Another Man's Treasure (Joey Bada$$ Story)

Part Uno

I wanted to burn the stupid newspaper as I saw it sitting on Mr. Oakley’s steps. He wouldn’t be home for another week, so he probably wouldn’t mind if I burned the paper anyway. There wasn’t any news in there that he would miss out on, besides things about decisions the president was making or local murders; things of the sort. Things the residents of this place only pretended to care about to excuse their lack of anything else to do.

I left the paper alone and continued walking down the streets of Washington D.C., my home for about eight years now. The sun was still blaring at its strongest given the time of day, and the traffic was moving slower and slower.  That was the norm every day—hot sun and tourist traffic. I didn’t mind. It felt good to be in a place that people wanted to visit.

On the block filled with ivory stone row houses, mine was at the end, second to last on the block. The last house belonged to a woman who collected parrots, and next to her was the Marriott hotel. This block was our universe.

“Hello, Jamie-Lee. How’re you doing on this fine morning?” Ryan, one of the employees at the Marriott, asked.

“I’m alright. How are you?”

“I’m fine Jamie, but I’m more concerned about you.” Ryan stepped closer to me now, pulling his puppy along with him.

“Why?”

“Well…I know how hard heartbreaks can be. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” With that, Ryan walked away, he and his dog taking one last look back at me before going about their business. I shook my head and continued on into my house, picking up the newspaper before closing the door behind me.

The lights were off, which was unusual. Only the kitchen light was on, the rest of the downstairs lit by candles.

“Edwin? I’m home.” I called. “How’s Latara?”

There was no answer. I checked the chalkboard by the entrance to see if he’d left me a message saying where he’d gone, but it wasn’t there.

“Edwin!” I was shouting now, running up the stairs with Latara in mind. Where was he? Did he kidnap Latara and take her with him? Could—

“Oh, sorry Jamie. I was asleep. After I put Latara to bed, the quietness of the house made it kind of hard to stay awake.” Our babysitter, Sam, chuckled. “How come you’re home so early? Did the store close or something?”

“Sam, where is Edwin?” I asked. Now I was a bit less worried, since I could see Latara napping peacefully in her crib, the curtains of her window closed and soft ocean noises playing from the stereo.

“He…he didn’t tell you?” I shook my head. Sam pointed to the newspaper in my mind, said only ‘page A35.’

I turned quickly to the page to see the headline: Hispanic Harvard Law Major Calls Off Wedding, Becomes Bachelor!

“Edwin Castillo…attended Harvard…engaged Jamie-Lee Williams in February of this year…calls off wedding for concealed reasons to be alone, says that current marriage is filled with distrust and lies?” I skimmed. Sam nodded.

“He said that he would be contacting you to discuss what would happen to Latara, but I see he hasn’t—

“Where is he?”

“On a bus to Missouri. His mother wants to see him.” She informed me. I dropped the newspaper and sat on the bench, the one that Edwin bought for Mother’s Day. The questions I should’ve been asking weren’t even coming into my mind. I was blank, paralyzed with shock. It was real. The article was legit, and the whole neighborhood new: even Ryan and his puppy. And as usual, I was the last to find out. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else had the answer to the one question I could ask:

Why?

Why should Edwin leave me now? We were doing fine. We made plans to get married in October, and we were well off enough to support our daughter. The only reason I ever feared Edwin would leave me was because he was a lawyer with a big salary while I was just a waitress making a little above minimum wage. Still, he’d assured me that he loved me enough to not care about our jobs and the money we made. I believed him—so much so that I didn’t think it was the reason he wasn’t here now.

So what was it?

I looked up at Sam, hoping she could read my expression and come up with a solution, but she only shrugged. She also pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket, a little ripped piece of loose-leaf paper with only a few words on it in his ever-so-neat handwriting:

Maybe you should think about the decisions you make, and what you choose to tell your own fiancée before you go keeping secrets. Once you’ve thought of it, you’ll know why you don’t have me anymore.

And that was it. He left it up to me to figure out whatever misunderstanding was occurring, as if I ever could. I only folded up the paper, told Sam to go home, and curled up in my bed, crying. I called him.

Sixty-seven times.

Right after number sixty-seven I gave up, gave Latara her dinner, and went to sleep.

I’d wake up and it would all be a bad dream.