In The Pink
A very short very true story I wrote for the Brooklynite for life page that people seemed to enjoy a great deal
I met this girl one day on the A train at Euclid Ave back in the 80s. She gave me her digits and we used to kick it on the phone til the wee hours.
One night she told me to come by her crib; that her Moms was out and she was just gonna be chilling with her crew. She lived in Pink Houses she told me and I knew nothing about them, no rep, no hearsay, no thing. All I knew was if it wasn't Cypress Hills I'd probably be alright.
So I was like, aiight!
I tried to get my boy to roll with me, though, being that it was off the beaten track for a brotha, but he was like, nah. I ain't effin around in East New York! So I rolled solo to Pink and as soon as I crossed its threshold, I knew I'd make a mistake. I kept my mind on the potential payoff for trooping into unknown turf, though.
When I got to her building — which took some doing, rolling through a maze of identical buildings, that could very well be Fort Green or Sumner or Tompkins or LG or any of the project haunts I knew people in — there was a crew of cats in front, blocking the entrance, just kicking it like we do. Until they noticed my approach.
I almost paused, but under their stares, I couldn't show I was, er, apprehensive, so I kept trooping like I belonged. They didn't part to let me through, though.
One said, Yo, I know you? I gave him a look. I did know him! He went to my school, August Martin, out in Jamaica. He was 85, though. I was 5%, but a familiar face is a familiar face, so I said peace.
Then about 30 of these mofos bellowed PEACE in return. Turned out, God body was deep in the Pink.
Wound up building in front of her building for like half an hour, and puffed on at least two blunts in the cipher before I could make my excuses.
"You here to see Sandra?"
Yeah, I said, expecting they'd give me the low, some bad news from spurned exes or something.
"She a Queen, God. Treat her right!"
“Oh, no doubt!”
And I did.
