My First Love

 My name is Darby West and I am a Daddy’s girl. From the moment that he saw me I was his Tootsie roll. I have been carrying that name for ever and will carry it forever more. My Daddy was not a perfect man, but he was perfect for me. He had a very tumultuous relationship and moved out to find peace. That search led him to a peaceful woman and the two of them had a son. He used to come to the Bronx on Fridays to drop off money and to see his babies. Whenever he entered the building he would sing out and in our building – a tenement on 245^th Street and Bruckner Blvd, the acoustics were so strong that it would carry him up to the fourth floor where we lived. “Daddy! Daddy!” we would all call out and run to the door. He always came with penny candy in his pockets. We would run straight for those pockets. He would hug us, kiss us and love us up! Because of the tension in the house, he would just drop the money off, spend a few minutes with us and leave, promising to come back on Friday. We would all run to the living room and look out the window as he walked across the street. He would wave at us and blow us a kiss before going up the block to the train station. We would look out that window until he was out of sight and beyond that.

At five my baby brother, Ron and I went to live with him in Queens. When I started first grade I went to live with my auntie Sugar Prune. She was So prissy! I was only five, but she was trying to teach me how to be a lady. When I sat down, if I were wearing a dress, I was to take my hands and smooth down the back of my dress, before I sat down, then I had to cross my legs at that ankles so no  one could see my underwear. My hands were supposed to be placed in my lap. When my favorite boy cousins came by I could not play in the yard with them because I could hurt myself, skin my knees, break a nail or sweat out my press and curl. My Daddy took me from there and I went to live with him again.

It is said that most little girls marry a man like their father. I didn’t do that. Both of my husbands were the exact opposite of my Daddy. I did meet a man that was like him, though. The first time I saw him he was coming to visit my cousin one Friday evening. They were going out to a disco that night. When I opened the door to let him in, he didn’t even look at me.  I was invisible to him. I had my hair tied up, and wore an old pair of shorts and a too big t-shirt. My aunt told me that if I wanted to get his attention to fix myself up. The next Friday night when he came by I was ready for him. My curly afro was hooked up nicely. I had on my halter top, patched jeans, and my Buffalo shoes. Gold hoops were in my ears. He looked at me that time, but kept walking to the back. Soon my cousin called me, “Yo! Tootsie, c’mere!” He introduced me to his friend, “This is my boy, Charlie.” He didn’t even have to tell me his name because ever since I met him I had been writing in my notebook – Charles loves Tootsie. Tootsie loves Charles.

Charles and I got to know one another and one of the things that I didn’t like about him is that he didn’t know when to stop drinking. It was a shame too, because I really cared about him. However, I knew how difficult like could be with an alcoholic and I wasn’t going to put myself in that position.  I went on about my life, marrying a man that shared his name, but nothing else.

When I got divorced and returned to New York it was Charles that met me at the airport.  I wasn’t ready for a relationship at the time; I just wanted to wallow in misery. That winter he and my cousin came by the house. “Get up, get dressed!” my cousin ordered. I didn’t want to go, but I got dressed and joined them. Charles’ mother was having a party. There was about three feet of snow piled up beside her gate where they had cleared the sidewalk. The party was going strong when we arrived. There was plenty of food, cake, and liquor. Charles took that first drink and we danced. By midnight the red Solo cup appeared to be glued to his hand. Every time I saw him he was sipping from it. I knew that five years had passed, but he was the same old person. Around four my cousin came looking for Charles. I hadn’t seen him in a while. His sister told us she saw him go outside, but she thought he must have come back in because his coat was still on the bed. We got his coat and went out to look for him. There he was lying face down in that pile of snow, drunk as Cootie Brown. We struggled to help him up, and there was a yellow stain in the snow. My cousin was furious! He was going on and on about his Norvegese shoes. “Every time we go somewhere this is the crap that happens! Yo, man! I am sick of this!” he fumed.

We helped him put on his coat. “I’m sorry man! I know I promised you I wasn’t going to drink. But I saw Tootsie, and she was looking so good!” My cousin slapped him across the cheek. “Shut up! You ain’t good enough for my cousin!” he shouted at him. We tried to get him to walk, but he was too drunk. Charles and I waited for my cousin to show up with the car. He was leaning against the gate of someone’s house, still mumbling about how fine I looked, and he was sorry. Just as we got ready to help him to the car, this dude threw up on us! My legs and the front of my coat were covered in huge chunks of whatever food this fool had eaten. I was so disgusted I nearly threw up. We had to go back inside and clean the mess off. My cousin fussed at him all the way back to Brooklyn.

No, I never married a man like my father. My Daddy liked liquor too. He did stop drinking though in his later years. He mellowed out and became deep. It wasn’t a deepness that entirely with old age. Sometimes after taking a toke or three of gunja, anybody can get deep and start philosophising.  When I was getting married for the second time he came to NC to give me away, along with my auntie and one of her friends. After everybody had gone to bed we were up talking. “Why are you getting married this late in the game? How old are you now, forty or forty-five?” he asked. “Forty-five? Come on, Daddy! You know I ain’t forty-five. Try thirty-five!” I said, laughing. “How long have you known this cat?” he asked. “Six months,” I replied. He shook his head. “Six months? Naw! You don’t know this dude. And he doesn’t know you. You need to put that on ice. Why can’t you just live with him for a while, see what he is really about. Don’t rush into this,” he said.

We never had a really deep conversation like that in a long time, a long time. The last deep conversation we had was when I was feeling my friend Kevin in Hampton, VA. I was trying to decide should I return to Virginia and give him a chance even though I wasn’t in love, but he appeared to be. My daddy looked me in the eye and said, “Love? Who said anything about love? Did I say anything about you falling in love? What I said is…and you need to listen because I usually sell this advice. For you, I’ll give it to you free. Love is like a boil It rises on your behind and busts in your heart. Don’t fall in love with these cats out here. Let them fall in love with you! And that my dear is the truth and the whole truth!” “Daddy, are you sober?” I asked. “I ain’t had nothing to drink today,” he replied. “But are you sober?” “Nope! But I know what I’m talking about,” he smiled.

I miss my pops. I don’t need a certain date of the month to honor my Daddy. I can do that any time I want to. I can close my eyes and remember what his hair feels like, soft like cotton. I can smell the Old Spice he used too much of. I can see his smiling face and that twinkle in his eye. Each time…every single time I think of him, I feel blessed that I was given to him, my first love – Walter Lee Greene.