How to Lose Your Soul In Three Easy Steps

Envy Part Two: Welcome To The Party

Episode One: Envy – D’Evils

Prim held onto a pole on the bus balancing her suitcase with her leg. The bus was packed with door-to-door bodies. The hum of the air conditioner could be heard but not felt. Sweat dripped down Prim’s body and pooled in her unmentionable areas. The hot breath of the man behind her crept down her neck. Prim twisted from side to side. Her back ached. She stooped down to get some relief and when she stood up, she almost ran smack into some man’s hairy armpit. Gross.

The bus creaked along the route. Prim wondered if it was powered by an engine or the bus driver’s feet.  

She was almost there. Just twenty more minutes and she’d be done with this stale, stuffy ride. Her aunt had recently redone her bathroom. She couldn’t wait to step under her rain shower. Then afterwards she would have a cup of chai tea. Her aunt had the good kind from Target. Tazo. She had those Biscoff cookies too. The kind you got on Jet Blue. Prim drifted away; she imagined taking a vacation

“I like the Blue Lotus kind better,” a woman standing next to her said. She looked at Prim with a gaze more scalding than steamed milk. “It has less sugar.”

“And baths are better for getting that stank out,” a man said.

“Don’t you need to be fantasizing of having your own key to turn?” another man said.

Prim looked down and pretended as if she hadn’t heard anything. Even her thoughts were met with disapproval. Prim wondered who she had pissed off. She begged whomever it was for pardon. If a hole opened by her feet, she would have gladly sunk into it. Instead, she shrank deeper within. The petals of her self-esteem wilted.

The bus rounded the bend next to Glenwood Houses. A single passenger got on.

“Say brother, can you give me a ride? I don’t have a metro card,” the man said when he stepped up onto the bus.

The bus driver tapped the fare receptacle as a response.

“Give me a pass, brother,” the man said.

“I ain’t your brother. Pay your fare or get off,” the bus driver said.

Prim’s legs began to twitch. She googled what time the sun was setting that day. She had thirty-four minutes. The ride with perfect timing was twenty-eight. They were two minutes behind schedule. She prayed the Lord would allow her to make it.

“Are you serious right now?” the man said.

“As a heart attack,” the bus driver said.

The man ignored him. He pulled headphones out of his backpack and put them on his head. He bobbed and weaved down the aisle trying to find space.

The driver sputtered and spat. He shut off the engine. “If you don’t get the hell off of my bus.” He hefted himself out of his seat and started to walk towards the fare evader. His whole body shook with indignation.

The fare evader had him by about a foot. He looked at the bus driver and cracked up.

“This ain’t your bus. And I’m not getting off shit,” the man said.

“Please God, I know stealing is a sin but please let the driver find it in his heart to forgive this man for his transgressions,” Prim said in her head.

“I gotta be somewhere,” another man said.

“Ain’t nobody got time for this bullshit,” another man echoed.

“Me three,” Prim said in her head.

The bus driver waved his hands. He walked back to his seat. “Whatever, man,” he called over his shoulder to the fare evader. “Next time make sure your broke ass got it.” He heaved himself onto his seat, slammed the partition shut and turned on the engine.

Prim breathed. The knot in her stomach relaxed. If nothing else went wrong, she would make it. She wondered if her auntie had any lemonade left. She would drink that first after chugging two bottled of water. The lemony sugary goodness would wipe the taste of the day out of her mouth.

A woman stood up and shook her fist. “That’s not fair. I paid. So should he.”

The woman looked proud of herself. She sat down again and crossed her legs primly in her cream linen pants suit. She ran her French manicured hands through her silk pressed 90s bob. Prim admired her clean girl beat. Her concealer, foundation and bronzer were expertly matched and blended beautifully.

Miss Silk Press looked at her. “After thirty-five you can’t rely on drugstore cosmetics,” she said. “Mature skin needs extra care.”

Prim resolved to hit up Sephora as soon as she got her money right. The woman at first glance didn’t look any older than twenty-eight.

The bus driver looked at Miss Silk Press through the rear-view window and winked at her.

He cut the engine off again and said in a voice that was so robotic he sounded automated, “Fare evasion is a crime the MTA lost six hundred and ninety-one million dollars to lost fares in 2024. Who supports me in taking a stance in stopping these criminals. Help us keep New York City safe and beautiful. And free of broke people.”

“That’s right. Everybody has to pay what they weigh,” the woman said. She looked at Prim. Prim sucked in her stomach. She resolved to try keto again with less dairy.

“I heard that,” a man said.

A chorus of other voices voiced their assent.

“What’s he wearing?” a teenager said about the fare evader.

The fare evaders' clothing was something Prim couldn’t place. His jeans were slashed on the knee. And his t-shirt was covered with weird Egyptian symbols. His outfit was different. But it didn’t look bad. He looked clean enough.

“What does it matter?” Prim thought. When you become an adult life becomes unpredictable and fashion takes a backseat to real life responsibilities.

“They’ll find out in a few years,” the fare evader said.

The teenagers examined him from head to toe. They were trying to decide if his outfit was yes or no.

The teenagers were clad in Brooklyn teenage fashion: retro Jordans, Supreme, Gucci belts and H&M. Their style was immediate and accessible.

“He’s probably homeless and just washed up at the bus station,” Prim thought.  

Something she could relate to. She had taken a bird bath in the bathroom at Whole Foods the first day she became homeless. Prim remembered that night. She broke it. She wandered around the city all night wondering where her life went.

“I wish they would leave people like us alone,” Prim thought.

“Who is us?” the fare evader said.

For someone who couldn’t even afford the bus, his tone was arrogant.

He gave Prim a once over and then turned his attention to her feet.

“Aaa, look at her shoes, yo,” one teenage boy said in her direction.

Designer Shoe Warehouse. Five Years Ago. The heels clanked rather than clickety clacked. But pointy toe shoes were back in style again. Prim didn’t think she looked too bad. Her sundress was new. It was from Shein, and it was cute.

“The heel has been updated, love,” the fare evader said.

“Get out of the floss, if you ain’t flossy,” the teenagers said.

 Prim missed her apartment in the Bronx. It was whatever is whatever over there.

The teenagers opened the windows of the bus. The sound of their melodic voices in concerto disturbed the civility of the twilight.

A trio of girls walked by and joined in. The girls’ designer bags and buss down weaves swung in the air as they floated to their next adventure. They looked happy and carefree. Prim had never felt that at ease. She longed for their freedom to be.

One of the girls caught Prim’s eye. “Get out of the floss, if you ain’t flossy,” she said. She doubled over laughing. Clutching her stomach and gasping for air.

Prim looked around the bus hoping to see a friendly face. But all she saw was twisted mouths and flashing cell phone cameras.

“Their mouths were like open sepulchers,” a woman said.

“Smile, you’re on camera,” a man said.

“Hypocritical mockers in feast they gnashed upon me with their teeth,” Prim thought.

The crowd reveled. Their voices were raucous. They clapped their hands and stomped their feet. One passenger started to beatbox, and another guy started rapping about how black people who couldn’t dress should be arrested by the police.

The procession of honking cars seemed to lend their support. Every time the protester yelled, “Get out of the floss, if you ain’t flossy.” A car would honk.

 Prim wanted to cry. A second neighborhood had rejected her. The city had decided. It knew what it wanted, and it didn’t want people like her.

She had been born in New York and had never thought about moving from here. Her whole family had left and went down south as the prices began to hike beyond what they could afford. Her mother was the last holdout beside her, and she had broken down and left last month. Her mother’s two-bedroom apartment in Fort Greene, the haven Prim had grown up in, was gone.

“I ain’t moving,” the fare evader said.

“Me neither,” Prim said out loud without thinking. She liked him. He was like her. He didn’t fit in, and he didn’t look right. If he could take a stand then she would support him even if it were under her breath.

Prim caught his eyes and flashed what she emoted to be an encouraging smile. He looked at her with a blank expression and turned his attention to the phone screen.

“So much for broke solidarity,” Prim thought.

“Get out of the floss, if you ain’t flossy,” the fare evader said. He tapped his foot and laughed. Prim laughed with him. She would turn the tables as well. What was so well dressed about them? As soon as she got her first paycheck, she was going to rush to Shein. All these clothes are made at the same factories.

“Invest in a few good pieces, love. Consider a capsule wardrobe. And there is nothing wrong with thrift stores,” the fare evader said.

And she will. And until the day came when she could upgrade her wardrobe she was going to stand still.

 Why should she leave because people didn’t think she dressed well enough or wasn’t rich enough or whatever else she didn’t have enough of? People like her built this city. She was tired and poor and needed things for free.  And all this rejection made her more determined to make it. She straightened up her posture and fixed her face in an unbothered expression.

A passenger. She stared back. “Those air force 1s are dusty as hell,” she thought. He looked away. Two could play that game. She checked her app. If she trotted, she might make it. Prim contemplated hoofing it. But she wouldn’t make it, not in these shoes.

“You’ll get off,” the bus driver said. He smiled and spread his arms as if embracing the passengers. “They’ll make you,” he said.

“Who does he think he’s talking to?” Prim said. This time a hair above her breath.

“Man, fuck you. I miss the old New York. But things always go back full circle,” the fare evader said.

“Aaa, you’ll probably be rocking those same joints when it do,” the teenager said as he pointed to the man’s sneakers.

A man got up and walked off the bus. “I’m sick of this bullshit. All this time wasted for $2.90.”

“It’s the principle,” Miss Silk Press said.

 The fare evader sat down in the open seat. He stretched his long legs taking up even more space on the crowded bus then was needed. His defiant posture screamed, “Do something.”

Miss Silk Press stared at him. And other passengers joined in. They hissed at the fare evader, “Get off.”

He ignored them.

Miss Silk Press held up her hand. “Silence,” her gesture commanded.

“Them joints are hard,” one of the teenagers said while pointing at the fare evaders' sneakers. His sneakers were shredded and had a crucifix and street scenes drawn on them.

“I paint them myself,” the fare evader said. “I have a studio.”

He was homeless chic. Prim hated him. She was the real deal. He was the fake one.

“I wish there were someone here. I could relate to,” she thought.

“Why didn’t you pay your fare?” a man asked the fare evader.

The fare evader waved his hand. “I lost my MetroCard. And when I went to buy another one, the machine was busted.”

“You could have explained that,” Miss Silk Press said.

“I didn’t want to,” the fare evader said. “The MTA needs to do better.”

Miss Silk Press agreed. She told the man he was handsome. She said she liked his jeans.

He smiled at her and told her her style was impeccable.

“I hate artists,” Prim thought. “They get to do what they want and are seen as eccentric. When I don’t look perfect, I’m seen as crazy.”

“It’s called swag, love,” the fare evader said to Prim. His tone was mocking. “Don’t just put on your clothes. Style them. That dress would be elevated with a belt. And invest in some good shoes and a handbag.”

Miss Silk Press patted her black Givenchy.

Prim prayed again silently in her head. “Jesus take the wheel. I must get off the bus ride from hell.” All she wanted to do was to get to her auntie’s house. But instead, she was being attacked for how much she was not.

The chanting switched to, “No Broke People.”

“You look worried,” a man sitting across from her said.

“I have to be somewhere at a specific time,” Prim said.

“You would do anything to make this bus go, huh,” the man said. He chuckled. “Well, you better switch up plans. We’re not going anywhere soon.”

Prim checked the app; the next bus wasn’t scheduled to come for another twenty-five minutes.

Three women and two eased their way to the front of the bus. “This is ridiculous. All this crime going on in the city. You’re take a stance over $2.90. I’d rather walk than participate in this foolishness,” they called to the bus driver.

“God bless you, sister,” one of the women said. She handled Prim, a small green leather bound New Testament.

Prim put the book in her purse. “Thank you.”

“Always wait on the Lord, sister. He may not come exactly when you call but he’s always right on time.”

Speaking of time, if the bus didn’t leave in exactly one minute and thirty seconds, she wouldn’t make it.

The teenagers were silent. The fare evader was flossy. One of the teenagers had googled his clothes. His shirt was vintage Gaultier. His jeans were Maison Margiela. And his sneakers were Comme de Garcon.

The crowd turned. They shifted their attention away from the fare evader and started scanning the bus. There was a broke tacky person on the bus. They could smell it.

Prim prayed for an invisibility shield. “Clauneck, be a fence.”

Her attention went back to her phone. A text message alerted her to an auto debit from her credit card she forgot to turn off. She was now seven hundred dollars and twenty-three cents broker. She wanted to cry. She fought back tears as she went through her phone and turned off all her autopayments.

Instagram sent her an alert. Her old roommate had put up a new post. She was on vacation in the Bahamas with her boyfriend.

Prim had seen the boyfriend first in the grocery store. If she had just been a bit bolder and approached him like her roommate did, he could have been hers. She could have been the one who was on vacation. She could have had the live-in boyfriend splitting bills instead of her life now: lonely with no money.

They said God didn’t give you more than you could handle. But she was at her breaking point, she didn’t want to be strong. She didn’t want to hold on. She wanted things out of life and if taking a shortcut got her there. It would be worth it. She was tired of being the one who was less than. She chose the Clauneck pamphlet for a reason. She read through it again. It said if Clauneck accepts you. You will see signs of life working in your favor. She needed favor, her own city had turned against her.

She read the summoning instructions: “Pray twelve times and each time ask him for what you want. If you get it, it means you are accepted.”

Prim knew about things like this. She had heard stories about her great grandmother’s sister conjuring. All types of mess happened around her, but she always got what she wanted. Prim was tired of living life with having just enough. She wanted more.

“Have faith,” the pamphlet read. “When you feel that inner knowing that Clauneck is around you. Open your heart to him and let him fill you.”

“He’s here,” a child’s voice cried from the back of the bus. Prim turned towards the sound. She craned her neck to look to see who the child was talking about. But she didn’t see any kids. All she saw was teenagers and adults.

Weird.

Prim needed things and according to the pamphlet Clauneck all to those who were obedient to him. Prim decided she would split the difference and she would ask Clauneck for six things to see if he would deliver. If things got too bad, she would call on the Lord to be delivered.

1)Reach her aunt’s house on time. 2) A place to stay for the night 3) Her own apartment 4) Easy Job that pays well 5) Her hair and nails done 6) A man

 A second bus rolled to a stop behind them. Prim watched the passengers who had disembarked. One of the women waved to her.

Prim hurried up and gathered her belongings to join them. A man stopped her and smiled at her. “Do I know you?” he said.

“I don’t think so,” she responded back. She had never met the man before, maybe he had mixed her up with someone else. She wondered if that other woman was pretty or not.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“I’m fine,” she said. She smiled back. The days where she was approached by men on the street had dwindled. Prim was flattered

“Why don’t you come sit by me. We’ll wait this out together and keep each other company,” the man said.

Prim checked her phone log. Jerome still hadn’t returned her call.

“I would love to, but I have to get to my aunt’s house before it turns dark or she won’t let me in,” Prim said. “It’s a weird story.”

The man laughed. “I love weird stories. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

Prim looked at the man. The twinkle in his eye looked familiar.

“God,” Prim said in her head. “If this man is no good, send me a sign.”

Prim was about to move on. But whatever she saw disappeared. And then it came back again. And then it disappeared. Prim held his gaze. His round face and wide eyes looked open. He was about her age and had the gentle demeanor of someone well cared for.

The second bus driver yelled out the window. “Any of y’all coming.” 

 Prim started to walk toward the door and get off when the man patted the seat next to him. “My name is Sean. What’s yours?”

Prim sat down. Maybe he would be her man. She told him her name. He told her it was virtuous. And virtues are beautiful.

An older man limped up the aisle and paid the man’s fare with his MetroCard.

And the wheels on the bus started rolling.

A gust of wind whipped through an open window. The bus began to pick up speed.

Prim gripped the edge of the seat. The bus felt like an airplane with a bad case of turbulence.

A pigeon flew alongside the bus. It appeared to be gliding. Its wings barely moved.

“Be careful,” the bird said.

Enough of this foolishness, Prim refused to believe the bird was talking to her.

“I will never smoke weed again,” Prim thought.

Episode Three: Envy – GoldDigger