Writers on the Storm
Page 20
The next day, Cornelia called Chad straight away. She didn’t even care if her mom caught her on the phone. She wanted to tell him that she thought about him all night and that she wanted him to plead not guilty. Chad was glad to hear from her, but he wouldn’t hear anything about a not guilty plea.
“I did what they said, CC. I threw the first punch.”
“The only punch,” Cornelia said proudly.
“I’m guilty of assault.”
“But the freak deserved it.”
“That doesn’t matter, CC. When they ask for a plea they don’t ask you why you did what you did. They just ask whether you’re guilty or not and I’m guilty, even if he deserved it, which I’m not saying he did.”
“Of course he did.”
“What he said was wrong, CC, but I shouldn’t have turned to violence as an answer.”
“It was an effective answer,” Cornelia said with a laugh.
“It’s not funny, CC. I hit another human being. I’m ashamed of what I did.”
“Well I don’t think you should be ashamed. You were standing up for Steve and Admeta and protecting me. This is all my fault. I should be the one pleading guilty. I threw my drink on the pig.”
“You had a knee jerk reaction just like me,” Chad said. “What’s done is done.”
“It’s still not right,” Cornelia said. Then she heard a noise in the hallway. “I think my mom’s coming, I have to go,” she whispered and hung up the phone before Chad could even say “good-bye.”
There was a knock on Cornelia’s door.
“CC, are you awake?” Veronica asked.
“I am now,” was her reply.
“Michelle made breakfast. Eggs and bacon. Are you interested?”
“Mom, I always have half a bagel with light cream cheese and half a banana for breakfast.”
“I know, CC, but it’s fun to try something different every now and then. Are you sure you’re not interested?”
“I’m sure, mom,” Cornelia said. “But thanks anyway.”
“Your loss,” Veronica said and she went back downstairs.
Cornelia sat up in her bed and saw Daruma’s beady little eye staring at her.
“Oh, shut up, you!” She said to the little doll, but he did not change his expression.
Cornelia huffed at him as she threw her blankets off and got ready for the day. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do since she was still grounded, so she just put on some sweats. Then she had an idea. She knew Writers on the Storm would be starting up again on Monday so she decided to rewrite her first paper which she never got to read to the group. Admeta didn’t want anyone in Writers on the Storm to know her brothers were gang members so Cornelia had to start from scratch. This time she was going to be brutally honest.
That’s how Cornelia spent her day, taking breaks now and then to get something to eat or answer questions from her mother. When she was finished she got caught up on some homework. Then she decided to go into her father’s old library to see if she could find a copy of “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” Sure enough, it was there. The cover was tattered and the pages were yellow, but it would certainly work for her purposes.
Cornelia spent the rest of the evening reading the book. She was enthralled by the story, but she grimaced every time she read the n-word. It reminded her once again of her crime. She wondered if it would always be that way. She was so caught up by Huckleberry’s adventures that she fell asleep reading the book.
The next morning Veronica woke Cornelia up early.
“Mom, it’s Sunday!” Cornelia protested.
“Yes it is, CC, I’m glad you still know what day it is. I barely saw you yesterday. You have community service today, did you forget?”
“Oh, crap,” Cornelia answered. “O.k., mom.”
As Veronica walked back downstairs Cornelia threw off her blankets, but she threw them so far that they hit Daruma and knocked him off the bookshelf. Cornelia picked up the blankets and threw them on the bed. She only made her bed when company was coming over and Michelle didn’t count since she was Veronica’s guest. Cornelia then picked up Daruma. She breathed a sigh of relief after examining him and discovering that he was unscathed. She held him in the palm of her hand and looked into his eye.
“Are you looking at me?” she asked. “Are you looking at me?” She thought she had heard those lines in a movie once and she laughed at the absurdity of it and then put Daruma back on the bookshelf. He made her think about Mrs. Hakim. Cornelia hoped she had gotten home from the hospital and was feeling better.
Cornelia looked through her closet for something to wear. The Family Connection had told her to dress nice, but not too nice. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Was a skirt too nice? Cornelia supposed so and went for a pair of khaki pants and a regular button-down shirt. She got dressed and put on a pair of loafers. She didn’t know what they were doing today, but she was sure it wasn’t painting or cooking if she had to dress nice-but-not-too-nice.
After putting on her make-up, Cornelia had breakfast. She could tell by the smell of oatmeal in the air that Veronica and Michelle had already eaten. Michelle had started spending the weekend at their house in recent weeks. Just as she was finishing, Veronica came in and told her they had to leave now so she wouldn’t be late. They both grabbed their coats and headed out.
“Where’s Michelle?”
“She had phone calls to make.” Other than that, not much was said on the way to The Family Connection until Veronica drove right by it.
“Mom, you just missed it,” Cornelia said.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you, CC? The venue changed. I got a call a few days ago from someone named Natalie I think. She said you’re supposed to go to the Price Valley Community Center instead.”
“Are you kidding?” Cornelia asked.
“No, why?”
“It’s just that the Price Valley Community Center is in the roughest part of Price Valley.”
“Oh it’s broad daylight, CC, you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure I’m not late picking you up.”
“O.k.,” Cornelia said with reservation in her voice.
“There it is,” Veronica said as they turned the corner onto Grand Avenue. Cornelia looked at the tattered building. It was a yellow brick building with bars on all the windows. Even with the bars there were still some windows broken out. There was also graffiti plastered all over and odd sections of yellow paint on the bricks where Cornelia surmised past graffiti had been painted over. Maybe it had even been done by Family Connection volunteers. As they pulled up to the front door, Cornelia saw a line of mostly women and children waiting to get in.
“There’s Natalie,” Cornelia said, pointing to the door. Natalie saw Cornelia pointing and waved.
“She’s cute,” Veronica said.
“Ew, mom, don’t be gross!” Cornelia said.
“I didn’t mean it like that, CC. Would you have said that if I told you a guy was cute?”
“Yes! I don’t want to know who you think is cute, mom. Their gender doesn’t matter.”
“Really?” Veronica asked.
“Yeah, mom. You can like whoever you want, but I don’t want to hear about it. You’re my mom. Do you think dad goes around telling me what chicks he thinks are hot? Gross.”
“O.k., CC, point taken,” Veronica said with a laugh and Cornelia got out of the SUV.
“See you at six,” Veronica said before Cornelia closed the door.
When Cornelia got to the center’s door, she saw a big sign that said “The Family Connection Annual Health Fair.” Then she was greeted by Natalie who sent her inside to lock up her coat and purse and get her assignment from Monica. Cornelia only glanced at the waiting crowd. She could see people from every walk of life waiting to get in. They looked anxious. A lot of the women were surrounded by children. Some of them had no coats, only jackets. You could see your breath when you spoke, so Cornelia was sure they must be freezing, but no one was complaining.
She looked toward the back where there were booths that Cornelia assumed were examination rooms for the doctors. Each booth was enclosed and had a curtain for a door. They had signs over them saying “Pediatrics,” “Gynecology,” “Mammograms” and “Breast Exams” only the “Breast Exam” sign was misspelled, “Brest Exams.” Cornelia resisted the urge to laugh. It wasn’t a funny subject after all.
Her mind wandered to Mrs. Hakim. She wondered how Mrs. Hakim had found out that she had breast cancer. Was it a yearly breast exam that caught a lump? Was it a self exam that led to a mammogram? Cornelia didn’t know and she didn’t dare ask. She could only imagine how frightening it must have been no matter how Mrs. Hakim found out. Her grandmother had found out about her breast cancer after a yearly mammogram. The importance of the health fair was really starting to sink in.
Cornelia looked in the lower corner of the gym and saw Monica speaking to a group of volunteers, including Admeta. She joined the group and the two girls made eye contact and nodded in greeting. They didn’t dare speak while Monica was speaking. Monica was saying something about everyone having their assignments and she wanted everyone to be kind but quick.
“Kind but quick, people, that’s the game plan. Now let’s go.” Everyone dispersed, including Admeta so Cornelia was forced to ask Monica what her assignment was.
“Miss Cornelia. Glad to see you could make it this fine morning. I’ve got a very special job for you, young lady. Today you’re going to be our door greeter. Do you know what a door greeter does?”
“Greets people at the door?” Cornelia asked, hiding the sarcasm in her voice.
“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner here, Miss Cornelia. That’s exactly what you do, greet people at the door,” Monica said, pointing to the front door. The pair walked over to the front entrance. There was a u-shaped set of tables with volunteers on one side of the door and a set of bleachers on the other. Admeta was sitting on the outside of the u-shape, on the right.
“Now, Miss Cornelia, what will happen is that Natalie will let people through the door a few groups at a time and you say ‘good morning, take this number and have a seat and we’ll be with you as soon as we can.’ There are red numbers and blue numbers and they are exactly the same. You give the patient the blue number and you give one of these volunteers the matching red number, then the volunteer will call their number when they’re ready for them.
“If the patient speaks English, give them this survey to fill out while they wait. Then the volunteers only have to spot-check and we can process people faster. Do you think you can do that?” Cornelia was annoyed. She wasn’t sure if Monica was being punchy or just condescending, but she didn’t dare show any disrespect.
“Yes, Monica,” she replied.
“Good, now if you get someone who doesn’t speak English, ask them if they ‘habla Español.’ If they say ‘si,’ then give their number to Admeta or Isabella over here on the right and give them a Spanish survey. All of the surveys are on this desk,” Monica said as she pointed to the first desk in the u-shape.
“The big pile here is in English, the rest are labeled with what language they’re in. Just gesture to the bleachers and they’ll get the message. Most of these people come here every year. They know the drill. You’ll get a lot of Spanish speakers today.
“Now, if they don’t habla Español or English, use this list.” Monica handed Cornelia a clipboard with a list containing different phrases that meant, “Do you speak this language?”
The first line said “Do you speak Spanish?” Below that, in italics, it said “¿Habla Español?” and beside that, in parenthesis, it said, “ah-blah es-pan-yole.” The list contained about fifteen different languages. Cornelia thought the Japanese phrase was the most interesting, “Anata wa nihongo o hanashi masuka.” She wondered how any one person could know that all of the phrases were correct. She also wondered how she would determine which one to try.
“Always greet patients in English first. Most non-English speakers know enough to say, ‘I don’t speak English.’ In this neighborhood you’re mostly going to get English and Spanish, but every now and then we get a little variety. I don’t advocate racial profiling, but obviously if someone looks Asian, try the Asian languages. If they look Middle Eastern, try Arabic. That one’s really difficult. We used to have an Arabic translator but Samantha hasn’t been around in a while.”
Cornelia interrupted, “Samantha Hakim?”
“Yeah, is she your Language Arts teacher? I know she teaches over there at Storm River High School.”
“Yeah, she’s my teacher. I didn’t realize she volunteered here.”
“She has ever since she moved here. It’s too bad she couldn’t come, but we have questionnaires printed in Arabic and the other languages on your list, so hopefully we’ll be able to help everybody today.
“I heard Samantha had an accident or something last month. Is she o.k.?” Monica asked. Cornelia didn’t know how to reply.
She was relieved when Natalie shouted, “O.k. everybody, we’re ready to open the doors!” in her usual cheerful manner.
Monica forgot her question and gave Cornelia more last minute instructions. She concluded with, “If you get in a bind or just can’t handle the flow, give me a holler. I’ll be at the TFC Booth over there,” Monica said, pointing to a table close to the u-shaped registration area. “You o.k. to go?”
“Sure,” Cornelia replied.
“Alright people, smiles all around, let’s have a good fair today!” Monica yelled and Natalie nodded and opened the door. She let people in a few groups at a time just as Monica had indicated. Cornelia greeted everyone with a smile. She was relieved when most people spoke English, even people who appeared to be of Hispanic descent. Most of them could speak English, but preferred to fill out their questionnaires with a Spanish speaker, so Admeta and Isabella were busy all day. Cornelia was surprised to see how many Hispanic people lived in Price Valley.
She ran into a few people who didn’t speak English or Spanish. One woman, who was very thin and had wild black, curly hair and five children, spoke Russian. The Family Connection didn’t have a Russian translator, so Cornelia gave her a questionnaire printed in Russian. She clipped it to a clipboard and gave the woman a pen. Even though they didn’t speak each other’s languages the woman was able to understand enough to know that Cornelia wanted her to fill out the questionnaire and she went over to the bleachers.
When one of the English speaking volunteers called her number, they had a hard time communicating what the woman wanted. Cornelia could see them using sign language. The woman would point to the parts of the body she wanted examined. It wasn’t ideal, but at least they were able to help her.
The morning flew by as Cornelia greeted person after person. One woman surprised Cornelia when she thanked her and shook her hand. She was a small elderly woman with unkempt gray hair, who was wearing a denim jumper and a white, faded shirt underneath. Her shoes were white generic tennis shoes that were stained and had holes in them. She wasn’t wearing a coat.
As she shook her hand, the woman said, “I can’t thank you enough for all that you do. If it weren’t for this health fair I wouldn’t have any medical care at all. This is the only doctor’s appointment I have all year. God bless you, young lady.”
Cornelia didn’t know what to say as the woman took her survey and walked to the bleachers. She stood for a moment until she realized she war staring and then she walked over to a volunteer to give her the woman’s number.
Cornelia nodded and smiled. She couldn’t get those words out of her head. “This is the only doctor’s appointment I have all year.”
Cornelia was saddened by the woman’s plight. She didn’t think anyone should have to go without health care. It’s not a topic Cornelia had ever given thought to before. She figured the reason was that she rarely thought about anyone else but herself. In actuality, she was thinking about a lot of other people now, especially Samantha Hakim.
At noon Monica relieved Cornelia at the door and told her to get something to eat in the cafeteria. Admeta and one of the English speaking volunteers were also told to get lunch. The three walked through a long hallway to the cafeteria. After going through the line, which included choices of different types of pizza and soda, the English speaking volunteer saw some friends and went to join them. Admeta and Cornelia went to sit at a table for two by themselves.
“Did you hear from Mrs. Hakim?” Cornelia asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Admeta said, sadly.
“I think I would be the last person she would call,” Cornelia said, also somber.
“That’s not true, Cornelia. She forgave you for what you did. You’re welcome in her house, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I know. But I still must not be her favorite person.”
“I think you’re loco,” Admeta said and then shoved a piece of pepperoni pizza into her mouth.
The two girls ate quietly after that. Their voices were tired from talking all day. When they were finished they headed back to the front door. They didn’t want to be gone too long. On their way through the long hallway Cornelia asked, “Are you going to Writers on the Storm tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. It’s with Carl you know,” Admeta said, placing a sarcastic emphasis on the name Carl.
“Well, I haven’t got a choice. Joining Writers on the Storm was part of my punishment.”
“I wondered about that,” Admeta said, matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, but I like it. Don’t get me wrong.”
“I know.”
The two girls were developing a friendship where they could interpret each other’s thoughts. Cornelia was happy about that. She wondered if Admeta felt the same way. Before she could ask they were already back to the front door and Cornelia took over from Monica so she could eat too. Admeta sat down and Isabella went to lunch.
The rest of the day continued the same way. Every now and then someone would speak Spanish or some other language and Cornelia would help them the best she could. Everyone was very polite and seemed to enjoy the fair. The booths gave away a lot of free stuff like school supplies, toothbrushes and lots and lots of magnets with the different organizations’ logo and contact information on them. One booth was giving away coupons for turkey dinners from the food bank for Thanksgiving. People who walked in without a coat, like the woman who had thanked Cornelia, left with a lightly used coat. Cornelia was amazed by how many people were helped.
Every now and then the buzz of the fair was interrupted by a child screaming in the background. The screams were coming from the booth marked “Vaccinations.” Cornelia cringed every time she heard a shriek but she knew the doctors were helping the children even if they had to hurt them a little. Every child got a sucker after they were through with their shots. That usually calmed them down. Cornelia was genuinely glad they were getting help and she wondered why The Family Connection didn’t do this every month. She figured it was probably the cost of putting on such an event that hindered them.
The fair was only open until 2 so the rest of the day flew by and before Cornelia knew it, it was over. By her count, the fair had helped 269 adults and that didn’t even include the children. Cornelia thought it had to be more but the paperwork spoke for itself. She was just glad there was no one left in line when the doors were closed. That would have broken her heart.
While the other agencies were packing their things, Natalie called all of The Family Connection volunteers together. Most were able to go home for the day. Only TFC workers and a handful of volunteers stayed behind to pack up. Admeta was one of those who stayed behind, so Cornelia told her she’d see her at school tomorrow. She looked at the volunteers and wished she had been asked to stay but she wasn’t bold enough to say so. She took a long look at the community center and then grabbed her things from her locker and headed out the front door. As promised, her mother was waiting.
“Well, how was your day, CC?”
“Great,” Cornelia replied and smiled at her mother. “We helped 269 adults and a lot more children.”
“That’s great, CC. I’m proud of you. Do you realize this is the first time you’ve returned from community service with a smile on your face?”
“Come on, mom,” Cornelia protested.
“No really, CC. It’s true.”
“Well, I really did have fun,” Cornelia replied. “We helped a lot of people. I’m just hoarse from talking so much today.”
Mother and daughter drove the rest of the way home in silence. Veronica was prouder than she could express. She thought Cornelia was finally learning something she couldn’t teacher her: empathy.
Chapter 21
Live to Write Again