Upstate

by Kalisha Buckhanon

Genres: Epistolary Fiction

Synopsis

Upstate is an absolutely stunning, powerful coming of age novel filled with tragedy, struggle, love, and triumph; it is a modern The Color Purple.

Set in New York in the '80s and '90s, Upstate tells the story of two young lovers, Antonio and Natasha, torn apart by tragedy and struggling to survive against all odds. When a horrific tragedy sends Antonio to jail, their worlds turn upside down.

Antonio struggles to stay alive on the inside; Natasha battles society on the outside. Over the course of 10 years, they share an intimate correspondence as their lives change dramatically and they often have only each other to turn to. Will fate bring them back together, or will they remain forever apart? Ripe with unforgettable characters and two haunting voices, Upstate is an audio program not to be missed.

A Macmillan Audio production.

Release date: April 1, 2007

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 289

Sample

Upstate

PART ONE
January 25, 1990 Dear Natasha,


Baby, the first thing I need to know from you is do you believe I killed my father? I need to know if you believe what everybody saying about me because I need to know if you got my back. Right now I don't know who in my corner and who ain't. I looked in the mirror this morning and I didn't see nothing. That's how I feel, like I'm nothing. Like nobody see me or hear me or care about me or care what I got to say. Ma told me that some of my cuzos say they gonna kill me when I get out, say they gonna put a shank in my throat just like everybody say I did my daddy. They saying I better hope I got to do time cause when I get out it's a wrap. But see, they don't know me like you do. They don't know what I been through like you do. You was the only person who ever listened to me, you mostly, maybe Trevon and Black. Sometimes Ma. But mostly you. Remember all the shit we used to talk about late at night on the phone? About dropping out of school and going to Mexico or down South or somewhere like that? About us opening up some businesses and shit? About my music and me balling and you doing hair and shit? I know you remember. I do. I remember every word you ever said to me.
You thinking about me? I hope so because I'm thinkingabout you. I know you hadn't heard from me, but I'm in a large holding cell right now with a bunch of other cats, they trying to decide if I should be transported because I'm a juvenile. But they gonna move me soon, that's for sure. I'll let you know when they move me and where I'm at. I'm not even supposed to be writing this and mailing it to you cause I ain't got those privileges where I'm at. But two cats been looking out for me these past few days said, Tell us what you need son and we can hook you up; they've been here many times before. I told them, I need to write my girl. They know a guard who keep the communication flowing between the outside and in, so that's why you getting this letter. Baby girl I miss your fine ass so much I can't even think about how I'm gonna get out of this shit. I can't believe I'm here. Don't even know how I got here. I don't care. I'm thinking about the last time we saw each other. It seem like just yesterday me and you was bugging out in St. Nick Park, jumping over cars and shit. Member that white man watering his plants on his fire escape, and how he hollered bout calling the pigs and Black threw a bottle up at his ass and told him to get out of our hood? That shit was wild, that shit was funny. It was fun, the best time in my life. Then remember me and you went up them high steps that go to city college, and you let me suck your titties and rub you until you got all creamy and wet? I know you wanted to do something, if Black and Laneice wouldn't have been all up in the business, laughing and shit. Mad because they wasn't getting none. Remember what you said when we was walking back down and you was buttoning up your shirtand patting your baby hair down? Remember when you said you loved me?
Write back soon,
Antonio






January 27, 1990 Dear Antonio,


What happened? Did you kill him? Did you really do it? It's been on the news, in the papers, everything. Everybody at school and on the block keep asking me, keep wanting to know if I was there and if I seen it and if I helped you keep it a secret. I keep telling them naw, I didn't have nothing to do with that shit, but they don't believe me. Popos been over here three times asking me questions. They keep asking me was you on drugs and did you hit me and stuff like that. I told them no, but they kept on asking and they wouldn't leave and Mommy was getting upset. So, I didn't want to, but I told them you get high. I lied and said you didn't do it that much, just once in a while. They asked me if you did crack and I said "Hell no! Antonio wasn't no hype, he just smoked weed that's all." I think they believe me because they ain't been back since. You know I would never give you up, I would never tell about any of the shit you did. That's how much I love you. I got your back baby, cause I know you would do the same for me. I miss you so much I can't evenbreathe. I can't even get on the train or the bus no more cause I'm so used to taking it with you. I been walking everywhere now, but I don't mind. It give me some time to think, to clear my head, to figure out what the hell is happening with you, with me, with everything.
People at school won't stop staring at me and asking me questions. And Mr. Lombard, with his two-faced racist ass, had kept me in class after algebra wanting to know if I was okay and if I needed to talk to somebody. I didn't tell him shit either. I told him I was fine and I just wanted to go home so I could get ready to fix dinner cause Mommy was working late. I still ain't forgot about how he lied on me and said I was talking in class when I wasn't and I got in detention hall for a week. Don't try to be my friend now. But anyway, that's off the subject of what happened. I want you to tell me what happened. I promise to God swear on my daddy's grave that I won't tell nobody, not anybody, not even one living soul, not even Mommy. Just tell me. It won't make no difference. What I said that night was true.
Love Always,
Natasha






February 1, 1990 Baby Girl,


This the deal yo, I can't talk about nuthin. I don't want to tell you what happened unless we face to face in private. Ican't talk about nuthin. Everybody up in my business, out to get me. I can feel it. I can tell. I can see everybody looking at me, I can hear them talking about me. Them motherfuckers opened your letter. They opened my shit and read it. When I got the envelope, it was ripped in half and the letter looked like it had been wet up. So, I know they reading this. I know they read everything I write. I wanted to tell the cracker who brought it to me that he ain't had no right to read my baby's shit, that it was between a man and his woman and that's always sacred, but I didn't say nothing. I just shook my head, cause I'm not trying to make no trouble. I'm trying to get out of here. They not gonna get me on some dumb shit. They not gonna win. So, to whoever reading this, fuck you and your mama too. Fuck you over and over and over again. I hope you die.
I been sent up to another facility right now.--It's on some island right off the Bronx. Natasha, they put chains around my ankles and connected me to a lot of other cats being transported from Manhattan in this big van. The ride was bumpy, but quiet. Nobody said a word, nobody looked at each other. When we got to the new joint, they unchained us in this big room that looked like a warehouse and told us to take off all our clothes. We had to stand there naked. I was shaking it was so cold, and one by one they searched our mouths and other places I don't want to tell you about. I got my own room with a tiny cot, a toilet with a sink on top, and this really long, narrow window that's about three feet tall. The walls is white concrete like in the pj's. I'm writing really fast cause I wanna finish this letter beforedark. There's no light, when the sun goes down, that's it. But I don't care. At least I'm not in a holding cell no more with twenty other funky cats and a stopped-up toilet like I was in Manhattan. People keep coming to talk to me--these court-appointed lawyers from someplace called the People's Advocacy or something like that. So far, it's been three different lawyers--this blond lady, some nerdy black dude, and now this fat white guy. Every time they switch they tell me the other one got busy cause they're overloaded with cases. I just say, Oh well as long as you know I'm not a murderer and what I did was in self-defense. I don't think any of them believed me though, cause they all said, That's what they all say and let me decide your defense. I feel a million miles from Harlem. But I think I can see the Empire State Building from here. I wish I could tell you everything that's happened to me, but it seem like it happened so fast I can't remember nothing.
A neighbor in my building called the popo's on the night everything went down. She had heard all the noise coming from my apartment, but when they came my mother answered and told them everything was alright. They came back a few days later after my daddy didn't show up for work for two days and we didn't answer the phone. My mother begged me not to open the door, begged me not to fess to anything, but I pushed her off me and told her that I was a man and I would live up to what I had done. I opened the door myself and took them to where my daddy was. They threw me down on the ground in front of Ma, Trevon, and Tyler. I put my hands behind my head--I didn't resist. But they didn't care.They put their knees in my back and twisted my arms anyway when they put the handcuffs on. They took me to a police station all the way downtown and fingerprinted me and took a mug shot. They left me in a dark room with a slide-back window overnight. They didn't give me nothing to eat or drink. They didn't let me out to go to the bathroom and I had to whizz in the corner cause I was already a little sour under the arms, just from being scared and getting roughed up, and I didn't want to piss on myself and smell like that too. Next thing I knew, I was in this big room all by myself with three cops asking me why I stabbed my father over a dozen times. By then, I was having second thoughts about confessing so I just lied and said I didn't do nothing until they got tired of screaming and yelling at me. They just handcuffed my hands and ankles together, and put me in this long hallway where other guys kept getting called in one by one to this room that I really couldn't see into. I asked the dude sitting next to me what was going on, and he said something about rain. When they finally brought me in there, I realized it was a courtroom and I was standing before a judge. This blond lady I never seen before--that was the first lawyer--said something about entering a plea of guilty by reason of insanity and I yelled, No I'm not crazy! The judge stopped everything and told my lawyer to take me back and calm me down and get our story straight before we show our faces again in his courtroom. They took me back to the first room and I was waiting for the lawyer to show up so I could explain to her that I was just trying to stop my daddy from hitting my mother and it was an accident andI'm not crazy I just stabbed him too hard when I just meant to scare him, but she never showed back up.
But Natasha I do want you to know I'm okay. I want you to know that you all I been thinking about and there ain't shit that's gonna tear us apart--not the cops, not these pen walls, not my daddy, nothing. I need you to come see me soon. I need to see your face so bad it hurts. I can't have no phone calls right now but we need to talk to each other in person so I can tell you what happened.
Write back soon,
Antonio






February 4, 1990 To My Baby:


Okay, so you still didn't go into details about what really happened, but it don't matter to me anyway. When I told you I loved you, I really did mean it. I'm glad I said it then because if I would have waited I would have never got to tell you face to face, just in a letter and that's not the right way to do it. So, I'm not gonna ask you no more what happened. I just know that whatever it was, it wasn't on you. It wasn't your fault. So, all that matter to me is that I know it wasn't your fault and you know I believe you didn't never want to hurt nobody. I walked past your locker today in the C wing. I know that ain't my wing and I wasn't supposed to be over there, but I think in my mindI kind of hoped that you might be standing there waiting for me after lunch the way you used to. Of course you wasn't, but I was glad I walked by anyway. It kind of smelled like you when I walked by. Not no bad smell cause I can see your face right now all twisted up. Naw it was real good. That black licorice oil you wear and Cherry Now n' Laters you like and that coconut hair grease I used to put on your scalp before me or Laneice braid your hair. That's one of the things I love about you, the way you smell. Sweet all the time, like a girl. I bet you wanna know some of the other things I love about you. Well, I like the way you kiss me all deep, the bumpy curls on your head that are soft like cotton balls, the muscles in your arms and your stomach, the way you say my name, the way you put your palms on your cheek sometimes when you talk, that birthmark on your left shoulder, and the way you say other words like son and for real and baby sometimes (when we doing it). What you love about me? You never told me before so might as well tell me now.
Love,
Natasha






February 4, 1990 Dear Natasha,


They gonna let my mother come see me. I don't know the exact day yet, but my lawyer asked me if there was anythingI needed and I told him I wanted to see my family. He said he could try to get me that privilege since I'm only sixteen and all. So, they gonna let her come. You try to come too. I really need to see you. I can't write much cause the sun is already down and I can hardly see in the moonlight. Just try to come see me.
Love,
A






February 7, 1990 Dear Antonio,


I talked to you mother and I think we all gonna come up there and visit you this weekend, especially since your birthday coming up. I had planned on buying you some new kicks and a cap and maybe even a chain if I had enough. Wish I could cop you a nickel bag. The lawyer said family only, but Black said we could lie about it. He said that when his cousin was moved upstate from Riker's, the whole school came to see him and his cousin's moms just kept on telling the guards, "My man kept me real busy." I thought that shit was funny. So, we gonna be there on Sunday. I think that only four or five people can go. I know your mother said she going, and she gonna bring Trevon because he 13 and old enough. But she said she didn't want to bring Tyler. She said he was too young, that she didn't want him to see his bigbro like that. I think he would love to see his big bro no matter what, but I guess that's her son so she gotta right to do what she want.
I know your problems are bigger than mine right now, but Antonio I just have to say I'm so sick of hearing my mommy's and stepdaddy's mouths I don't know what to do. All they talk about is this shit that happened and how they told me to stay away from you. I wish I could tell them to go to hell, but I can't. I wouldn't have nowhere else to go. I don't want to do like Drew did when Mommy got with Roy, move to Grandma's house in the Bronx. It's too far from school and my friends and you. I'm a Harlem Chick 4 Life!!!!!! That's why I'll be glad when all this shit is over and you get out because I think that we should get our own place. I think that we should just go and apply for one of those nice, new buildings that they fixing up finally around here, and we can stay in one of them. I went past one the other day, on 123rd and 8th. It's going to be called "Frederick Douglass Gardens" when it's finished. Wouldn't that be nice baby, to live in something called Frederick Douglass? At least I know that Frederick Douglass was black and he tried to free the slaves, I think. He was somebody who was brave and didn't take no shit and stood up for his rights. Right now, it's nothing but a big hole in the ground and a bunch of bricks and dust and wood and stuff. But they got a big billboard picture of what the building gonna look like and it's nice. It looked like a bunch of connected houses, with two and three stories. Not like thebrownstones all stuck together or the pj's, but like real houses with a balcony and white paint and a nice little window on the front door. It was this nice Dominican man outside working on the building. He said he was the supervisor for the construction, so I figured he would know about moving in. So I asked him how you could move in. He told me they're condos and you had to buy them. I told him I wanted to try and he said that it was really hard because there was something like forty thousand applications for twenty houses. I told him I didn't think that there was even forty thousand people in Harlem, but I guess there are. Then he said that some of the applications was from people overseas and I wondered why somebody would want to move from overseas to Harlem, but I didn't ask him. I was running late for my hair appointment on 110 and Columbus. But he told me to call the phone number that was on the sign. That there was a lottery for people from the community, which I guess meant us. He was real nice. I gave the number to Mommy when I got home but she was too tired from work to call.
Well, how you doing? Tell me some more about what it's like in there. Is it a bunch of faggots running around, trying to feel your booty? Antonio, you better promise me that you don't do nothing like that. You better promise me you don't turn homo. You will go to hell if that's what you start doing. That's nasty and it's a sin. Matter of fact, any sex is a sin if it's not a man and wife who are married. That's why I think Antonio we shouldn't do itanymore. Antonio, I love the way you make me feel, like I'm a real woman and you make me wanna cry sometime it feel so good, but I feel really guilty that we did it and I'm not a virgin anymore. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to snap, but Mommy tried to take me to the clinic on 116th and Lenox a couple weeks ago to get me that shot, but I wasn't about to do that shit. I wasn't about to get all fat and disgusting and have all my hair fall out. I told her we wasn't doing nothing. How could we? I told her, "You and Roy watch me like a hawk, y'all watch every move I make." If they knew I was skipping school and lying about track practice to be with you, they would kill me. So, I committed two sins: fucking and lying.
This Sunday in church with Grandma, when the preacher called people to the altar, I was the first in line. I think I want to get saved, to get baptized for real this time, not like when you a kid and you don't know what's going on. I don't know what happened to me. I just started crying and I couldn't stop. I was mostly thinking about how I was going to go to hell for having sex outside marriage, for lying to my mother. Then, I thought about how maybe that was God's punishment for you was to put you in jail because we sinned. And I just couldn't stop crying and shaking and then my legs got weak and I fell to the ground and I was crying and screaming and people started fanning me and putting their hands on me and the holy women started singing and the organ started going real fast and loud in myhead, and I heard somebody scream "Save this child Jesus" before I passed out.
Love,
Natasha






February 11, 1990 Dear Baby Girl:


You looked so good this weekend I thought about just saying fuck it and trying to fight my way out of here. I thought that maybe if I just lay low and act all sweet and innocent that these co's will let their guard down around me, and I could pull a fast one on them like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. My mother used to make me watch that shit all the time when it came on late at night on cable, and I remember the first time I saw it I cried cause he didn't get away in the end. I bet I could get some of these older cats to help me out. They call me young blood cause I just made seventeen. It's two named Mookie and MGD who kinda look after me. I eat and lift with them and shit. They call me Bird because they say I got a bird chest, and I told them motherfuckers that's all right cause I'm gonna be eighteen and I'm gonna keep drinking my milk and grow up and whoop all they asses. But for real though, you looked real sweet and luscious in all that pink. I see you wore that little Karl Kani shirt I bought you. I got XS so it could fit just like that, all tightaround your tatas. I wished nobody else was there so I could put em in my mouth for a minute, suck them like you like. And I like your new do, all braided tight and long down your back. That shit is hot. But the kiss was nice, it was enough to hold me over for a minute. It was so soft and sweet and wet. It felt like wet grass between my toes when we let the hydrants loose in the summer, or soap bubbles before you squeeze them too tight. I love your lips. I can't stop thinking about them and I still got that lip gloss flavor on em cause I won't wash it off--I think this time it was peach and not strawberry like you normally wear. I smelled it in my sleep so I dreamed about us. You coulda gave me a little bit more you know, but I understand if you was embarrassed, with my mother and cousin and brothers and shit all around. You gonna have to come by yourself one day, if they let you. If you dress up and put on some makeup you could look eighteen, you would just have to think of something to tell your mother and your stepdaddy.
I'm gonna have to finish this letter up because my lawyer is going to be coming here any minute now, and he wanted me to write down a minute by minute account or some shit like that of the day before it happened. I'm saying "it" and not murder because I ain't no murderer and you know that so we don't have to go over it again. But I haven't done it yet. I don't know why, I guess I just don't wanna think about it right now. So if I don't finish it then he can just be mad at me. I don't care if he get mad at me because he ain't gonna do shit but huff and puff and fiddlewith his glasses and swirl that one long hair he got on his head around his bald spot and grab his briefcase and run out and say something like, Antonio I'm here for you, I'm trying to help you. If you don't want my help then fine, or some other crackerjack talk. But before I go, I want to tell you Natasha that I love you with all my heart and a man don't say that often so when he does, he means it. And you don't have to worry about me turning into no gay faggot. I'm 100, no fuck that, 200 percent strong Black man. I do love you, that's why if I find out that you messin around behind my back, giving it up to somebody else while I'm in here, then you won't have to worry about me going to jail because I will just kill myself. I'm serious. I will find something to slit my throat or hang some sheets from the ceiling or make one of these big, swole niggaz in here so mad at me that they break my neck. To answer your question from the last letter, or I don't know if it was a question but I'll respond, what we do together is not a sin. It's a sin when two people get down and they don't love each other and they in it just for the thrill of the moment, for a little bit of pleasure. But see me and you is like a team, like Adam and Eve in the Bible, so how can that possibly be a sin if we love each other? You're right, lying is a sin and fucking is too. But we don't fuck, we make love.
Love always,
Antonio
PS. You know what? I'm sick and tired of McDonald's and bologna sandwiches. Remember how me and you used to cut Mr. Lombard class every six and seventh period so we couldgo to McDonald's and get a vanilla shake and large fry and Big Mac to share? Well, Mr. Lombard don't have to worry about me skipping his class for Ronald McDonald no damn more. You know they feeding us Mickey D type shit, right? Every day and morning and noon and night. Mickey D's. In the morning we have them sponge pancakes and nasty eggs, and at lunch we have shitburgers and at night we have shitburgers again. Sometimes they'll substitute a bologna sandwich. When I first got here, I had to do number 2 all the time cause of all the Mickey D's. I was embarrassed, but everybody told me not to worry about it cause they all did it too. But know this much, when I get out of here, I don't want to see the golden arches ever again in my life!






February 14, 1990
Dear Sweety Pie Honey Bunch Baby Love Strong Black Man Antonio,


Happy Valentine's Day and Happy Belated Birthday! Bonjour. Comment ça va? Je suis très fatiguée and sad and missing you a lot. Okay, I tried a little bit of French. If Madame Girard come over and snatch this note I'm writing to you, she can't say it don't have nothing to do with class. But I said bonjour, which means hello or good day. Then I said how are you and I'm very tired and you know the rest. Thank you for my card and the teddy bear and everything. It was so sweet. When Black gave it to methis morning and told me that you told him exactly what to go out and buy, I started crying a little bit, I ain't gonna lie. I'm glad you liked the way I looked this weekend. Me and Laneice stayed up all night doing my hair and I wore that shirt you bought me on purpose. Antonio, you so nasty asking for a kiss in front of your mother. You right, I was a little shame at first, but I forgot about them real quick when I felt your tongue in my mouth. On the way back, you know Trevon and Black was making fun of me, making sucking noises and shit. But your mother just looked at me and then looked at them and then looked back at me and smiled that little smile she does when she know me and you ain't been to the movies like we said. And she was just like, "Ain't nothing wrong with a little bit of kissing, nothing wrong with a little bit of love." When you get out, I'm giving you all the love in the world. And you getting out of there soon baby! Did you hear on the news that this man in South Africa named Nelson Mandela got out of jail after 27 motherfucking years for some shit he didn't even do? Can you imagine being locked up for 27 years for something wasn't even your fault? Mr. Lombard made us sit in a circle and shit and get all cozy and talk about it, and here everybody go looking at me. Like I know about it just cause you in the joint. All I'm thinking is, it gotta be some hope for you Antonio if this man can hold on for 27 damn years and not break. You can stay strong for the few months it's gonna take to get you out of there. You know what the best part was? His wifewas waiting for him when he got out, just like I'm gonna be waiting for you.
But I guess you wanna know why I'm tired? Same old shit, different night. Mommy and Roy got into it last night--again. The worst part is I think it's my fault. You remember when I told you about those new houses that they're building? Well, I thought my mother wasn't paying attention to me and wasn't listening, but I guess she was. She called the number last week and went down to this place in Midtown where they help people like us, you know without any money, get houses. Well, Roy found out about it the other night cause me and my mother was at the kitchen table trying to figure out the paperwork. She needed me to help her understand stuff like combined household income and assets and net worth and all that stuff we learned in econ. So anyway, we sitting at the kitchen table with our pencils sharpened and the calculators out and going, and this nigga come in the house smelling like weed and acting a fool. He is just so ugly to me Antonio, with them big red bubble eyes and those little nasty braids sticking up on his head like ant legs. Mommy keep trying to tell him he ain't never gonna grow no dreads because he's losing his hair, that he just gonna have one or two locks hanging on for dear life, but I guess he's like Jesse Jackson and trying to keep hope alive. Me and my mother was having so much fun too. She was laughing and she had pulled out some of her old tapes, stuff like Chaka Khan and Patti Labelle and Regina Belle. She was eventrying to sing a little bit, and she had just promised that she would do my hair for over the weekend. My mother hasn't done my hair in so long Antonio, so I was getting excited just thinking about sitting between her legs while she parted my hair and rubbed my scalp until I got sleepy like a baby. But Roy messed all that up real quick, just like he been messing shit up for the past two years he been in our lives. He came in the kitchen and sat in the chair all backward. He said, "Denise what you doing?" and my mother just told his ass, "Nothing Roy, it don't concern you," which made me think that if we get this house he won't move in, which would be perfect. So he was like, "What you mean it don't concern me? Why you gotta be all bitchy? I just asked a question." So she lit a cigarette, which meant she was getting nervous cause Mommy only smoke when she nervous, and she told him, "I'm thinking about trying to buy me something." And Roy was like, "You need all them papers just to buy something? Must be a pretty big something." Then she said, "It is big. I want to buy a home." And he started laughing, howling really, all loud and sloppy and exaggerated. And I was thinking it really ain't that funny so he must be just trying to hurt Mommy. And I was right, cause he started going on and on about how nobody was gonna give her a house cause she didn't even have her high school diploma and couldn't pass the GED and she couldn't pay for a house and then she started saying that he wasn't no better andhe couldn't help her do shit and she could do bad all by herself. Before I knew it, she had scooped all the papers up and stuffed them in the kitchen junk drawer. That was the end of that.
I just got up and went into my room and shut the door and turned up my Queen Latifah record real loud so I wouldn't have to hear all the arguing. I pulled out a picture of my daddy when he was alive and when I was first born, you know the one I showed you that looks kind of orange, with me and Mommy and Daddy and those fake trees in the back and I had those two Afro puffs and a sailor suit on? And I was mad at my daddy, mad at