Down Home Blues

by Phyllis R. Dixon

  Daddy described Derrick as a hard worker — his ultimate compliment. Derrick is the first black Field Agent for the State Agricultural Commission in Dwight County and Daddy adores him. Daddy said Derrick didn’t just focus on the large farmers like the others had. To us, his farm is huge. But he said his is considered a small family farm and most of his peers are selling out because it is hard to compete with the bigger farms. Derrick helped him file a claim in the Black Farmer’s lawsuit and told him how to apply for crop insurance. Mama said he doted on his grandmother who raised him, and that was a sign of thoughtfulness. When she got sick, he moved back to Eden from West Memphis to take care of her. My parents couldn’t stop singing his praises, although they would have been happy to see me date any man with a job.

  My sisters had a slightly different opinion. Cecelia said he was a mama’s boy, and besides it was too soon. She even paid for a background check. My oldest sister, Beverly, said he and Karen Jones had an on-again off-again relationship and would probably get back together. I dismissed their negative predictions as sour grapes since their own marriages were disintegrating. My brother Raymond’s only comment was that we were contributing to the global exploitation of Africa by buying diamonds.

  Tomorrow will be our first anniversary. We got married on New Year’s Eve in Key West. My sisters, two of my brothers and sisters-in-law, two of Derrick’s fraternity brothers and their wives came. I casually mentioned our plans to Mama and was shocked when she said she wanted to go.

  “You and Daddy haven’t slept apart in years. Someone has to be dead or at death’s door for him to agree to you traveling, and you know he’s not getting on a plane.”

  “You let me worry about your father,” she said.

  To my surprise, not only did Daddy agree to let Mama come, he came with her. My brother, Paul, is a big time corporate attorney in Dubai and he and his wife made the trip. So my wedding turned into a mini-family vacation. I had never seen my parents so happy. Derrick’s grandmother came too. And leave it to my brother, H. Rap Raymond, to find a black history angle. He got us front row seats for the Junkanoo parade which was a New Year’s day tradition started by former Bahamian slaves who were given three holidays during the Christmas season. The trip was perfect and I started the new year with a new name.

  Unfortunately, the new year also brought new problems. Derrick’s grandmother was telling everyone that I was already wasting her boy’s money on trips. Going away had actually been Derrick’s idea. I didn’t want a church wedding, although I did want to do something special. After watching the Travel Channel, Derrick is the one that suggested a destination wedding in Jamaica. We settled on Key West so anyone that wanted to join us wouldn’t have to deal with passports. We divided the bills in half, and I charged my portion. I planned to pay off the bills right after the wedding, once I was sure everything was in order. But Derrick didn’t want any debt and insisted on paying off my cards - although that really wasn’t any of Mother Roberts’ business.

  Then, the cold we thought Mama had caught from the change in temperature wouldn’t go away, and within six weeks she was dead.

  Mother Roberts was in and out of hospitals all summer, until the doctors figured out her medicines were interacting poorly and changed her prescriptions. She spent weeks in a rehabilitation center so she could regain her strength, then stayed with Derrick until she was well enough to go home. Then my division at the IRS office in Memphis was restructuring, and my transfer was delayed twice.

  We’re going to live in Eden initially, and I will commute to work. I grew up on a farm on Route 4, next to the highway, and I had enough of country living. Chicago is my kind of town. But living in Eden is a small price to pay to be with my husband. I’ve put so many things on hold, hoping I’d find someone to share my life with. I want to go on a cruise. The last cruise I went on with some girlfriends was fun, but seeing the couples there made me yearn for my own special someone. I hated waiting for someone to ask me to dance, and I vowed not to go on another one until I had someone of my own. I can finally get a real house. I love my condo, but I’ve always wanted my own walls, yard, and porch. This situation was supposed to be a short phase, unfortunately, the four month transition period has been a year, and instead of living with my husband, we’re still nursing a long distance relationship.

  In the beginning of our long-distance romance, we always went out when he came to town. I loved being a couple and not waiting to be asked to dance. Lately we’ve settled into a routine and seldom leave my condo. Derrick doesn’t like cold weather and is content to stay in. I’m not complaining, but I am a little tired of my life revolving around work and Derrick’s phone calls and texts. We do Facechat, but that’s getting old too. Even though we’re married, I’d like our time together to revolve around more than food, sleep, and sex. We’re starting to act like an old married couple.

  We last saw each other three weeks ago and that visit was disastrous. I flew to Memphis, rented a car, and went straight to the rehabilitation center where Derrick was with his grandmother. She hadn’t been taking her medicine properly and suffered a setback. We spent half the day sitting with her. When we went back to Derrick’s house, it was a wreck. He had been spending most of his time at work and with his grandmother. He was keeping her dog, Poochie, and the house smelled like it. The sink was full of dirty dishes and clothes were everywhere. I told him I couldn’t function in a dirty, smelly kitchen and didn’t plan to spend my weekend cleaning, so we went out to dinner – which in Eden meant we ate inside the KFC rather than going to the drive-thru. What Derrick did during our fine dining experience shocked me so much, I really don’t remember what started the next argument. He raised his voice to me - in public. This upset me even more than whatever started the initial argument. I didn’t speak to him the rest of the evening and took the first flight home the next day.

  We had even argued about where to spend the holidays. Derrick wanted me to come to Eden. Eden, Arkansas is my hometown. It’s the county seat of Dwight County, sixty miles west of Memphis. It’s the kind of town where six degrees of separation is five too many. High school sports is the primary entertainment and Walmart is the primary (make that only) shopping. Of course there are good points too. Costs are low and there’s no rush hour. People are friendly, and the front porch is more than just the entrance to the house. When I got to Chicago, I learned hanging out on the front porch is considered ghetto. But down home, the porch is a place to greet your neighbors and watch the world go by. Evergreen magnolias line the streets, and there are no homeless people. Despite these good points, there’s one thing Eden doesn’t have, jobs, making it the kind of town that people move from, not to. Many residents commute to Memphis for work, taking advantage of small town living, with big, make that medium, city access. I hope soon to be one of them. I’m not looking forward to trading my easy twenty minute trip for a sixty plus minute commute. But I’ll be joining my man and a brief stay in Eden is a minor price to pay.

  Derrick wanted me to come home for Christmas. I told him the tickets were too expensive and I had to get back to work. That was true, but I think the real reason was that I wasn’t ready to spend a holiday without Mama. And he didn’t want to leave his grandmother. I guess I should have given in – I haven’t yet mastered the art of being submissive. It seems unnatural to me, like trying to write with my left hand. So neither of us budged and we spent our first Christmas as husband and wife in two different states. We realized this was silly and a waste of precious time so Derrick agreed to come to Chicago for New Year’s.

  This will be my last New Year’s Eve in Chicago and I plan to enjoy all the attractions I’ve grown to take for granted. In Eden, to celebrate New Year’s Eve, people either shoot their gun at midnight or go to Watch Night service. I’ve planned a full schedule for our anniversary weekend – which will culminate with the Navy Pier fireworks over Lake Michigan. Derrick wasn’t enthusiastic when I told him and could only think of cold, snow, and crowds.
What happened to the man that would follow me to the mall, a chick flick, or the nail shop, without complaint?

  Mama said it was years before she and Daddy came to an understanding about a lot of things and sometimes the worse comes before the better. It’s no coincidence that we got married shortly before Mama died. The Lord sent Derrick to me, not to replace Mama, but to give me a new kind of happiness. I know marriage isn’t all wine and roses, and I’m willing to put in the work. I’m going to make an extra effort to get to know Mother Roberts, or Mamalil as he calls her. I’m going to work on this being submissive thing. And I’m going to pressure Human Resources to speed up my transfer. Having a baby is a long shot at my age, but it definitely won’t happen with me living in another state.

  The eight introductory notes of my Rock Me Baby ringtone means Derrick sent me a text. His train just left Kankakee, so he should arrive downtown within the hour. A light snow is floating from the sky like in a snow globe, covering the sidewalk with a thin feathery layer of powder. This light snow is supposed to taper off, meaning there will be no weather obstacles to our night on the town. So I’m heading to the train station to pick up my man. Change that, anybody can claim a man—make that my husband.

  CECELIA

  Cecelia stepped aside as the paramedics rolled the moaning woman covered with blood soaked sheets through the glass doors. After the stretcher rolled by, Cecelia dashed in front and led the way down the brightly lit hall. She swiped her badge on the keypad and the double doors parted. Two nurses met them when the doors opened and joined her at the front of the stretcher.

  “I thought you were gone,” one of the nurses said as they trotted to the emergency room.”

  “Haven’t you already done a double?” the other one said.

  “I don’t mind staying,” Cecelia said. “You guys are going to be swamped.”

  “So what else is new? Go get some rest so you can get back here tonight. I have plans for New Year’s Eve that don’t include Chicago Central General Hospital,” the first nurse said.

  Cecelia stopped, as a doctor and two more nurses rushed past her to the room. The second nurse waved her off then closed the curtain. Cecelia turned around and headed toward the employee exit. The woman looked like she had lost a lot of blood, but she was still conscious. Cecelia surmised it was a domestic situation. Car accident cases rarely came to General, and gunshot victims were usually accompanied by a police officer. Home accidents or illnesses were usually accompanied by a family member. Her nineteen years of nursing, with seven years in the emergency room, had trained her to recognize trauma cases. If someone would have told her the high prevalence of domestic violence, she would not have believed them. Her father was never coarse with their mother, at least not that she had ever seen, and she had gotten her brothers in trouble plenty of times just by saying they had hit her, whether they had or not. Michael rarely raised his voice during their twenty-year marriage. Not that he had been a pushover. He had other ways to get his message across. The one time he raised his hand, he drew it back and left. That was the confirmation that their marriage was over. Like the George Jones song, he stopped loving her that day.

  Cecelia had planned to go home, cook breakfast, and hope something decent was on television before going to bed and trying to get enough rest to do this all over again. The combination of alcohol, family, high expectations, and close quarters were lethal. Combined with staff wanting to take off for their own revelry made holidays, the busiest time in the emergency room. The trauma, drama, and short staff was a recipe for stress. But at least the time went fast and kept Cecelia from feeling lonely. Her ex-husband had taken her daughter and granddaughter to visit his parents for the holidays, and her son was working. Her brothers had lost their minds and moved back to Arkansas. Her friends were all married or coupled up. Even her sister had finally met and married her Prince Charming. So with no family around, she scheduled herself to work every day. Triple time pay didn’t hurt either.

  She had planned to go home, but the steering wheel seemed to have other plans. Instead of taking the Dan Ryan Expressway to her house, the car headed east to Indiana. Working in the emergency room was more stimulating than any drug, so she was wide awake. Rather than go home and watch reruns or unreal reality shows, she decided to visit Lady Luck.

  When most people go on a diet, they restrict calories and change their eating habits. Cecelia was on a casino diet. She even changed her wireless plan so she couldn’t go to online video poker sites. She hadn’t been since the summer and had accumulated free play points, complimentary meals, and hotel nights on her Players’ Card. There was a time when she spent endless hours and unmentionable amounts of money at the casino. Some people vegetated in front of the television or had wine to relax. Cecelia played slot machines and black jack. And even though she didn’t have a problem, she decided to take a break, and hadn’t been since summer. She didn’t freak out, so it was obvious she wasn’t an addict like her sister and ex-husband said.

  She didn’t see what the big deal was anyway. The whole country was built on gambling, they just called it something else. Christopher Columbus thought he was going to Japan but ended up in the Caribbean. That was a gamble he actually lost, but it worked out. The gambling term is miracle bet. Wall Street and the stock market are just legalized gambling. They use fancy words like arbitrage, options, and stock splits. In reality, a stockbroker is nothing more than a bookie and the Federal Reserve is the ultimate pit boss. Folks that buy stocks are called savvy investors, but they’re playing the odds just like the folks at a craps table. A real estate developer takes a chance that he can spend a little money turning a plot of dirt into houses, office buildings or shopping centers and make big money. They’re admired as astute businessmen yet that’s pure speculation. Even her conservative father gambled. What could be riskier than relying on the sun and rain to feed and clothe your family? At least at the casino, she could pick which game to play and she could walk away if the cards weren’t going her way or the machine was cold. With farming, it was all or nothing. Her father had more good years than bad, and no one focused on his losses. So why not treat herself. She could afford to “invest” a few dollars and if it didn’t work out, she’d just call it entertainment. To be on the safe side, she would stick with cash and leave her debit and credit cards in her car. Taking a chance was the American way. After all, it was a holiday. What could it hurt?

  CARL

  Carl checked one more time that the alarm was set, then gingerly tiptoed across the parking lot. The sleet and rain mixture that had been falling all day was turning to ice, so his manager called and told Carl to close early. His coworkers cheered when he made the announcement, but Carl wanted to work. He needed the money. Besides, he didn’t have any exciting New Year’s Eve plans. The only thing on his agenda when he got home was to take a hot bath. He was helping his brother coach the high school basketball team and they had practiced that morning. He had gotten out of shape since coming home, so even though he was just standing under the goal returning balls, as the boys practiced their free throws, his muscles ached. He would rather have been working, although he was looking forward to soaking them in a hot tub. That saying you don’t miss your water until your well runs dry is really true. He didn’t know if he fantasized more about women or bathing while he was locked up.

  His father was putting on his coat as Carl entered the house. “You’re heading out in this weather?”

  “I’m just going ‘round to Emma’s,” C.W. said.

  “It’s icy out there, Dad.”

  “I’ll be fine. You forget I taught you to drive. I’m taking my old truck. That bad boy can get through anything. I’ll stay over there and come home in the morning. So you’ll have the house to yourself.”

  “All right. I’m going to soak in the tub then go to bed.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Afraid so,” Carl said as he draped his coat on the back of the dining room chair.

  “I�
�m glad you’ve settled down son, but I hate to see you spend so much time alone.”

  “I’ve been working twelve hour shifts and I’m tired.”

  “Isn’t there some young lady you want to invite over?”

  “No.”

  “It’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t seem right for you to be alone. Whatever happened to you and that Taylor girl your mama liked?”

  “She was too clingy. I don’t need anybody checking my phone and coming up to my job.”

  “What about the girl Beverly introduced you to?”

  “I love my sister, but matchmaking is not her strong suit. The last thing I need is a woman with three kids. I’m still trying to get to know my own kids.”

  “Okay, but like I said, I won’t be home until morning…”

  “Dad, I get the hint. Times sure have changed. I can remember when you and Mama warned us not to have girls in the house. Now you’re practically setting me up.”

  “Well, you’re grown now, and I need to ask you something,” C.W. said as he put his cap on his head.

  “What is it?” Carl asked.

  “Did you turn into a gay? You do still like women, don’t you?”

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Yes, I still like women and no, I’m not gay. I would just rather be alone than waste time with the wrong person.”

  “Okay,” C.W. said with a sigh. “I’ve heard lots of stories from the guys at the barber shop. That Ferguson boy came home and never was the same.”