by E. N. Joy
“Girl, are you crazy talking all loud like that?” he snapped, grabbing her by the arm, and then pulling her into the house. He slammed the door closed with an attitude. “Wait your tail right here. Let me go see what I can do.”
“Yeah, go see what you can do,” Unique spat while pointing to his back as he walked away.
He went into the kitchen. She peeked her head around and watched him open the fridge. The next thing she knew, he walked back over to her with a plastic Kroger bag.
“Here, take this.” He handed the bag to Unique.
She felt it, and it was hard as a rock. It was freezing cold where she could barely hold the bag. “Ice ... You think a block of ice is going to put food in your child’s stomach and clothes on his back? I’ll tell you what—”
“Police!” Unique remembered hearing before she could even get the rest of her words out. “Police!” She heard it a second time, then looked over her shoulder to see a swarm of men dressed in black with caps and masks and bullet shields storming the place. With her being right there in front of the door, she received the complete wrath of what felt like a human tidal wave.
The rushing bodies pushed her to the floor where her head slammed on the edge of a cheap, wooden coffee table. After that, Unique was in and out of consciousness. It was dark one minute, then light for a second, then dark again. She was alone one minute, then the next, she remembered being surrounded by a bunch of dudes in handcuffs in the back of a van or something. She was riding one minute, then the next, she was sitting in a room behind bars. Now, two hours later, she was here, in a tiny questioning space, being accused of being a dope runner.
“You don’t sell dope, huh?” the officer said with disbelief all throughout his tone. “Then why is it when we busted in the place, you were standing there with a bag full of dope?” The officer stood up. “You can sit here and lie all you want, but my men know what they saw, and they know what they confiscated from you, which was enough dope to get you at least ten years locked up.”
Unique felt as if the wind had just been knocked out of her, or that someone was playing a very cruel joke on her. This could not be happening to her. This could not be real. She began to massage her temples with her hands. “Look, Officer, I don’t know who your men saw, or what they think they saw this person with, but it wasn’t me because I don’t do drugs, nor do I sell drugs.”
“Okay, so you don’t do drugs, nor do you sell drugs, Ms. Gray, but yet, you were in a well-known drug spot?”
“Yes, I was there, but—”
“Come on, Ms. Gray, let’s not play games. I got a wife and a kid at home who are expecting me to take them to a baseball game tonight. And you know what? I’ll make it if you stop jerking me around and just tell me the truth.” He slammed his fist on the table angrily. He slammed it so hard that Unique thought it was going to break; his table and his hand.
“Officer Givens,” a female officer called out from the doorway. “You want to take a break?” she asked. She now walked into the room to take over for the officer.
Once again, Unique had seen this song and dance on The First 48 and every other cop show out there. They were doing their “good cop-bad cop” routine.
“Look, Miss,” Unique said desperately, “you two don’t have to play good cop-bad cop with me. I’m going to tell you just like I told him, I don’t sell drugs. I was only at that house to see about child support for one of my sons.”
“So your son’s father is the one who sells dope?” the female officer asked.
“Yes, I mean, no, I mean, I don’t know,” Unique stammered. She might not have lived in the hood anymore, but the code of the streets traveled with a person no matter where they lived. She wasn’t about to throw her baby daddy, Two-Step, or anyone else up under the bus. But at the same time, she couldn’t see herself going to jail for this mess either.
“So which is it, Ms. Gray?” Officer Givens asked. “Either your son’s father does or he doesn’t sell dope out of that house.”
“I ... I’ve never actually seen him selling dope out of the house, but ...” Unique’s words trailed off. She couldn’t think of what to say fast enough without incriminating anyone.
Officer Givens stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in across from Unique. “Like, I said, I don’t have time for your games, Ms. Gray.” He looked at his partner. “Let’s just book her for possession with intent to sell. Let her serve her ten years in prison so I can get home to my family.”
“No!” Unique yelled out as the officer headed to the door. “You can’t leave me here. You have to believe me. I was just stopping by to get child support for one of my sons. I have three sons. It was my oldest son’s father who I was there to see.”
“Okay, so did you see him?” Officer Givens asked, turning to face Unique again. Now he was showing some interest in what Unique had to say as if she were about to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Yes, I saw him,” Unique recalled as best she could. “We argued for a minute, but then he told me to hold on. He went into the kitchen, got something out of the freezer, then came over and handed it to me.”
Officer Givens slowly walked back over to Unique. “So do you want me to believe that you thought your son’s father was giving you a box of popsicles for your son and that you were going to go on your merry way?” Before Unique could even reply, he spat off, “That’s it; you’re done, Ms. Gray. I’ve had enough of you playing with me.” Officer Givens made his way back over to the door and through gritted teeth told the female officer, “Come on; let’s not waste any more time with this one. I’m going to go find and question the so-called baby daddy. She’s just accused him of providing her the dope.” A mischievous grin covered his face as he glared at Unique. “He’ll be in jail until your son makes him a granddaddy.”
“No! Wait!” Unique cried out, but her plea fell on deaf ears as Officer Givens closed the door behind him. “Oh my God, what have I done?” Unique was more so asking herself and not the female officer that remained in the questioning room with her. “What have I done?” Unique looked up and hollered out, “Jesus, help me!” She could only hope that that plea didn’t fall on deaf ears as well.
Chapter Seven
Lorain sat in the hospital emergency room lobby twisting the engagement ring around and around her finger. The longer she sat there, the more antsy she got. Not only that, but the battle going on between her heart and her mind was starting to physically exhaust her as if she’d been in a boxing match.
She looked down at her watch. “Geez,” she said after realizing she’d only been waiting a whole five minutes. “Jesus, give me strength,” she began whispering to herself until her whispers were drowned out by a loud voice.
“We’ve got three African American males coming in now,” a nurse said as she dashed through the lobby to the huge double doors. She was followed by about five or six other staff members. Lorain couldn’t be exact on the count. They were all going by so fast it was like one big blur. “They said the boys look to be around the ages of six, seven, and eight ... five, six, or seven even. It looks like they’re victims of heat stroke, and they’re not breathing,” was the last thing Lorain heard before the hospital staff was outside of the double doors.
“Oh my,” Lorain said. She then felt guilty that she was sitting in the ER stressing herself out over nothing but pure obedience to God, while there was a family being traumatized by something much bigger and much more serious than what she was going through. She looked around the ER room at mothers with sick babies. There were mothers that were sick. Mothers are the glue that keeps the household together and running properly. So when Mama was sick, down, and out, that was a big deal.
There was a grown man sitting in the ER moaning and clutching his stomach. He wore a thick, heavy brown work uniform. He was probably a father; the head of the household. It was probably his duty to bring home the money necessary for the family’s livelihood and essentials. Yet all that was about to
be jeopardized because he was sick in the ER.
Coming to that realization, instead of sitting in that ER and allowing her mind to drift into doubt, Lorain began to pray for others. She began to pray for the mothers, the babies, the fathers, and their loved ones. She’d barely got two sentences out when the same staff that had exited the hospital doors came zooming back in. This time they were joined by several paramedics helping them wheel in three stretchers with tiny, little bodies on them.
Closing her eyes, Lorain extended her hands toward the hospital doors and began to pray harder. First, she prayed in English, and then she began to pray in unknown tongues.
“They’re not breathing,” someone yelled frantically. “None of them are breathing.” That voice faded as it cut across Lorain’s path. This only made her begin to pray even that much harder.
“Where’s the mother? Where’s the father? Is anyone here with them? Did anyone ride in either of the ambulances with them?” a male voice asked.
“I don’t think so,” another male voice replied. “They were alone. They were all alone.”
Within seconds, the tornado that had just spun through the ER lobby was gone, but little did Lorain know, it would leave more destruction in its path than she could have ever imagined.
“I know those kids. I know those boys,” Jim said as each stretcher was whizzed by him, headed toward its designated room.
“Well, good, that’s all the more reason for you to help save them,” a woman, appearing to be the head nurse in charge, replied. “Don’t just stand there,” the nurse spat off to Jim. “Jump in and help.”
Jim turned to the nurse’s aide that was standing beside him, ready to assist in any way needed. “What room is Wright in?” he asked her. Not even giving her a second to answer, he yelled, “What room is Dr. Wright in?”
“There,” she pointed nervously. “Where they just took one of the boys.”
Jim’s eyes followed where the aide’s index finger was pointing. He then ran into the room. When he arrived, Nicholas was at the sink finishing up scrubbing and drying his hands. When he turned around, there was a nurse on each side of him with a rubber glove in hand. Each woman eagerly, and with precision, placed a glove on each of Nicholas’s hands.
“What do we got?” Nicholas asked, walking toward the motionless body lying in the middle of the room.
“Dr. Wright,” Jim tried to warn, but it was too late. The two nurses that had just assisted Nicholas in putting on the gloves had to assist him in standing. For just one second, two seconds tops, Nicholas felt as though his knees were going to hit the ground. Upon seeing the tiny, little body before him, his knees had buckled.
This was the part about being in the medical field that most medical professionals detested; a sick child . . . a helpless, sick child. Something about their innocent little selves made a medical staff member work just that much harder. It made them research just that much more to find cures, solutions, and antidotes. Nicholas had his own personal viewpoint about why God would send a child into the ER with a serious condition every now and then. He felt it was just to remind him why he was doing what he was doing.
“Dr. Wright, are you okay?” he heard a voice ask him. It was so faint, like it was in the background.
“Yes, yes. I’m just fine,” Nicholas assured his comrades. “What do we have?” Nicholas immediately went into 100-percent doctor mode.
“Male, African American boy who has suffered from . . .” a nurse began to rattle off as everyone began to move in sync to do whatever needed to be done to save the boy’s life. This was the exact scene in two other rooms in the ER. And the results, in each room, would be the same.
After working for over forty-five minutes nonstop on the little boy, Nicholas was relentless. He was giving the child mouth-to-mouth. He was trying to pump life back into the little boy with his hands; his hands that were placed on the little boy’s chest going up and down. He was trying to breathe life back into the little boy with his mouth; his mouth placed over the little boy’s exhaling. All this had more than likely been done in the ambulance, Nicholas knew. It had been the EMTs’ first resort, but now it was Nicholas’s last.
When the boys had been brought into the ER, none of them were breathing. Breathing tubes had been tried. Nicholas had placed paddles on the boy’s chest, hopeful the shock would have jump-started his heart. He’d closed his eyes and instead of the boy lying underneath him, he pictured his old Toyota he’d driven throughout the better part of medical school. He remembered how it would always lose its juice, but after a jump start, it never let him down. It always came back to life. This little boy had not come back to life.
“Come on, God. Do it,” Nicholas said in between the pumping and the breathing. “I know you can do it, God. I’ve seen you do it before.” Nicholas knew the chances of his act getting the boy breathing again was small, but God was big. He could use any method. He’d seen God do some unexplainable things before in that ER. “Do it now, God!”
Nicholas pumped some more. Nicholas breathed some more. Yet, the child remained lifeless. Nicholas pumped some more, and then breathed some more, realizing he was now the only one in the room doing anything to try to save the boy. The nurses just looked from one to another, knowing in their hearts that Nicholas’s efforts were in vain—that he was just going through the motions out of pure desperation. They’d already tried everything medically possible to get the boy breathing. His heart was dead. His brain was dead due to the long period of time it had gone without oxygen.
“Why are you all just standing there?” he yelled at the top of his lungs at his staff that appeared to be standing in the background allowing him to do all the work. “Help me! Help me!” he ordered. “Help me!” Nicholas repeated to his staff, but in essence, he was really talking to God.
The staff looked at each other, but nobody moved.
“Did you all hear what I said?” Nicholas yelled before an expletive jumped off of his tongue.
“Dr. Wright. Dr. Wright.” Jim solemnly walked over to Nicholas and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Get off of me, man,” Nicholas spat. “It’s him that needs help. It’s the boy that needs help, not me.”
Jim, once again, and carefully, placed his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “Dr. Wright? Dr. Wright?”
Nicholas looked over at Jim with bloodshot eyes. Jim didn’t say a word at first, he just shook his head. Finally he spoke. “He’s gone, Dr. Wright. He’s gone.” Jim was right. The little boy was gone. Technically, he was gone the minute they wheeled him into the hospital. He was already gone when Nicholas and his staff had begun their efforts to try to revive him; all efforts were in vain.
Nicholas turned his attention from Jim and back to the little boy. Everything in him wanted to break down right there in the middle of that room. It was the hardest thing for Nicholas to stand there and keep his composure and remain professional. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looked at Jim and said, “Take me to the other two.” He felt as though there were still a chance he could help save the other two.
Maybe he couldn’t save that one, but that didn’t mean he had to give up on the others. That wasn’t God’s mentality, and neither was it Nicholas’s.
Not waiting for Jim to lead the way, Nicholas brushed past him and out of the room. In the hallway he was greeted by a thick sheet of grief. His eyes met those of his comrades who had exited the rooms of the other two little boys just minutes before. By the look on their faces, Nicholas knew they’d had the same result with their boys as he’d had with the one assigned to him.
“The boys,” Nicholas started, “did either of them make it?”
When he saw the head nurse wiping a tear and then rushing off before anyone else would notice, he knew the answer. It was when someone verbalized it by saying, “No, neither of them made it,” that Nicholas’s knees, once again, buckled. This time there was no nurse at either of his side to catch him from falling. Fortunately for him, though, just like
when Jesus had died on the cross, God was there. God was there.
Chapter Eight
“Just calm down, Ms. Gray,” the female officer said to a hysterical Unique. “Would you like something to drink?”
Unique shook her head as tears fell from her eyes. “No. I just want to go home. I want to go home, and I’m pissed that your partner is trying to play with my mind. He’s trying to get me to admit to something that I didn’t do. Since I won’t tell him what he wants to hear, he’s going after my son’s father. This is crazy. I mean, what’s his deal? Why is he being such a jerk?” Unique wiped her tears away with her cuffed hands.
“Oh, don’t pay him no never mind.” The female officer shooed her hand at the door as if Officer Givens was still standing there. “He’s really a big softie.”
“Oh yeah?” The sarcasm in Unique’s voice could be well detected.
“Yes. It’s just that he gets tired ... We get tired of seeing young ladies like you taking the rap for their boyfriends. I mean, you wouldn’t believe how many women choose to do the time for their man, rather than just tell the truth.”
“But I am telling the truth. I promise to God I am. Why won’t you believe me?”
“I believe you.” The female officer reached out and grabbed Unique’s hand. “I really do, and I want to help you, Ms. Gray. In order for me to help you, though, you are going to have to help me.” She leaned in closer and began to whisper, as if there weren’t three officers watching the entire thing going down on a television camera in the next room. “We really don’t want any of the worker bees in the game. We want the queen bee. Well, in this case, the king bee, if you know what I mean.”