Blue Collar Blues

by Rosalyn McMillan

  He finished tying his necktie and came toward her. R.C. reached out and touched her hand. “You’re special, Tomiko. It’s what I love about you.” Releasing it, he added, “But you’ve got a few things to learn about American women. There’s such a thing as survival. My father worked at Chrysler for thirty-eight years. And my mother worked at the same plant for thirty-two years. Both of them retired from Chrysler in nineteen-eighty.” He stopped and looked out the window. “All their hard work was for one goal: They wanted me to have a better life than they experienced. And it was especially important for them that I didn’t follow in their footsteps and work in a factory like they had.”

  Tomiko was fascinated. He’d never spoken about his past to her before. It made her think it was time she shared her own dilemma with him. “R.C.?” she asked in a timid voice.

  “Yeah.” His back was to her as he adjusted his tie.

  “If someone from your past was trying to contact you . . .”

  “Tomiko, are you speaking about yourself? If you are, be direct.”

  Her almond eyes widened but she kept silent.

  R.C.’s tone was conciliatory. “You’re not old enough to have had a past. But then again, let’s say someone was trying to get ahold of you. Generally, most people have an ulterior motive. I don’t care how genuine they appear to be. There’s something at stake that they stand to gain.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  “But what if they were trying to find someone they lost?”

  R.C. clicked off the television set. “You’ve seen too many made-for-TV movies.” R.C. patted her head and left the bedroom. “I have some errands to run. I’ll be back by noon. We can have lunch.”

  After Tomiko said good-bye to her husband, she didn’t have a clue what to do.

  Her need to get the truth about the letter ebbed and flowed. She was scared to pursue the truth, but she also couldn’t walk away from it.

  The best place to start was home.

  Tomiko checked her watch. It was nine-thirty. In Kyoto, it would be late, but her parents were still young enough to stay up, she thought, and didn’t mind her calling at such hours.

  “Mother, how are you?”

  “Tomiko! We’re all well. It’s so good to hear from you. And how is your husband? Are you helping him with his horse farm?”

  “I’m trying, Mother. I called for something else, though. I wanted to know about my father, my real father. What happened to him?”

  “Tomiko, what’s happening to you there? You are Japanese. Nothing about your so-called father matters.”

  “But Mother, I am also dark-skinned.”

  “You are Japanese first. What is this about?”

  “I want to know about my father, what happened to him. You’ve never told me.”

  “I told you that he died and left us. He didn’t love us. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Did he have any parents?”

  “Well, everyone has parents.”

  “Mother, did you know my father’s parents?”

  “What kind of question is that? Of course not. They are from America. They never cared about us. Now you focus on your marriage and making your husband happy. He is a good husband.”

  “Okay, Mother.” She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to be honest with her mother. But one day she knew she would.

  “Good-bye, Tomiko.”

  When Tomiko hung up the phone, tears brimmed in her eyes. All she had been told was that her father was Afro-American and that he had died. She had always suspected that her mother withheld information. Now she was convinced. But why would my mother lie to me? Maybe she had a whole other family to love. Tomiko looked at the mysterious photos. She stared into her mother’s young face and the face of the young handsome black man dressed in a military uniform.

  Finally, moving quickly so she couldn’t change her mind, she got in the car and drove past the Johnson’s house in Holly. It was just approaching noon when she drove up to the house. The neatly manicured lawn showed that the owners took pride in their home. Could these people be my grandparents? When she rang the doorbell, she thought her heart would stop. It was as if her heart’s blood were turning to tears. She suddenly felt as if her entire future, not simply her past, depended on this one moment.

  An elderly, gray-haired woman with cheeks like apples answered the door. “Yes?”

  Tomiko froze. Up close, she didn’t look like the woman she’d seen in the photograph. She gulped. “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake.” Turning, she ran down the steps, her hair flying behind her.

  “Wait! Is that you, Tomiko? It’s me, Grandma Johnson.”

  Stunned, Tomiko stopped, then turned around. The woman sounded so sure. Tomiko looked again.

  “Please. Wait, Tomiko. Don’t go. I sent you the letter. Is that why you’re here?”

  “I—”

  At that moment a man using a beautiful cane came out on the porch. Except for the addition of the cane, he looked exactly like the man in the picture. It was all too simple. This was not a fairy tale, and she wasn’t the little girl in Swiss Family Robinson who lived happily ever after.

  Tomiko stood still and took in the plea in the woman’s eyes. Her legs weakened. Then the man she thought might be her grandfather spoke her name with so much love she thought she would faint.

  “Tomiko, it’s Papa. Please come on in. We’ve waited so long to see you.”

  That sound. That voice sounded so much like one she’d heard before. Was it her father’s? It was so long ago she couldn’t be sure. No. Her father was dead. But the sound was comforting enough to take a chance.

  When she went inside the home, she was uneasy. She wished that her husband were here with her now. R.C. would know how to relate to these people. Tomiko looked around the house. She could hear the soft sound of mewing kittens from the back of the house. Nothing seemed familiar, but there was an inviting warmth that made her begin to relax. Before she took a seat, a cat sauntered in from the back hall and took a seat beside the front doorway.

  “That’s Ms. Tibbles,” her grandmother said, smiling. “Last month she had a litter of kittens. Would you like to see them?”

  She took Tomiko in the back room and showed her the kittens that were just three weeks old, and beautiful. Afterwards, her grandmother made some sandwiches and brought out some iced tea on a pretty silver tray. She sat close to Tomiko on the sofa, while her grandfather sat nearby in a big easy chair. He lit a pipe. The scent of the sweet tobacco brought tears to Tomiko’s eyes. It calmed her.

  When she looked toward the door, Ms. Tibbles seemed to be pondering her. Then her grandmother brought out several neatly cataloged photo albums filled with pictures of her father growing up. As Tomiko flipped through the pages, her grandmother began the story of Kip Johnson, Tomiko’s father.

  Tomiko’s grandfather was in the navy during World War II. He and Grandma Johnson were stationed in Japan and stayed there after the war. When Kip, their only child, turned eighteen, he also joined the service and then married a Japanese woman. Kip’s parents were planning to return to the United States once Grandpa Johnson retired. But when Tomiko was born, Kip’s wife, Kumiai, wouldn’t leave Japan.

  Tomiko turned to the whining sounds of the kittens in the back. Ms. Tibbles left, obviously to feed them, then returned to her same spot.

  “Your mother wouldn’t turn her back on her country. She is a very proud woman, Tomiko. We understood this, so we decided to stay in Japan. We didn’t want to leave you or our son.

  “Kip was sent away on duty a lot and we wanted to be around to help your mother with her new infant. But she wouldn’t let us. After a while Kumiai rarely let us see you. Then Kip died.” Grandma Johnson’s deeply lined face lost its composure and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

  “He was our only child, our son.”

  “But how did he die?”

  “He died in a plane crash. He was on a mission to an undisclosed destination in Southeast Asia,”
Papa Johnson said in a flat voice.

  Grandma Johnson began again. “After Kip died, your mother refused to let us see you. Eventually, we moved back to our country. But we never stopped trying to reach you.”

  The older couple sandwiched Tomiko on the sofa and hugged her. She knew their tears were full of love, remorse, and relief. And Tomiko cried with them.

  Then Grandma Johnson handed her some letters. Sniffing back tears, Grandpa Johnson excused himself from the room. There were eight letters written in her father’s hand to her mother. Her grandmother insisted that she read them in privacy. She felt that because the letters mostly spoke of Tomiko they belonged to her. She would learn from the letters how much her father had loved her. Her mother had returned these letters to them after his death.

  Tomiko thought of her mother telling her that she didn’t know her grandparents.

  Her grandmother kissed her softly on the cheek. “We love you, Tomiko. My husband and I are old. We only want to do right by our son.”

  Grandpa returned, holding a new kitten. He handed him to her, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He’s the only one we haven’t named yet.”

  “I never had a pet before.” She ruffled his furry ear. “I suppose you’ll get stuck with the name Kip.” She turned back to her grandfather and hugged him. “Thank you.”

  Tomiko broke down in tears, hugging her kitten, then both of her natural grandparents. For the first time in her life, she felt embraced for who she was. She felt proud, and prouder still, now, to be black.

  27

  __________

  People conceal much inside, blinding us to their secrets, using mirrors to reflect what they want us to see. America grants us this freedom, but perhaps some people take it too far. We are free. But free to kill? Khan wondered. Whatever bubbled to the surface within Tino had made him lose control.

  What kind of lies lay behind Valentino’s facade? Luella’s?

  Ethics seemed a roller-coaster ride inside one’s heart, Khan thought, a ride that most people lived on. If only all of us could put our mirrors down and show our honest needs. If only we realized that we don’t need most of what we so desperately scramble after, like Valentino and his damn overtime.

  Like her own obsessive attachment to R.C.

  Now Valentino was in a courtroom, awaiting his hearing. Luella lay dead, her husband and two grown sons left without her. Khan thought of her Mama Pearl and prayed for wisdom to understand the chaos around her.

  But Khan also felt anger surfacing. Some of this violence and self-destruction could have been avoided. On Tuesday, September 1, the hourly workers were notified that Champion’s River Rouge Assembly Plant had become the strike target. And in two weeks, on September 14, the union had to agree on a national contract. What more could happen?

  The union’s strategy was to target Rouge Assembly, one of Champion’s key plants. Eventually Champion Trim would be shut down and the workers would be laid off because of lack of storage space. Because Champion operated on a just-in-time system, there was no room for stockpiling. This action, the union felt, would allow their members at smaller Champion plants such as Troy Trim to be laid off eventually and draw unemployment benefits, which was approximately six hundred dollars weekly, instead of receiving the hundred-and-twenty-dollar strike pay.

  These thoughts and more moved across Khan’s mind in the empty moments before the morning session began in Judge Robert O’Jay’s courtroom. The sound of spectators’ whispers could be heard as anxious moments of anticipation ticked by. Khan winced when Tino was brought in with shackles on his legs. His wrists were handcuffed to his waist and he looked unkempt. When he turned to acknowledge his family’s presence, sadness filled his face.

  Khan sat next to Ron and Ida while they waited for the judge’s decision on Tino’s arraignment.

  As they waited on the hard benches of the dingy courtroom, Khan heard her aunt and uncle arguing.

  In order for Ron and Ida to secure an attorney for Valentino, Ron had to put a lien on his property for the fifty-thousand-dollar fee. Now he was furious.

  Khan couldn’t believe it. After all the lectures he’d given her about putting money in the bank and saving for the strike, Uncle Ron was nearly as broke as she was.

  Tino’s hearing was over quickly. Valentino was charged with first-degree murder and sent back to his cell in the Oakland County Jail in Pontiac.

  Ron couldn’t wait until they were out of the courthouse before he blew up. Ida and Khan trailed after him. “That stupid son of a bitch!”

  Ida stepped in front of his face. “Don’t you call my boy a son of a bitch unless you’re calling me a bitch.” She narrowed her eyes, and when she did, they were filled with tears. “Are you calling me a bitch, Ron?”

  Khan could hardly breathe. Please take it back. Please, please, Uncle Ron, don’t go there with Aunt Ida.

  “No.”

  Khan sighed in relief. “C’mon Uncle Ron, Aunt Ida. We can talk about this at home.”

  But Ron was still furious and wouldn’t let up. “I knew some stupid shit like this would happen. That boy’s been having trouble for years trying to prove that he’s a man.”

  “Uncle Ron, don’t—” Khan pleaded.

  Aunt Ida stopped dead in her tracks; she was still wiping away the tears from their first argument. But her words were cold and cutting. “You impotent-ass bastard. Don’t you start in on my child. Take it out on that lizard faced bitch Elaine you’re fucking, if you’re able to fuck her. You—you . . . limp-dick whore.”

  Oh my God! No, she didn’t go that low in front of me! Khan was frozen in shock.

  People were beginning to slow down as they walked by, listening. Everyone loved an argument, especially when the participants were hitting below the belt.

  Ron didn’t appear the least bit fazed at Ida’s outburst. His darts of anger were clearly aimed at Valentino. “Your son’s bisexual. I bet you didn’t know that. I’ve known it for years. He’s been using his wife and child as a cover-up for his gay activities. I heard about it. Yeah,” Ron huffed, “I know a lot of people. I know a whole lot of shit that I ain’t told you about.”

  Aw shit! Things are going to get ugly now.

  “I told y’all to stop this mess. You’all ain’t gonna embarrass me up in here. Let’s go,” Ida said, rearing her right shoulder back and sniffing back her tears. “Just because he ain’t no whore like you don’t make him gay.”

  “Fuck you, Ida.”

  “And motherfuck you, Ron. And tell you mammy I said so.”

  What’s happening to this family? Khan began crying. “What’s wrong with y’all? I ain’t never seen y’all act like this before. Your son’s in jail. Your daughter-in-law’s in a terrible state, and your grandbaby is probably mixed up as hell because no one’s there for him. How can y’all sit here and argue about some stupid shit like this! You better be glad I got any respect left for both of you.” She brushed back tears that kept falling. “Now”—she gritted her teeth and balled her fists—“I said let’s go.” She marched off toward the car and didn’t look back.

  Shortly afterwards, Khan heard them following her.

  Khan drove them home in complete silence. Not a word was spoken until Khan told them good-bye.

  When she returned home, she listened to a message from Thyme, asking Khan to have lunch at work. Lunch? Who in the hell could think about lunch when in a few weeks they might not be able to buy groceries for their families? Khan couldn’t get past the idea that somehow Thyme might have been able to do something to help prevent the tragedy of Luella’s death.

  Khan was so pissed she nearly knocked the phone on the floor when she snatched the receiver off its cradle to dial Thyme’s number.

  “Hello, it’s Khan. You left a message.” Khan tried to keep her voice steady and give her friend a chance to exonerate herself.

  “I thought it would be nice if we could go out for lunch.”

  “Hold up. Aren’t you aware that Cham
pion is the strike target? River Rouge is scheduled to shut down, Thyme! Fuck Champion Motors. Or are you going to lie about that too! You’ve lied to me about everything—the outsourcing, the overtime!”

  “Khan, I still don’t think River Rouge will walk, and anyway, I’m more concerned with getting some character witnesses for Valentino, and also about going to Luella’s funeral tomorrow.”

  “Look, I’m not going to Luella’s funeral. You go. I’ve already sent flowers and my condolences to her husband and children. The way I feel now, I could use a few condolences myself.” Khan couldn’t hold her temper a minute longer. “It’s all your fault, you know. If you’d handled the overtime and monitored it like you said you would, none of this shit would have ever happened.” Khan was so mad she spat into the phone.

  “That’s not fair, Khan.”

  “Bullshit! You’re new collar and I’m blue collar, and you’re giving me the blues. I don’t want to have nothing more to do with your white ass-kissing, bitch!”

  Thyme’s voice got nasty now too. “Hey girl, don’t get funky with me. Because up until now, you’ve been kissing up to some white folks too. That blond hair on your head—who you trying to be, Winnie Mandela? I hardly think so,” she snarled. “Marilyn Monroe is more like it. And she’s white, ain’t she? Last I heard, black folks don’t grow blond hair. I can read your broke blond ass like a Blondie and Dagwood cartoon, you’re so fucking simple and outrageous.”

  “Say what?” Khan couldn’t believe Thyme was talking to her like this. They’d had small arguments before, but nothing like this. Things were getting too personal. “Let’s cut this conversation right now, Thyme, before we say some things we regret.”

  “No. You started this shit. Now you listen.” She measured out each word carefully. “You heard me saying, I’m sure: ‘You know you ghetto when your country ass don’t even know you ghetto.’”