Love,
Antonio
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June 25, 1996
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Natasha, have you ever been pissed off at God? I mean, keep it real, have you ever just wanted to reach up in the sky and pull him down off his high horse and ask him, Why me Why me Why me? Ma used to say, Man plans and God laughs. Well, he's been laughing at my black ass my whole life. I been looking for a gig since I got out, and I can't buy a break. And if I start doing some crooked shit cause that's looking to be bout the only thing I can get, then I gotta get caught and pay all over again. I've done my time, I've paid my debt, and all I'm asking for is a motherfuckin job so I can provide for my basic needs and get ready to bring a child into this world, and I can't get that shit? I want somebody to tell me why. I spent almost five years of my life behind bars, and I can live with that because somebody had to pay. But let me out and let me be free. Don't treat me like I'm still locked up. Don't judge me based upon the mistakes of my past. Would somebody tell God that?
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July 3, 1996
Hey Antonio,
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Congratulations on the baby, although I'll have to talk to you more about it later when I'm not so busy. I'm sorry I
didn't get back to you sooner, but I can tell from your last letter that something needs to happen for you quick. Go see a guy named Eugene Spade at this place downtown called Second Chance. I don't know the addressâyou'll have to call information. I went to school with him in Chicago and now he's back in New York running his own nonprofit, an organization that helps people who've had a difficult start to find jobs. Tell him I sent you and lemme me know what happens.
Gotta run,
Natasha
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July 8, 1996
Hey Natasha,
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Were you in the city a few days ago? I thought I saw you, getting off the 3 at Penn Station. You got off the train on the downtown side and I was going back up. You had a short black jacket, your hair is much longer now, and some glasses (straight librarian style but still fly!)âbut I still knew it was you. I jumped off my train and tried to run up the stairs to get to your side, but I don't know if you got back on or what. I waited at the top of the stairs to see if you would come up, but you never did.
Anyway, I went down to that place you told me about and Eugene is one cool brother. He got me a job the day after I went to see him. I'm working at this factory in Hunts
Point, marking boxes and loading up trucks. I'm only temporary now, but if I prove myself over a six-month period I can go permanent and get some benefits for my shorty. That'll be just in time for the baby. I been there early every day, and I took all the overtime I could get. I need thisâbig-time. That's all I'm focused on now. My seed and doing what I'm supposed to do. I wonder what would have happened if I would have never been sent upstate. I wonder if me and you would have a shorty together by now.
Peace,
Antonio
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July 20, 1996
Hello Antonio,
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Damn, baby! I did come up for a minute; I had an interview with a firm there even though I don't think I want to work in New York. That's such a coincidence that we were at the same place at the same time. Makes you wonder ⦠But I can't believe you got a shorty on the way. Are we that old? I guess so. Well, you seem pretty happy about it and that's all that matters. I hope you and your child's mother can stay together, work things out, be the family you never had. Too many of our kids are growing up in broken homes and it means fewer of us are in law school and more of us are in jail. I'm doing okay. School is hard, but I like it. I want to do civil law, basically that
means making sure that each and every citizen's rights are upheld. I would be lying if I said that what happened to you had nothing to do with my decision to go into that type of practice. But at least I'll be able to wake up every morning and say I believe in what I do. That's important. It's not as much money as I would like to be making, but I guess the money will come eventually and when God wants it to. It sounds like you're really happy. I'm glad you got on track. I really am. And to answer the question you posed at the end of your last letter, noâyou and I WOULD NOT have a baby together right now. With work and school and internships and rent and everything else, I can't even THINK about that for a very long time. I can't believe you're having a kid. Didn't take you long to find somebody to “release” four, five years of sexual frustration with, I see. And you said you'd love me forever! I'm just kidding, and I know that time moves on and people and things change. I hope you have what you're looking for. Say hello to your brothers for me.
See you,
Natasha
PS. Sorry I wasn't able to return your call. How'd you get my number? I'm thinking Laneice, but she won't admit to it. Well, I probably won't be calling back anytime soon. I'm on a tight budget right now, and long distance isn't it. Plus I got a new love of my own who might get a little bit upset if I'm talking to an old flame in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe I'll hit you up when I get back to New York.
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December 17, 1996
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Hey Natasha. I never got that phone call from you, so I just figured you was too busy. It's all good. No love lost. But anyway, here it is. Michael Antonio Lawrence III. I knew it was gonna be a boy. Here's a picture of my son. He looks like his mother mostly, you can't see a lot of me in him. But that's okay. He's mine to take care of and I'm going to be responsible with mine. He's gonna have a better life than I did. If you in the city, come by and see him. Just don't say who you are cause I don't want his mama trippin.
I can be proud to say I was there when he came into this world. I was in the delivery room and I saw everything and I even cut the cord. When he came out of his mother I wanted to be right there, up close, but I had to step back and let the docs do their jobs. There was thick blood and fluids everywhere, even on my hospital gown and my hands when I finished. I held him in my arms and listened to his beating heart before I passed him to Rhonda. I looked down at the blood on my body and hands and all I could think was the two most important events in my life covered me with blood. My son's birth day, and the day my father died. Only Natasha, my son will hear the truth. My son will never have any doubts about whether or not his father is a stonehearted killer. When he gets old enough to understand, I am going to tell him the story I never told you. I am going to tell him that I was fed up with the pain and the drama and the never-ending battles in my house. I am going to tell him about how I sat with Black and talked
about getting that piece and planned on putting a bullet in my father's head the next time he pummeled my mother or me or my brothers. I'm going to tell him how I wrote it down tooâpremeditated as they say. And I'm going to tell him why I never got the chance. When I came home after the last time we saw each other, I heard the screaming before I even finished walking up the steps to my place. I opened the door and my father had my mother pinned down, her legs were trying to kick him off her from under the kitchen table. I had the gun in my jacket pocket, I could feel the cold slicing through the fabric like a knife. I heard Tyler crying, I heard Trevon screaming no. It felt like somebody was saying, Do it do it do it, in the same rhythm as my pulse. Then I stopped breathing and hearing and moving my own feet and all I could do was see. I saw Trevon walk real calm over to the kitchen drawer, where Ma kept her cooking stuff, and open it and pull out what musta been the biggest blade in there, and he stuck it in Daddy's back. Scared at first, so scared he let Daddy turn around. But then he knew it was life or death. I saw it in Daddy's eyes that he would kill my brother, but Trevon was out of control. He just kept jabbing and jabbing and jabbing until Daddy fell, and didn't get back up. I stood there and watched the whole thing. I stood there and let it happen. I was frozen, useless. I should have stopped Trevon. I should have prevented all of it from happening. But I didn't. So for that, I was guilty Natasha. It was my crime just as much as Trevon's. But Trevon is not as strong as I am; you seen that. He would have never made it with something like this over his head. He would have been out in the first round. We would have found
him swinging from the ceiling after a few days in lockup. And I couldn't have that. So I took the rap. I told them what to say about how it went down, even though Ma begged me to let her do it. But I couldn't have her in there cause that's my mother and my brothers needed her. I didn't care about myself, cause I knew I was protecting my fam the way I didn't do before. And now I don't care who knows, cause I did the time and that's all the state cares aboutâthat a nigga pays even if it's the wrong nigga. So they ain't gonna touch Trevon. So now I don't care who knows the truth. I wish I could have told you back then, Natasha, but I couldn't take the risk. That's too much to ask of anybody, so I didn't even ask it.
So I hope that makes a difference in how you feel about me, because I know no matter what you said you probably looked at me different. And I can't blame you. It's a horrible thing, but we ain't horrible people. Which is why it's important that my son knows why his father suffered, why he did what he did, and that sometimes in this life some things are bigger and more important than your one life could ever be.
Love,
Antonio
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December 25, 1996
Antonio,
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It's Christmas, and I've been driving all night. I've gotten engaged, and I was supposed to be spending Christmas
Day meeting my fiancé's family. I've kidnapped his car. But when I opened your letter, hidden so well among the holiday mail, my mind lost control of my body. I started crying, and I couldn't articulate why. I just told the man that I think I love that I needed to go to New York. There was no question of what I had to doâI needed to see you. I needed to hear the truth come out of your mouth. I needed to hug you and kiss you and search your face to find some trace of innocence leftâinnocence you've sacrificed for so many others. The weather was hellish. Wet snow that wouldn't stickâthe worst kind to drive in. I slid twice on the roads, and barely missed a deer on the Penna. But I kept driving. I had to.
I could hardly find the address on your letter because someone busted the building's stoop lights; so typical of the Harlem that I love and loathe at the same time. I found myself right around the corner from your old apartment. So many memoriesâgood ones and badâflooded me as I circled the familiar blocks trying to find parking. Over four hours of driving and I hadn't thought of one thing to say, but I buzzed your apartment anyway. After ten minutes of standing outside buzzing, an old woman let me in. She told me it was useless to buzz in this building because they never worked. I smiled and thanked her for rescuing me. She told me, “Merry Christmas,” but I didn't even hear it until she had walked away. I walked up five flights of crumbling steps to get to your front door. The hallway was dark and there were no numbers, but I heard a baby crying and Pac
coming from behind the door in the corner. I took a chance it was yours. It must have been minutes before I actually knocked.
I knew I had come to the right place when a woman opened the door holding a newborn wrapped in several blankets. I can see why you would deny your son's resemblance to yourself; he looks just like you and your father. You never mentioned Rhonda was so pretty, especially with the glow of new motherhood on her face. It was almost midnight, and it took me several seconds before I started to explain myself. “I'm an old friend of Antonio's,” I blurted out when I realized she was about to go off on me in true uptown fashion. “He told me about the baby, and invited me to stop over. I'm in town for just one day and I wanted to drop off a gift,” I lied. “Oh, Antonio's working overtime,” she told me. “They get triple overtime on the holidays and we need it now.” I smiled; I looked at the baby and understood.
She let me into the apartment even though I didn't ask. When I went to remove my coat, she told me not to bother. The boiler was broken again and there was no heat in the building. So we sat on the couch, together, shivering under a comforter, and then she asked a favor. “I'm glad you're here. Can you hold Mikey while I heat some water so I can wash him up? I don't like holding him close to fire and I don't want to leave him alone.” For some reason, I didn't feel comfortable holding your son, but I did it anyway. He was so small, Antonio, so delicate and defenseless and helplessâeverything you must
have thought Trevon was. While she was gone, he started crying uncontrollably. She's spoiled him already, and he knew I wasn't his mother. She came back in time, and as she pulled out a breast in front of this stranger to feed your son, she asked me the question that started an all-night conversation: “So, how you know Tony?”