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The Tutor
M, in the privacy of her New Orleans ghetto dwelling, was tutoring a kid in her so-called spare time after her full time job as a medical consultant/grant writer and her second job as a professional tutor for less than stellar performers from the surrounding suburban ghettoes.
My back was to it while I checked email and posted my latest self-absorption and this kid was getting cut no slack at all. M does not humor punk ass bitches and this kid was standing up to the test in admirable fashion despite the fact that we should all be volunteering for literacy programs, each and every fucking one of us. Money is great if you got it, face time is better. The kid is a very bright survivor of a totally fucked up New Orleans educational system and I'm happy he could understand as many words as he could but that's only because I have heard worser. U hoid me?
A couple of kids on the border of adulthood came in making exaggerated shivering noises and M shushed them while I called them pussies and pulled up a picture of the snow encrusted mansion of my future. "Pool's in the back," I said. "Got a heater in it? Should have a heater," was the extent of their marvel.
I asked the one near adult if he had completed the online job applications M had brought up and left for him to complete while she was at work and he shook his head and I said, "you're meat." The other near adult youngster affects a harsher look, which is perfectly suitable for the neighborhood. You would be afraid of him if you passed him in his context, and I knew he wanted online after me so when I finished I said "go ahead," and he wouldn't make a move. I interrupted M and said "P wants online" and she looked at P like he a piece of a man and said, "when's the last time you did a dish in here or lifted a finger to help in anyway?," and he looked away ashamed but ready to smile his way out but M preempted that with, "don't you even think about giving me that smile." He didn't. I suggested to the other youngster maybe he could fill out those applications. Then I left to go back to my own adjacent ghetto.
I was on the front porch heading for my truck parked in front the house and a voice called out from the street and I wish my sight wasn't so fucked up but it is so I just went to meet the voice and by the time I stood in the middle of the street I saw it to be Shelton so I said hey. He was shivering.
"You cold?"
"Yeah I'm cold," he said. Said he was waiting for his father to come pick him up. He was really shivering.
I didn't know what to say so I said, "You want me to give you a ride?"
He didn't get exasperated with me being a dullard, he just said, "No, I'm waiting for my dad."
He shivered some more and told me of some flu-like symptoms, which didn't sound nice, and I asked him what kind of car his dad drove. He said it was such and such a make and model and that it was like the car Mama D used to drive.
He said he had passed by my house with a friend a few nights previous and he said he had said some nice things to his friend about my abilities as a ghetto renovator.
"What time?" I asked.
"Oh, it was late," he said.
"I go to bed early," I said.
He shivered some more. I said, "Do you want to sit in my truck and wait?" He shrugged off that suggestion and said he was going to wait in the barbershop. I nodded.
"Stop by sometime if you see the light on."
"Ok," he said.