If This World Were Mine

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Call the police? Whatsa matter, blood, can’t handle it on your own? You think I’m scared of the fuckin’ police?”

  “Listen, man. I just came in here to buy my dinner. I know you’re a little out of it right now, but don’t start something you’ll be sorry for later.”

  “Oh, so I’m fucked up?” He poked his fingers in my chest, giving me a little shove for good measure. I could have just pushed him out of the way and walked out of the store, but I didn’t want to leave the young woman alone with this maniac. Where were the police? I would try and calm him down just enough for me and the clerk to get outside.

  “Hey, man. Why don’t you try and relax. Nobody’s trying to mess with you here. Nobody wants to hurt you. Chill.”

  “Chill, my ass. Fuck you, man! I’m tired of everyone fucking with me. Stop looking at me. I can’t think straight. I’m tired of this shit. Why can’t you just leave me alone? Why can’t everyone just leave me the fuck alone!” His eyes were darting back and forth, and he had a nervous tic—his fingers were shaking.

  “Okay, man. Okay. Me and the young lady here are going to leave you alone. Okay?” The frightened clerk came slowly from behind the counter, never once taking her eyes off the man. She stood close behind me and I could feel her body trembling. “It will be all right, just stay calm,” I whispered to her.

  “See, we’re leaving you alone. We’re just going to go outside and you can have the whole store to yourself. No one will bother you anymore. We’ll tell them all to leave you alone when we get outside. Okay?”

  We started backing slowly toward the door, resisting the urge to bolt and run. At first he just stood there, looking confused and panicked. I kept my eyes locked on his, knowing he could explode at any moment. Please, God, I thought, just let us get out safely.

  We inched closer and closer to the door. The clerk reached behind her and opened one side of the double glass doors just as two patrol cars pulled up and shone their spotlights into the store. I was hoping they would realize I wasn’t the bad guy and not start shooting the moment they saw my Black face with a frightened white girl behind me. Suddenly shouting interrupted my thoughts.

  “Sonofabitch!” the man yelled. “You lying sonofabitch! I’m gonna kill you, punk, I’m gonna kill you all!” He pulled a gun out of his coat and aimed it directly at us. The woman froze. I pushed her out the door, blocking her body with mine. I heard a shot. Then another. I felt a stinging sensation, but all I could think was that I should have mailed Yolanda’s letter before I came into the store.

  Chapter 31

  Something told me not to answer my phone, but I didn’t listen. “Yolanda, I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Did you get the flowers I sent?” John asked.

  “Yeah, I got them,” I said in my dry I-ain’t-even-trying-to-hear-you tone.

  “Yolanda, I’m sorry. We need to talk. It’s not what you think,” John said.

  “We don’t need to talk, John, and it really doesn’t matter what I think. You and Monty showed me. I don’t have any questions. You just go and be happy with yo’ boy Monty.”

  “It’s not like that. I’m not gay or bisexual. Let me explain,” John pleaded. I was getting ready to tell him to save his words for some woman fool enough to believe him, when I heard my call-waiting tone. “Hold up,” I said as I clicked over to the second line.

  “Yolanda?”

  “Yes?” I didn’t recognize the voice right away, but I knew it sounded familiar.

  “Baby, this is Uncle Doc. Leland’s uncle,” he said.

  “Uncle Doc, how are you doing? I was thinking about you today. You know me and my boy are on the outs. But don’t worry, it’s just a temporary thing, we’ll be back hanging before you know it.”

  “Yolanda baby, I got some bad news,” Uncle Doc said slowly.

  “What’s the matter, Uncle Doc?”

  “Baby, Leland be shot! He’s in the emergency room at Northwestern Hospital,” Uncle Doc said.

  “No! Not my Leland,” I screamed. What was Uncle Doc telling me?

  “Yolanda, calm down. You need to get over here,” Uncle Doc said.

  “I’m on my way.” I hung up my phone and it rang immediately. I had forgotten John was on the other line.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “I’m still here. Yolanda baby, please let me come to Chicago and—”

  “John, I ain’t got time for you and your lying, need-to-admit-you-gay ass. My best friend is in trouble. Later.” Dial tone.

  It’s funny how you behave in an emergency. Your brain seems to kick into automatic, overriding your emotions and getting your body to do what needs doing. I don’t remember hanging up the phone, or leaving the house, let alone getting in my car. But here I am, sitting behind the wheel, driving down Lake Shore Drive to Northwestern Medical Center, while my mind is racing through a stream of unanswered questions.

  Did Uncle Doc say Leland had been shot? How could someone just walk up and shoot somebody like Leland? How could that be? Leland of all people. Leland the always terminally nonviolent. This man wouldn’t hurt a fly. Terminal. Dead. Oh, no, not Leland. Dear God, not Leland. How could I have been so stupid? I didn’t even ask if Leland was dead or alive. Please God, let my baby-boy be alive. Shot. That’s what Uncle Doc had said. Leland’s been shot. He didn’t say killed, he would have said killed, wouldn’t he?

  Hold on. You’re tripping. If Leland were dead, I’d know it. I would have felt something. I know I would. He’s not dead. It’s probably something like a flesh wound in the arm or leg or something. That’s it. He’s probably sitting in some emergency room pissed off because he’s got a tiny bloodstain on his shirt or his pants leg. He’s probably feeling like a jerk for putting himself in jeopardy. He’s probably embarrassed as hell. I’ll try not to rub it in.

  How many times have I told him about walking alone late at night? I don’t care how safe he thinks his neighborhood is. He thinks because he’s a good person, a decent man, nothing bad will happen to him. I mean, really! He works with crazy people every day. He should know better. I hate to say “I told you so,” but as soon as we get him all bandaged up and back home, I’m going to give his ass a good talking-to. Upsetting me and Uncle Doc like this. This will not do. If he doesn’t care about himself, then he’s got to think about my and Uncle Doc’s feelings for him. Got us running to the hospital in the middle of the night, all upset and worried—and for nothing.

  What we will do is get him in Uncle Doc’s lemon-yellow Caddy. Uncle Doc will take him home and get him settled, and I’ll go down to the Walgreens on Michigan and get any medication he’s prescribed. I’ll stop and get him some Cap’n Crunch and Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. I’ll also get him some bubble gum and those apple sticks he loves. Magazines. I have to get some magazines for him to read. No medical journals or business magazines. Just the pop stuff. I don’t want my baby-boy thinking about nothing. I’ll take good care of him. He’s okay. Just a little flesh wound, that’s all.

  When I got to the hospital, I parked in a restricted zone and plopped my press sticker on the dashboard. As I followed the broad red line painted on the hospital floor to the emergency waiting room, a sense of panic and doom overwhelmed me, shattering my neat little flesh-wound scenario. I had never seen anyone shot before. Not really. I fought to suppress the terrible images that flooded my mind. Images from television and movies of bright red blood against brown skin.

  The waiting room was soothingly decorated in muted pastels. Sofas and chairs were arranged to provide semiprivate areas for waiting friends and relatives in the warm, open room. A young couple sat huddled together in a far corner, holding on to each other for dear life. A white-haired, distinguished-looking older man sat in the chair closest to the door, and beside him was a younger woman—maybe his daughter? Every few minutes she would reach across the arms of their chairs and gently pat his knee. They both stared straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts. I was trying not to stare, so I sat down in a chair agai
nst the wall.

  My eyes moved to the door of the waiting room and I saw Uncle Doc. I leaped from my seat and started toward him. Uncle Doc paced slowly into the room. He suddenly looked very old and very tired. When he saw me, I could see he’d been crying. He gestured for me to follow him outside into the corridor.

  “Uncle Doc,” I said, surprised at the sound of my voice cracking. “Is he … is Leland … is he …” I couldn’t get the words out. Uncle Doc held me and said, “He’s still with us, baby doll. I don’t have any more information.”

  “What happened? Did they catch whoever did this?”

  “They caught him. But I don’t know the details. They may have to operate,” Uncle Doc said. Tears began to roll from my eyes. “Let it all out now, ’cause I’m going to need you to be strong.” I cried softly into Uncle Doc’s frail shoulder and felt some of the tension ease from my pounding head and strained neck and shoulder muscles. Uncle Doc held me gently, like I was a rag doll, until my sobs finally subsided.

  “What happened, Uncle Doc? Where is he? Can I see him? I can’t believe this is happening. Why would anyone shoot Leland?” I didn’t want to ask where he was shot, or how many times. I didn’t want those images in my mind. I just wanted Uncle Doc or some hospital person to tell me that Leland was all right.

  “Yolanda, I’ve got to go to the airport and pick up Leland’s mother. So you’ve got to pull yourself together. I need you to call any of Leland’s friends who might be able to donate blood. I can’t lie to you. It’s not looking too good. The doctors haven’t said that, but I’ve got this feeling.”

  “Don’t say that, Uncle Doc. Leland will be just fine. Where did this happen?”

  “At that little store near his building. I think it was a robbery, I don’t know, but it seems like Leland was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Leland ain’t never hurt another soul his entire life, now this. It just ain’t right, baby. It just ain’t right.”

  Uncle Doc pulled me close again and we held each other and silently wished Leland all of our strength and love.

  “Now, listen,” Uncle Doc said. He sat us down on the padded bench outside the waiting room. “You make some calls. I want to be there when Mattie gets off the airplane. Okay, baby? Now, I’m going to find the doctor on my way out, but in case I don’t see him, I want you to be here and find out what he has to say. I’m going to pick her up, and then we’ll be right back. I hate to leave you like this, but I’ll be back directly. Now, do you think you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine, Uncle Doc. You go on. I’m not going anywhere until I know Leland’s all right. Go on, really, I’m fine.” But I didn’t feel fine. I was scared and really didn’t want Uncle Doc to leave me not knowing if Leland was going to live or die. I watched him walk away down the corridor until he turned out of my sight.

  I sat in the corner of a sofa and started at the blank screen of the television set mounted on the opposite wall. The white-faced clock on the wall near me ticked off the seconds and minutes in slow motion. Each second felt like a torment, the waiting endless. Afraid to seek out bad news, I sat very still, as if moving would make the news worse. It would have to come to me. I would have to tell Leland’s mother and Uncle Doc about our baby-boy. I suddenly remembered Uncle Doc saying something about Leland needing blood. I needed to call Dwight and Riley. I could also call Monica and Sybil. I knew they both would want to help. Just as I stood up, an Asian woman in green surgical gear approached the waiting room.

  “Douglas Thompson? Is there a Douglas Thompson here?” She spoke to the waiting room in general.

  “Here,” I said. “Mr. Thompson had to pick up his sister-in-law, Leland’s mother, at the airport. I’m Leland Thompson’s best friend, Yolanda Williams.”

  “I’m Dr. Cheng, Ms. Williams,” she said, and reached to shake my hand. “I’ll be performing the surgery on Dr. Thompson.”

  “How is he? Is he going to be okay?” I asked anxiously, a slight tremor in my voice.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Williams. I really need to speak with his next of kin or any relative. I can discuss his condition only with family members.” Dr. Cheng spoke quietly, almost patronizingly, to me.

  “But Leland’s—Dr. Thompson’s uncle asked me to stand in for him. Can’t you tell me what’s going on? This is my best friend in the world we’re talking about here!” My voice was getting louder the more frustrated I became, but I didn’t care. “Just tell me if he’s going to be okay, dammit!”

  “I understand how you feel,” Dr. Cheng said sympathetically. “But I really must speak directly with his uncle or mother. You should just try and relax, so you can be there for your friend.” She turned to leave, then doubled back and took my hands and said, “You do understand, don’t you?”

  I gave her a weak smile and whispered, “Yes, I understand.”

  The doctor headed toward the nurses’ station, and I headed for the bank of public telephones in the opposite direction.

  “Dwight,” I said, biting my lips to keep myself from crying.

  “Yolanda? Hey, I was hoping you’d call. I’ve been thinking about our meeting a lot. I want—” Dwight sounded so happy, but I had to interrupt him.

  “Leland’s been shot!” I blurted out. “He’s going to need blood.” I hadn’t thought about how to tell Dwight or Riley the bad news, and the words just came out in a rush, like I had no control over what I was saying.

  “What happened? Where are you? How much blood does he need? Of course I’ll donate,” Dwight said.

  “I’m at the emergency room at Northwestern. They’re going to operate real soon,” I said.

  I asked Dwight to call Riley and give her the news and to ask her to meet us at the hospital. I told Dwight all I knew: that Leland had been shot, that the surgery was needed to remove a bullet, and that he was still alive. No, I didn’t know how many times or where he’d been shot. He was alive. That’s all I know, I told him. He’s alive.

  About an hour later I was relieved to see Riley’s and Selwyn’s worried faces coming toward me down the corridor. I was surprised to see that they were actually holding hands, like very young lovers. Dwight was right behind them. I felt like the posse had arrived.

  “Thanks for getting here so fast,” I said, and gave each of them a hug. “Uncle Doc left for the airport to pick up Leland’s mother, and the doctor won’t tell me anything.” We turned into the waiting room and sat down together in silence. Dwight sat close to me on a sofa and put his arm around me.

  “How’re you holding up, girl?” His voice was concerned and private.

  “I don’t know, Dwight. This is all so strange, so bizarre. I feel like running, screaming out of this place. I’m so glad you’re all here.” My eyes were filling with tears again, but I fought the urge to break down and cry.

  Still holding each other’s hands, Riley and Selwyn sat together across from Dwight and me.

  “Didn’t you mention something about Leland needing some blood?” Dwight asked.

  “Yes, I guess we need to talk with the doctor,” I said.

  “You stay here, Yolanda. Dwight and I will go and see what we need to do,” Selwyn said as he stood up.

  “Were you with him when it happened, Yolanda?” Riley asked.

  “No,” I said. “Apparently it happened sometime after he left work. We really don’t have any details, just that he was shot at a convenience store near his home.”

  Riley walked toward me and put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Yolanda, you know Leland will be all right, don’t you?” I suddenly remembered how cruel I must have sounded when I told Riley she couldn’t sing. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. “Riley, we need to—” Riley placed her slender finger on my lips and whispered, “We’ve got plenty of time for that.”

  “Riley’s right, Leland will be fine,” Selwyn said.

  “Selwyn, we should go and find out about donating blood,” Dwight said.

  I looked around at Dwight, at Riley and Selwyn, and felt a p
owerful love for each of them, for all of us together.

  “Before you guys leave, could we pray?” I asked. “Can we just hold hands and pray for Leland?”

  Dwight took his arms and put them around my shoulders and moved closer to me. He took my hand in his and reached across to take Riley’s hand. I offered my free hand to Selwyn and he grasped it firmly in his. We bowed our heads and the power of our spirits joined as one in prayer for our brother, our friend. It was so strong, I could feel it pressing against my chest, filling the space between each of us, uniting us in love.

  “Thank you, dear God. Amen,” I said.

  “Amen,” Dwight, Riley, and Selwyn echoed in unison.

  When my phone rang at around two A.M., I prayed it was Yolanda. Maybe she would at least let me explain myself. Let me tell her why she was different and how she had changed my life. But it wasn’t Yolanda, it was that mofo Monty.

  “Man, I’m just calling to see if you’ve cooled down,” Monty said.

  “Cooled down from what?” I started to tell Monty he wasn’t calling to see if I had cooled down from shit. This mofo wanted some more beef.

  “You know, us getting busted. Man, I’m not going to use Yolanda for business. Matter fact, those fools in my group have come to their senses. They won’t be talking since they got their own deals. I won’t be going public.”

  “Good for you, Monty. But it still doesn’t change a thing with us. I’m through with fucking around with hardheads like yourself. I’ve got to go,” I said.

  “Man, I don’t know how you think you’re going to do that. You know how women are. Yolanda probably already got that shit on the grapevine. You’ll be going through the same shit I just went through,” Monty said.

  “I’m going to win Yolanda back,” I said firmly.