Streets of New York. Mark Anthony

see so much of each other.

      Her ruminations were perplexing enough without her trying desperately to remember the last time she had felt Squeeze’s full lips on her body. Oh, how he used to make me feel so good, Lindsay’s thought continued to stray. It had been over a month now and even though all the bills were taken care of, she could still feel her body slowly awaking from the thoughts of losing him.

      Sitting in the second floor classroom Lindsay’s musings came like a drunkard staggering back and forth. Squeeze was heavy on her mind and her concern grew so strong that she could not focus on any other single thing and gave up trying all together. What’s the use she couldn’t front, school was for the birds, Lindsay told herself. Now exhausted from stressing she sighed and gave into her longing.

      It bothered her that she’d left a couple dozen messages on the voice mail to his cellphone. There had been no return calls. The sound of his voice was no longer there to provide the encouragement she needed to stay strong. There were no responses from him. Mentally she wasn’t ready to tackle the issue of whether or not something was wrong with him.

      Maybe his family found out about her and he had to lay low. Or, maybe after the shooting outside his nightclub that left all those patrons on line dead, he had to disappear for a while. She was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, where high waves dashed all her hopes against rocks. She was twisted on a love that never was.

      Lindsay felt all her energy being sapped by the bad vibe she received. Then a thought appeared in her head. She contemplated driving to his home. Squeeze had forbid her to do so. She didn’t want to violate his policy but Lindsay desperately wanted to hold on to her sanity.

      Thinking like this made it difficult for her to concentrate or participate in the various sides of the ledger activities. Accounting 101 used to be her favorite class, because it dealt with money. Lindsay liked money. No, Lindsay loved money. She kept telling herself that she didn’t want to aspire to gold-digger status. Lindsay enrolled in some classes at York College. She was the first one to do so from her family. Her mother never made it past Junior High and her brother quit school in the 7^th grade.

      Lindsay had planned to complete her studies and move on to a four year college. She wanted to eventually run her own accounting firm. Today she hated to sit in the class and couldn’t wait for the time to go by. Not wanting the professor to see her, because she knew how much he hated students who did it, Lindsay glanced at her Gucci timepiece with quickness, but the professor was aware of her moves.

      “Your bling will only carry you so far but with knowledge you will go all the way. Ms. Roberts, please explain what goes on the left side of the ledger and what goes on the right and the reason for your answer.” Lindsay held his stare for a minute and then cursed under her breath. “Yes, I’m addressing you Miss,” the professor assured Lindsay, her expression was more like a deer caught in a headlight than an attentive college student.

      “This geezer is irking the fuck outta me.” Lindsay muttered under her breath.

      “I’ll speak with you after class. If you want, right now you’re holding up the rest of those who actually care if they learn something.”

      “You the one addressing me, it ain’t like I said anything to disturb your class. And I most certainly don’t wanna speak to your ol’ ass. Humph, humph uh-uh don’t lemme act da fool up in here, ahight. Just keep on teaching and leave me the hell alone.”

      “Lindsay you’re a good student but that attitude will only cause you problems. I will not stand for your insolence! I’ll continue this discussion with you later young lady.”

      “No, you won’t.”

      “Yes I will. Now let’s move on…” the professor walked away.

      “No you will not.” Lindsay muttered under her breath.

      Lindsay sighed and spent the rest of the time nervously doodling as the professor rambled on. Nothing seems to matter today. Really, Lindsay could care less about the debit and the credit side of the balance sheet. She knew the professor was right. I should be paying attention she admonished herself. This is for me, for my brother Pooh, my mother. This is to prove that one of us could do sump’n right. But I worry so much about other things this classroom thing is difficult. My mind is stuck on one thing and it ain’t this, Lindsay reasoned.

      As much as she tried she couldn’t get out of her mind all the things had happened. Malik had been shot to death. Although Squeeze claimed that he didn’t know anything about it, she was having major difficulties believing him. When she had pressed him he got mad and screamed at her.

      Squeeze had called her a nag and things were out of hand. She had said some things she shouldn’t, called him names. Now he was staying away and she missed him. The club had been shot up and patrons were staying away so the place had been closed up. Lindsay had no way of contacting Squeeze except to visit him at home. That was out of the question, she thought.

      “Everything is balanced when debit and credit are equal. A profit is gained as your credit becomes lower…” the professor was heard saying.

      Lindsay could care less, the equation she worried most about was the one going down between her and Squeeze. She loved him and even though he had not actually said it, she believed he felt the same way about her. She missed him and wished he would stop in and see her. Maybe he would meet her in the parking lot like he used to. She was wishing so hard she paid no mind to the professor and his sarcastic goodbye.

      “Those who are able to concentrate in class may read ahead and do the examples on pages twenty-three to twenty-six. That’s only for the students who would like an A or A plus. Or those who would like to someday graduate and move on.”

      Lindsay disregarded the professor’s final remarks and hurried from her accounting classroom. She sensed that he’d only said that last piece because she’d share this with him. She hated him for exposing her, putting her feelings on full blast.

      “Lindsay, Lindsay what’s the rush I know for a fact that you’ve got no other classes at this time. Would you like to talk?”

      She stared at the professor, despite their run-in earlier he was trying to smile. Lindsay had no time for his tired ol’ ass. Lindsay thought of an escape plan with the quickness.

      “Professor, I gotta go, okay.”

      “C’mon, you said you would talk to me if anything went wrong. I’m a friend remember. Why it seems like just last week we were talking, and you said I was your favorite professor. Those were your own words,” he said getting closer.

      She was searching for a qick exit. The professor was persistent and getting closer.

      “I... I,” she started. He waved, quickly cutting her off.

      “C’mon, c’mon, Lindsay let’s have two small cups of coffee and a big chat. You did say we would always discuss things. C’mon tell me what’s wrong, you’re my best student. You’ve always aced my class and when I see you falling off well, I just gotta let you know. In order to assist you, I gotta know what’s going on.”

      “Professor Allen, I’ll speak with you next week. Right now I really gotta go!” Lindsay exclaimed.

      Suddenly she turned hiding her tears. The professor tried to catch up to her but Lindsay was off and running for the stairs. She could hear the professor calling her name out as she continued on her way.

      “Lindsay, Lindsay?” The professor stood and stared as the young girl disappeared down the spiraling staircase. He shook his head and walked away. “These kids are under too much stress. No time for anything. No time.”

      Lindsay moved swiftly out of range. She knew he wouldn’t shout, he didn’t believe in shouting and she didn’t feel like talking with him. I can’t believe I used to think he was my favorite professor, she thought as Prada heels clicked loudly through the halls and quickly across the busy street. It was a little after two in the afternoon as the eight cylinder of the silver BMW