Harlem To Soho
1308 Words
Jalen
....
The morning sun spilled into the room in streaks, painting the walls in hues of gold and orange. My duffel bag was wide open in front of me, laying on top my bed which was now a sea of clothes. I'd spent the past hour packing up my things in preparation for my not-so-impromptu trip to Soho.
It had gotten down to the last pile of clothes when I found a sweatshirt that successfully overwhelmed me, tipping over the composure I'd tried so hard to maintain.
That was really it! I couldn't believe that I was finally leaving Harlem for the first time in my life.
I stood over the half-zipped bag: stacks of sketchbooks, pallettes and paint tubes, a bunch of my new clothes, and a heart filled with nerves.
My whole life crammed into one bag like I was a nomad on the edge of a new world. I looked around the room—peeling wallpaper, the rusted fan whose creak had turned into a soundtrack, and the mirror I’d learned to avoid.
The feeling was bittersweet.
Drill beats filtered through my music player's speaker as I folded. Half the playlist were songs Nyla shared with me whenever she had time. Throwbacks, Nicki Minaj songs, and indie rappers she promoted. A warm smile stretched my lips as I thought about her.
We met on social media in the most random way. ITAA award winning artist, Giselle Aichner posted her latest collection on X, sending the internet into a frenzy. Nyla camped in her replies, begging for an interview, while I just appreciate the masterpieces.
From the replies, we moved into each other's DMs: I didn’t know it then, but those messages would change my life forever.
From memes to voice notes, video calls and meetups, we got closer and slowly became inseparable. She understood my silence, a rare feat that even my mom struggled with. My sarcasm, my dreams, my fears. We clicked instantly.
In a world full of noise, she was the one person who made me feel heard.
The door creaked open, slicing through the moment.
"Hey baby, you all set?" Mom stood at the doorframe, her voice soft and cautious like she didn’t want to interrupt my moment.
I turned to her, eyes already stinging at the corners.
"Can I come in?" She didn't wait for an answer. She stepped in slowly, rubbing her hands on her thighs nervously. "You know, I still can’t believe my boy’s going to college. Soho of all places. Remember when you used to say you weren't gonna leave me? Look at you now."
I laughed. "I was a child, let it go."
"Damn right, you were," She smiled, but it didn't meet her watery eyes. "I didn’t give you much, Jalen. No silver spoon. No white picket fence. No father, but you never complained. I hope I gave you enough love to carry with you."
I looked away, trying to blink the tears back. "You gave me everything you had, Ma. And that was more than enough."
She stepped forward, wrapped me in the kind of hug that makes you feel like a child again. "Make me proud, Jalen. I know you will... And don’t let them city girls take advantage of you with their ugly bodies. You hear?"
Her last words cracked me up, I couldn't control it. We spent the next few minutes laughing through the tears. The laughter said everything that words couldn’t.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
When it was a few hours past noon, the cab pulled up. It was Ford Crown Victoria. It's windows were down, and the driver had a rap playlist on blast, fancy air fresheners swinging from the mirror.
I tossed my bag in the back without hesitation like I couldn't spend one more second there. I gave my mom one last look and slid in. She didn't take her eyes off me, and I avoided her gaze like my life depended on it. Looking at her in the face just made the separation more painful.
The journey from Harlem to Soho felt like traveling through different planets.
The buildings got taller and sleeker. People moved faster. Storefronts turned to art galleries and lawn cafés. Graffiti gave way to murals. Long weaves, sequins, trench coats, and tailored suits all danced through crosswalks, weaving through each other like it was a fashion film.
I leaned closer to the window, taking it all in. The driver, Teejay doubled as my tour guide, keeping me company and showing me around the beautiful scenery.
The car slowed down due to traffic caused by some pop-up event, and I couldn't even be mad. A group of tall, fine guys stood outside the tent. They were laughing, dressed in mesh tanks, low-rise jeans, and gold chains that caught the sun. One of them tossed his hair back and smiled at another like they were the only two people in the world.
My heart skipped.
They were beautiful.
That wasn’t something I was used to seeing. Not in public at least. Two men cozy and comfortable around each other, while their friends act unbothered, like it was the most normal thing.
The sight was.... freeing.
"Yo man, you good?" Teejay asked after noticing my sudden silence. "We're close. The building is just down the road."
I looked ahead.
Nyla's house stood like a dream. It looked even bigger in person, finer than Nyla's pictures and more impressive than Teejay's explanation.
It had a wide and towering brownstone facade with ivy crawling up the side. The windows were grand, dressed in plants and light. The compound was warm and full of life, just like her.
I paid Teejay off, grabbed my bags from the trunk and struggled to the front door with wanderlust. The metal door swung open before I even knocked.
"Hey boo! Welcome to Casa de Wayne!" Nyla stood in purple sweats, arms wide open like I was royalty. "What took you so long?"
I laughed. "Don't tell me you've been waiting?"
"Isn't it obvious? Come on in, dad's home."
"What the actual f**k—"
All the air got sucked out of room as her dad, Tyrik Wayne stepped into the hallway, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He was tall, broad, and carried himself well. Nyla said he was easygoing, but it was hard to confirm because there was something unsettling about his aura.
"So you’re Jalen right... the youngblood with the golden hands," he walked closer to me. His voice was warm, steady. Like someone who didn’t talk much unless it mattered. "Come on in, kid. You need to rest after the journey. We got room and food. Nyla, help with his bag."
Nyla led me upstairs to the guestroom which was two times bigger than our room back in Harlem. It was bright, cozy, and smelled like lemon air freshener. A full bed, a desk by the window, a closet, and a small space setup for art: Nyla's touch.
My hands flew to my mouth, stunned. "Oh my God! All these for me?"
"Welcome home, Jay," she whispered. "Freshen up, I made your favorite."
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
The next morning, I was up before the sun. I barely slept all night. My nerves were doing backflips, so I just watched TV instead.
It was my first day in Soho, and I couldn't wait to resume at the workshop. I went downstairs and Nyla had packed my lunch in a brown bag already.
Mr Wayne joined me shortly, dressed in a tailored suit and shades. "Soho's waiting for your mark, kid. Ready to get your hands dirty?"
"Yes sir." I nodded repeatedly, heart pounding.
We both got into the car and left for the garage.
New street. New job. New life. But somehow, I wasn’t afraid. I was excited to see what laid in wait.
- Writer
