ty and lauryn

“Were we friends?” “Do you guys ever think about me?”

Ty and Lauryn were simultaneously utterly absorbing and disorienting, a kind of rideshare equivalent of a one-night stand, maybe an extended one-night stand, like if you had a one-night stand with the same person seven times in six weeks. What was that? What was the meaning of it? Did it mean anything? Did it even happen? 

What do I know?

I know nothing. Their names? Ty? Lauryn? Maybe. How do I know for sure? Where they live? I know where I always picked them up. Their ages? Nothing but a guess there: maybe mid to late 20s, but maybe younger or maybe older. They seemed to live lives that force a different reckoning of age.

The rides were almost always the same, about a mile and a half from what seemed to be their apartment to a clinic. Usually, there would be an additional stop: to redeem a belonging at the pawnshop, to the ATM, to a street corner where they’d sell things they’d bought with food stamps for cash, to McDonald’s, to a nondescript multistory brick building where the door would open for one or the other of them, they’d disappear for a few minutes, and then reemerge. 

We quickly agreed that the minimum charge for a ride would be $20, which would cover the cost for me to pick them up and the ride. We agreed we’d figure it out for longer rides depending on what was going on.

On these many short rides or during the stops, Ty, Lauryn, or both would share these little shards of their lives.

• Their car was in the shop. But they hoped to get it back soon, and then Lauryn was thinking of doing Lyft herself, so would I share the link with her? I did.
• Their TV was at the pawn shop because they needed some cash a few weeks ago. 
• They had to see a doctor at the clinic.
• They had to get medicine at the clinic.
• They had to get methadone at the clinic.
• Their TV was getting fixed at the pawnshop because their cat knocked it over. 
• Lauryn had leukemia when she was twelve.
• Ty was one of ten children raised by a single mother in Turner’s Falls. 
• A street light fell on Lauryn’s car a few years ago, breaking her head. She sued the city and won a multimillion-dollar settlement. 
• Ty’s twin brother died of an overdose a few months before we met. It was so hard being the brother of an addict, feeling responsible for his addiction, feeling resentful of his addiction, angry with his dishonesty, desiring closeness then pulling away after another heartbreaking deception or disappointment.
• During Lauryn’s recovery from her head injury, she—and then Ty—got hooked on pain meds. They lived in their car for a while. That was terrible. But they are better now, trying to get clean.
• They are waiting for her to clear probation for an assault charge so that she can get the money she won in the lawsuit against the city. 
• They’d love to have kids. Ty is scared shitless. But Lauryn thinks he’ll do great. 
• Ty has ideas for online businesses in the tech space. After hearing this one day, I gave him a locked iPhone that a passenger had left in my car and didn’t want back. He was excited to try to unlock it. 
• Lauryn may be pregnant.
• It is going to be a girl because their blood types are different and that means it’s a girl. Ty read that.
• Lauryn is in jail. Ty wants to make sure she gets her prenatals and eats right, so he puts money in an account for her.
• Ty would do anything for her. But sometimes, he thinks it would be better for her if he weren’t so accommodating. She’s really good at getting her way in the world and she’s not so good at adapting when she doesn’t. Maybe she would learn if she didn’t always get her way with Ty. But he loves her so much it’s hard.
• I was the best driver. They wish they would always get me. 

I found their willingness to share these fragments disorienting. I am not skilled in partial sharing. I usually share too much or not enough. Maybe that’s why, as they shared what appeared to be the deepest, private facts and feelings of their lives, it was as though they flipped the switch in my heart that said: we are now friends. Like after you see-saw with someone on the playground in first grade: We are now friends. 

Only as soon as the ride was over and they left my car, it was like some sort of smoky spell had cleared out with them, and I wondered what was true and what wasn’t. I didn’t care what was true, but some voice in my head did. It was not my voice. It was the Voice of Reason, the Voice of Men, my father and older brothers’ voice. It would laugh at me, and I suddenly felt naive and maybe even foolish. You are a dreamer, it said. 

The last time I saw Ty, we did the usual ride, around an hour including a couple of stops and the time to pick him up. We had a great talk. We even called Lauryn in jail on speakerphone. Lauryn talked to me. She said, “Hey, Santiago! It’s great to hear your voice.” I said, “You too, Lauryn! Take care of yourself in there!” She said, “I will, and I’ll see you when I get out.” 

Then, when I dropped Ty off, he handed me a $10 bill. I felt confused and cheated. We’d agreed that $20 was the minimum and standard charge. Maybe he just didn’t have cash on him. That sometimes happened. So I didn’t say anything. A little later, I sent him a request on CashApp for the other $10. It was my first time using it and I couldn’t tell if it went through. So when I still hadn’t gotten any response after a couple of days, I texted him to let him know I’d sent it.

He texted me back, “i didn’t know it was mandatory i always show up i had to put money on Lauryns jail thing i’m usually always correct but now i know.”

Mortified, I texted him that I was sorry, that we were cool for the ride yesterday, and that in the future, please try to remember that it would be $20. I just couldn’t afford to do it for less.

He didn’t reply. 

But about ten days later, he texted me again: “ru free i got $20 for u for a quick down and back.” I would’ve been happy to do it, but I was giving a ride about an hour away. So I told him where I was, that I appreciated his reaching out, and that I’d try to get them next time.

He didn’t reply, and I haven’t heard from them since.

I imagine Lauryn’s out of jail by now. That was supposed to happen a couple of months after she went in. And, if she was pregnant and went to term, she’s probably had the baby. Back when Ty first told me about her pregnancy, an image flashed through my mind of the first ride I’d give them with their new baby. I saw myself bringing a little toy all wrapped up in nice paper for them. 

 On my way to a ride, I often pass by the dead-end street—Faille Avenue—where I used to pick them up. We used to laugh about living on a dead-end street called “Faille.” I thought it was a grim irony we were laughing at. But I don’t know why they were laughing or what they thought. I never asked. And I never reached out to them again. 

But still, today, when I pass their street, I always slow down and turn my head to see if they are there, thinking that if I see them outside, I’ll pull a quick left and stop to see them and that it’ll be like it always is with your good friends; like no time has passed at all.

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