“I joined the Service, Mom.” His voice was adamant. There was no turning back now. It was time to shit or get off the pot.
The room, already small, seemed to close in and suffocate Ginger. She could barely breathe. “Jason, it’s only the middle of July. We’ve got three or four more weeks before you enroll.” The blue-green veins in her forehead protruded. Only a few minutes before; she’d been thinking about enrolling in school herself. She’d completely forgotten about Jason. What was wrong with her? She never forgot things that were so important.
“I could swear you told me a few weeks ago that you and your father decided the school you were going to when you were there the other week?”
“I lied, Mom.” Jason leaned against the arch, fingering the outstretched palm plants bridging the open doorway. “I’ve been trying to find the words to tell you without hurting you. I knew you’d be disappointed.”
There were no more tears to come forth. She was as dry as blue Ajax. They would not cleanse her soul of the hurt she felt, anyway. “Jason . . .” was all she managed to utter before leaning her weight against the wooden cases.
“Mom, I’m worried about you. You’ve been acting funny lately —”
“Jason . . .” she said, even more slowly than the first time.
Ginger’s feet felt as though they were lifted three inches above the carpeting as her son wrapped his arms around his mother. “Trust me, Mom. I know what I’m doing.”
Trust you, thought Ginger. I can’t even trust myself.
“Remember that night a few months ago when my friend Mick told me about his father taking him down to talk with the armed forces?”
“Vaguely.”
“I called Daddy. . . .”
“And he thought it was better for you to join the army than go to college?”
“Listen, Ma, the Service is different now. There’s a lot of opportunities, especially to travel. You know I hate school — but I know you want all of us to go to college. So I figured, why waste your money and Daddy’s when I can let the government pay for it? After completing basic training, the sergeant swore that I’d have time to attend any of the community colleges nearby, or enroll at the University of Arizona. Both are just a few miles from the air force base.”
“But what if a war —”
“That’s just what Daddy said at first. Remember when he was in Vietnam? He’s still getting over problems from that stuff. . . .”
“Agent Orange.”
“That’s it — Agent Orange, and that was in nineteen seventy. Daddy said him and a lot of his buddies that went in when he did in ’sixty-eight are still having problems. He said if Bush hadn’t terminated Operation Desert Storm, he wouldn’t want me to join the Service either. But there probably won’t be another war anytime soon. Anyway, I want to be a pilot, that’s why I joined the air force, not the army.”
“A pilot,” Ginger said proudly. Knowing her son aspired to be a pilot and join the air force suddenly made her feel differently about the decision. To Ginger, the air force had more prestige than the other branches of the Service.
“Yeah. Less than five percent of the servicemen fly airplanes in the air force. They have a special academy for flying. You have to be an outstanding person to get into the flight program. And it takes five years to become an officer. You have to have a bachelor’s degree to even apply for the AFOQT — that’s the Air Force Officers Qualifying Test. Their engineering program is envied even by most civilians.”
“An engineer?” Ginger whispered to herself.
“I hope to have a master’s degree in engineering before my tour of duty is over.”
Jackson was impressed with Jason’s ambitions. He sounded just like his mother. “You know, Jason, I always wanted to be an engineer myself. I can help you. . . .”
A few short weeks later, the entire family was at the airport seeing Jason off. “Don’t cry, Mama. I’ll be all right. I’m a man,” said Jason. He stood erect and proud in his air force uniform, ready to board the plane. He hugged Jackson, thanking him for all his patience. Sierra and Autumn cried, but Christian looked on, bored with the whole scene.
Ginger cried like a three-year-old. She didn’t care who was looking. Her son was leaving. He wasn’t the most perfect child in the world, but he was hers. A part of her wanted him to go and see the world, to grow up. The other part of her wanted to pull him close and shelter him, so no one could harm him. She knew there came a time in every mother’s life when she had to let go. But it was painful, no matter how you prepared yourself. It hurt. Deeply.
“You sure you got all your papers, Dink?”
“Ma, don’t call me that. Somebody might hear you.” He looked around nervously to see if any of his new friends were listening.
She’d called him Dinky Duck since he was three months old. After his delivery, she’d overheard the doctor telling the nurse that he thought that Jason was a trick baby, telling them how pale and homely he looked. Jason hadn’t colored until he was a year old. Ginger had thought he looked just like the yellow Tweety bird in the cartoons. The whole town of Port Huron knew who Dinky Duck was — Ginger’s baby boy.
Funny how when her child was leaving her, she forgot about the problems she’d encountered only months before. She’d forgotten the arguments they’d had when she made him walk home from night school, how she’d suffered, worrying if he was cold, if anyone had harmed him, until she heard the key unlock the door and he was safely inside. She’d been going to work with two and three hours of sleep, worrying if he understood the lessons she was trying to teach him.
Yes, Ginger had crossed the threshold of motherhood, when the first offspring flew the coop and there was no turning back. All the years of teaching her child everything she knew and thought he should know would be put to the test — and she worried if she’d forgotten anything, some pertinent piece of information that she wished her parents had given her. . . .
As they drove home from Metro Airport, Jackson was his usual quiet self. He was biding his time. He had decided it was time for him and Ginger to have a serious talk. There were going to be some changes made at home, and it wasn’t just because Jason had left.
Dibs were already being made on Jason’s bedroom. “You might as well stop arguing about it,” said Ginger, looking over her shoulder inside the Bronco. “I’ve already made plans for Dink’s bedroom.” She glanced in Jackson’s direction, but he was a master of not showing his emotions. She knew he had something on his mind and she would find out shortly what it was.
“I said I’d give you a year. That was up five months ago. I’ve been patient with you, Ginger. But now you’re going to have to quit. That’s all there is to it. You can’t work two jobs and take care of a family.” He sat in the lounge chair in their bedroom, flicking the remote control. Jason’s flight had been scheduled early, leaving Jackson the afternoon to watch his Westerns.
Ginger felt as if part of her were growing, making giant strides in the business. Yet, the other, vulnerable, needy part seemed to negate it. She was regressing, succumbing to Jackson’s needs, allowing herself to believe that his feelings were more important than her own.
Ginger sat in the chair across from him, her arms folded in defiance. Crossing her legs, she glared at him. “I won’t let you control my life, Jackson. You have no idea what my needs are outside the bedroom.”
Jackson glared at her. “I’ve been patient, Ginger —”
Standing up abruptly, she blocked the television screen. “No, baby. You’ve got it all wrong. I’ve been patient with you. With your selfish, self-centered, self-concerned-ass attitude. How could you possibly know how I feel — what’s important in my life — besides you?”
“Move out of the way, Ginger. You’re blocking the view.”
She stood before him. Building her courage. “Which view, Jackson? The real world as it is? Or your world that you’ve created just for yourself, your mother, and your daughter? Where do I fit in, Jackson?” Ginger
couldn’t give in. She wouldn’t. It was his will against hers. And she couldn’t lose control.
“As my wife.” There was a finality in Jackson’s voice.
Ginger gritted her teeth, pushing the Off button on the television. Her hands rested on both sides of her hips. She could feel Jackson’s fury. “Where’s my Emmy, Jackson? Where’s the Oscar for my Academy Award performance of perfect wife?”
The quietness of the room intensified the argument. Jackson rose to leave, a knowing smile registering on his face. He knew that Ginger was ready to argue from here to eternity. There would be no compromising.
Ginger blocked the doorway. She knew that when he was dead quiet, his next move would be out the door. She decided to drop the bomb. “I’m quitting Champion Motors.”
Jackson stopped dead in his tracks. The smug smile that had been on his face only moments ago disappeared. “Are you crazy woman?”
Her heart beat nervously. She’d dreaded this confrontation but knew it was inevitable. Ginger had decided months ago, before the assault, that she was quitting her job at the factory in January. Knowing Jackson would be furious, she’d tried to avoid the subject until she could spring it on him under the best possible circumstances — perhaps during Christmas. “I can’t work in that factory anymore, Jackson. I can’t stand it.” She felt the pressure of a headache coming, but shrugged it off.
Ginger brushed past him and headed for the sofa. She wanted to snatch the wig from her head to alleviate the pressure but thought better of it. She wouldn’t expose herself, raw, as being so vulnerable, no matter what the costs.
“And what do you propose that we do about paying the bills? Or do you think we can take that vivid imagination of yours and cash it in at the bank?” he said, sitting next to her on the sofa.
Ginger fumed, but outwardly remained as calm as he did. “You know we don’t need my whole salary to pay the bills around here! We can cut down on a few —”
“No. I’m comfortable with our two-salary income just the way it is.” Jackson crossed his legs. Waiting. As though they were playing a game of chess. He anticipated her next move like a seasoned professional.
Ginger felt tears threatening. “You told me you’d always take care of me, Jackson. Didn’t you mean it?”
“Two incomes are a fact these days, not a fashionable fad that’ll fade by the next season. I’d planned on buying a new bike next spring, and putting on a new roof. That’s over ten thousand dollars for cedar shingles on a home this large. A home that you insisted that you had to have. How do you propose I do these things with the reduction of your steady salary?”
“What would you do if I told you I didn’t want to work anymore, period?” Jackson’s mustache twitched slightly as she continued. “There’s a lot of men out there whose wives stay at home. They’re working two jobs to make up for the loss in income.”
“Not me. That shit went out of style when Roy Rogers stopped riding Trigger.”
Ginger stood up, looking for her purse. Now she was ready to leave. She ignored the working tension in his jaw and said, “Fuck you, Jackson.” The words rolled smoothly off her tongue. It felt good. “I don’t need you or the horse you rode in on.” She was sowing her oats now. If Trigger broke down the door to their bedroom right at this moment, she’d jump on the back of that bastard and ride the hell out of him until he broke and lay down, groveling and foaming at the mouth as sure as Jackson would do soon. Begging for forgiveness.
Then his words stung in her ears: “You quit your job, like a fool, and I’ll separate our accounts.” She stood, staring at him for a moment until he turned and stomped out of the room.
School started for Ginger and the kids in September. Ginger missed Jason. Missed hearing him call out “Yo Ma!” whenever he came home, expecting her always to be there. Each time as she passed his room she was tempted to call out his name. She missed hearing the rap music blaring from beneath his bedroom door and the size-thirteen dirty Nikes smelling up the laundry room.
She mused over the amused smile that would cross his face if she confided to him over worrying about grades. Ginger wasn’t prepared for the barrage of assignments that hit from the very first day.
Dressed for success, Sierra and Autumn were excited about school starting. Ginger had spent more on school clothes than she normally did — with her own money, sending a message of independence to Jackson. The girls’ chests of drawers were overflowing with jeans, skirts, vests, blouses, sweaters, jogging suits, and matching sneakers.
Having given Christian his equal share of clothing money, Ginger observed that he’d only spent a third on new school clothes. He was probably stashing a third in his bank and spending another third on the video games that Ginger refused to buy. She’d told Christian that the only way she’d invest in video games was if Christian had written and sold the patent himself.
Jackson hadn’t come begging, as Ginger assumed he would. Instead he ignored her. When he asked the kids if they wanted to go to the movies, the invitation wasn’t extended or addressed to her. When he took them for impromptu outings to McDonald’s, she wasn’t asked along. Clearly he was also sending her a message of his independence.
Tired of playing games and not knowing how to make amends to Jackson without giving in to his control tactics, Ginger phoned her mother.
But a few minutes into the conversation Ginger was holding back her own problems and listening to Katherine chatter on about the latest strife between her and Cotton. Ginger concluded that Katherine was dealing with enough problems of her own, and kept silent about Jackson.
Kim was hard to reach. And Ginger felt guilty invading her time, knowing how hard she was studying to maintain her 4.0 average in law school. She’d even picked up the phone during a crisis and attempted to call Bill. He was always so wonderful with the kids. And he was constantly mentioned in the Detroit News as a mentor for today’s Black children, reaching out into the community. But what about his personal needs? thought Ginger. He was busy, she was busy. How long could Bill continue to go along with Kim’s farce of a commitment? It was obvious that Kim and Bill truly loved each other, just as in her heart she truly believed that she and Jackson were blessed with a lifelong love.
Her problems, on the other hand, went deeper. The pain of loving Jackson, constantly being challenged in that love, cut like a laser across Ginger’s heart. Trying to talk to Jackson was futile. It was his way or no way. No compromising. Their sex life had hit an all-time low, when and if they deemed it necessary to pursue the act. Neither wished to seem weak and let the other know that he or she needed some affection. Needed some love. Each felt the other should instinctively know.
By the end of September, Ginger was suffering, suffocating without Jackson’s attention and love. She’d read her Bible faithfully, but felt her faith waning. She couldn’t understand or comprehend that, through her faith, there was a message in the suffering. Her temporary suffering would soon lead to a full recovery. To live is to suffer. To survive is to find the message in the suffering — the lesson. It would take time, but just possibly something positive would emerge from all the pain.
September had come to a close. She and Jackson had avoided each other’s company for weeks. Ginger over the weeks began putting in more hours at the real estate office, managing to tuck a few more listings under her belt. She closed on a home on the last day in September, but kept the sale to herself. Not sharing her good fortune with Jackson, she opened a private bank account — but kept the book at Kim’s apartment.
28
Pride and Joy
By early October, the preseason basketball games had begun. Ginger and Jackson had always enjoyed watching the Pistons games before the start of the season. The excitement over the home team was at an all-time high since the Pistons had won two consecutive championships a few years earlier.
The street leading to the Palace of Auburn Hills was renamed Two Championship Drive. And though the Pistons’ hopes to become one of the few
teams in NBA history to “three-peat” had not been realized, the city was nevertheless eagerly awaiting a return to the successes of previous seasons.
Jogging around the subdivision, her sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to her body, Ginger stopped at the corner to catch her breath. She admired the splendor of Michigan’s fall leaves. They had turned from deep emerald green to ruby red, a subtle gold, then hardened to a tawny brown and drifted, one leaf at a time, onto the foliage-dusted landscape. It was a beautiful, hushed October morning.
“Hey there,” said a familiar voice behind her.
Trying not to look surprised, Ginger stifled the impulse to close her hands over her opened mouth. “Hi,” she said weakly. Smoothing her wig, wondering how she looked, Ginger tried to relax. At least she’d put on lipstick and a little blush before she came out to run.
“I noticed you jogging this morning. You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” The Pistons’ backup center, Gene Russell, stood seven feet one inch. His trim waistline was inches away from Ginger’s eyes.
Ginger was unable to speak. She just shook her head no. For some ungodly reason, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. Nervous. Picking the pace back up, she continued jogging. He followed her. She could feel the heat of his body behind her.
“That’s it. I remember where I’ve seen you,” he said, stopping close to their respective turnoffs. He tapped the top of her hat with his long fingers. “A Piston fan.” His smile was wide and genuine, and his beautiful white teeth gleamed at her.
“Did my hat give me away?” said Ginger, smiling, feeling slightly more at ease. “My husband and I have season tickets. We sit about —”
“Fifteen rows behind our bench.”
Ginger was impressed. She thought he’d smiled to her a few times. But when Ginger had mentioned it to Jackson, he’d told her it was her imagination. There were too many people around them for her to think he was singling her out. But he had, and Ginger always knew it.
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