about poetic justice.
“Remy gave me a building,” I said when it hit me again.
Grabbing something from my fully stocked fridge, I decided to take a detour before work. I was going to check out my new place. Getting off the train, I rounded the corner with the building in sight. Watching the renovators enter and exit, I remembered that I had a controlling interest in it. This was insane.
Like I had so many times as a kid, I stopped across the street and stared at it. I had so many painful memories associated with this place I couldn’t count them all. Maybe instead of turning it into an outreach center, I should have sold it. I don’t know what I was thinking suggesting it as a place I might have to go to every day.
That reminded me of another thing I had to do: I had to start thinking about hiring people. After all, Remy hadn’t asked me to help him because of my managerial skills. It was because I was his little brother’s poor, black best friend.
I thought about that for a second. Remy hadn’t asked for my help despite who I was. He had asked because of it. In this case, being poor and black was my advantage.
Remy had once said to me that when you embrace your true self, you get rewarded. Could he have been right?
Certainly, he wouldn’t have given me any of his gifts if I hadn’t been who I am. And, the more choices I had to make for the outreach center’s design, the more important my opinion felt. I guess it isn’t specifically my opinion. It would be the opinion of anyone who didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in their mouth.
Seriously, what were these designers thinking? A paintball center? Yeah, that’s exactly what the residents of Brownsville needed, a way to shoot at each other recreationally. Nothing bad could ever come from that.
No, the center was going to be for kids. On the first floor would be quiet rooms where kids could just sit and relax because that’s what a true safe space looked like. On the second floor would be tutors and counselors. And on the third floor would be the LGBT resources.
For that, we could have mentors come in and speak. Each night of the week could be support meetings, whether it’s for gays, bisexuals, trans folks, or women in abusive relationships.
“Dillon?” someone said, drawing my attention. “Dillon, right?”
“Yes,” I said, staring blankly at the young, dark-skinned guy in front of me.
Being away from the neighborhood for as long as I had been, hearing my name made me nervous. My life had changed a hell of a lot since I was 13. For one, I no longer pretended to be straight. That didn’t make a difference at my college in New Jersey. But poor black communities weren’t exactly the epitome of acceptance.
“It’s James. Or, I guess Jimmy. We went to school together,” the slightly older guy said.
“Jimmy! Right!” I said energetically.
He smiled.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?”
I chuckled embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t worry about it. We didn’t really know each other back then.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, confused. “But we did go to school together?”
“We definitely did,” he said with a smile that hinted at more.
I looked at him again. No, I didn’t remember him. But, he was cute, and his smile meant something. Lowering my guard, I loosened up.
“Did we have the same classes or anything?” I said with a flirtatious smile I was hoping he would pick up on.
“No. I was two years ahead. But I do remember you.”
“Why was that?”
