Tayari's Blog: Open Letter to Audrey on Writers Colonies

Comment #1, by Audrey Petty

Dearest Tayari,
Thank you!

xoxoxo,
Audrey

Comment #2, by Little Yellow Boy from Chatham Villiage

It’s 5 o’clock in the morning. I am awake far earlier than normal. Was it a nightmare or that Cuban sausage eaten after 8pm? It doesn’t matter now I can’t sleep. My mind starts to drift thinking of all manner of things. Well maybe not all manner of things, really just Love. Love past, love present, love future, and even love first. My first love. Not to be confused with my first girlfriend, or my high school sweetheart or even the puppy love with Felicia whats-her-name in Ms. What-chi-ma-call-its class. Real love hit me long before hormones alerted me of their existence, and before puberty assaulted my powers of reasoning. You see I experienced real love in the soft tawny frame of Audrey Petty.

Don’t get this twisted I’m not about to indulge in a lewd account of an old affair between Ms. Petty and I. If you are really close to her you may be searching your memories for a mention of me but trust me, you won’t find any reference. You could have Google access to her brain and you’d be hard press to find near a trace of me. I was a brief part of Audrey’s childhood. She and I played together in a time when games were free and played mostly out doors without need of electricity. We lived in court 10 of Chatham Park Village Co-Operative. Our world was handful of 3 story vine covered burnt-red brick buildings which circled together like wagons protecting us from the mean streets of the south side of Chicago. Kids didn’t have to knock or ring doorbells there, the echoes of laughter from the early rebel rousers usually summoned the reaming ones to the window if not immediately sailing down the stairs. The Petty sisters where good at getting playtime started. They’d be outside with a jump rope or some other form of amusement, laughing, arguing and bossing one another around. There was a large area to play in which seemed designed just for us. Except for the little patch of grass outside of Ms. Johnson’s garden apartment, we were not allowed to even sneeze in that direction. She was definitely the “Nazi” of the Village. But the rest of the court had sufficient space. I remember the grass was so green and seemed to stretched as far a football field. It was interrupted by a circular garden in the middle which was meticulously maintained by Ms Moody. It had a little fountain in the middle that just begged little children to traverse the flower bed and play in the water. What had to be the world’s biggest tree was set off to one side of the grass. It had the commanding position of being the headquarters / safe zone for all hide-n-go-seek games or any variation of tag. It was here in this little pocket of Chicago that I was first able to venture away from the apron strings of my mother. She never wore an apron but I always wanted to say that phrase.

It’s important to remember that as I call Audrey my first love I do so in the context of a child that has not yet learned of the concept of a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. I had no hint of manhood welling up in my loins. I was innocent of all that Madison Ave., Playboy, and even the Brady Bunch was yet to teach me about love. Short of my mother, two candy toting grandmothers, and my knot head sister I had not experienced a strong affection for anything that didn’t fit in a toy box. But then I met Audrey.

She was the most beautiful girl God ever made. Her hair was always pulled back to expose that exquisite forehead and those warm eyes. Her skin was such a perfect brown that I often wondered if it tasted like a Hershey bar. Audrey’s complexion made her smile all the brighter and more genuine. I guess all that physical magnificence would not have mattered if the smile wasn’t so genuine. Audrey had a heart of gold and it was that golden heart that stole mine. Once, out of concern for my development as a man, she inspired me to give up my four wheel pedal car and learn how to ride a two wheel bicycle like the big kids. She always included me in conversations even the ones I didn’t care to hear. I just wanted to be near her. Being a year or two older she often protected me from the bigger kids. I remember when her older sister tried to convince me that her harden elbow scab was actually candy that she was going to peel off her arm and share with me. Audrey would not participate in the set up and gave me an impromptu science lesson on the coagulation properties of hemoglobin. She probably didn’t use those words though. Yet she was still the smartest kid in the whole court yard… probably the whole of Chatham Village.

Being beautiful, having a heart of gold, smart as all-get-out and coming to my rescue more than once was not enough to make Audrey my first love though. No not at all. My body ached when it was time to say good night to Audrey and came alive the next day when I could see her again. Dinnertime was a cruel interruption for the very important business of our play. Summer meant I could see her consecutive days and I could barely contain myself. There was no cartoon that I imagine putting ahead of a day of running senselessly behind Audrey Petty. There were other kids outside but today I can not for the life of me remember their names and only a few their faces. She was like a 5 year- old’s equivalent to a reason for living. And when she moved away from the Village I felt the true evidence of love… heart-break. Thirty some odd years later I know that type of longing is rare.

Obviously I have some loves since then. Some even with similar qualities. I have loved and been loved by some incredible women. You might not believe me when I say the love I first felt with that little girl, as a little boy set the standard for me. If I can see beauty in women beyond post adolescent curves and glued on Korean hair I’m comparing her to my first love. If I can see wisdom, not just acquired knowledge I’m measuring that with my first love. When I miss a woman that I just walked away from, you can trust I am reminiscing about my first love.

Over those years I have thought of little Audrey Petty often. I’ve never thought to look her up not only would she not remember me but, I think what I loved was who she was then, I have no idea of who she is now. This morning Google gave me a first peek into her current life. I read her very charming story of cooking chitlins with her momma and then this 3 year old blog entry on your site. Knowing that both of you are accomplished writers a shutter to think of the typos and grammatical errors contained here in my early morning ranting. Nonetheless I feel better processing these thoughts. Who knew writing could be therapeutic. Oh I guess you would know that. (smile)If anyone gets the opportunity, tell her I said thank you. I won't be doing anymore internet stalking to find her current info... I need to go to work.

Little Chubby Yellow Boy