Down Home Blues

by Phyllis R. Dixon

  I turned down the CD player when I heard the doorbell. “Sounds like I’m just in time for the party,” Anthony said when I opened the door.

  “Yes, you are just in time. Follow me to the bedroom.”

  “This is a surprise, but music always did put you in the mood.”

  “Anthony, please,” I said shaking my head. “I need you to take these bags outside for me. The garbage man comes in the morning.”

  “Wait a minute,” Anthony said as he looked in one of the bags. “You’re throwing away my bowling shirt?”

  “It’s too small. You left it. I figured you didn’t want it.”

  “Well, you figured wrong. I wore this shirt the first time I won a trophy. We were in that league for years. Remember when our team went to the tournament in Milwaukee? We just missed third place.”

  “I remember catching you coming out of Melinda Walker’s room.”

  “I told you I was just returning her gloves –”

  “Anthony, quit. I didn’t believe you then, and ten years has not made the story any more plausible. If you want the shirt, put it in the box on the dresser.”

  “You got somebody moving in here? Why the urgent need for space?”

  “It’s not an urgent need for space. I just see no need for you to keep stuff here. It has been a year. You’ve moved out. It’s time your stuff moved with you.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been talking to your sisters,” Anthony said as he sifted through the CDs.

  “If you must know, I’m bringing the treadmill out of the garage and turning this room into an exercise room. I don’t need my sisters to point out the obvious. I can think for myself.”

  “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. I see you’ve already played Luther. Remember when we went to his concert in Nashville?”

  “Yes. It was advertised as ladies only, but you insisted on going.”

  “No way was I going to have my woman listen to all that romantic music and me not be around. As I recall, that turned out to be a smart move on my part. We ended up getting a motel room in Nashville and not returning home until the next day.”

  “As I recall, there was heavy rain and tornado warnings when the concert was over and we decided it wouldn’t be safe to get on the highway,” I said.

  “Umhuh. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel virtuous. Wow, here’s one I haven’t heard in years,” Anthony said as he put the Luther Vandross disc in the player. “It still doesn’t seem like he should be gone.”

  “He could really sing,” I said as I poured myself another glass of wine. “These days it’s all about the look and sampling. They don’t make music like that anymore.”

  “You know our parents said the same thing about our music.”

  “I guess that happens with every generation. But I don’t feel like the older generation. Where did the time go?” I said.

  “We spent it raising a fantastic son and building a home and a successful business.”

  “I never would have thought it would end like this,” I said.

  “It doesn’t have to. I was stupid,” Anthony said as he put my glass on the dresser and took my hand and spun me around. My feet fell in step like a soldier called to formation. “You know I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

  “I’ve never loved anyone but you, but—”

  “No but, a period,” Anthony said. “What else matters? People make mistakes, but we don’t have to make it worse by throwing away our whole life together.”

  “Anthony, how many times have we had some version of this conversation? At some point your actions have to match your words.”

  “Let’s not get into all of that. If we’ve learned nothing else this past year, it’s that life is short. Let’s just think about right now. We’re here, in our home. Regardless of all the other stuff going on, you’re the love of my life. I believe we were made for each other and nothing will change that.” As if he planned this very moment, Here and Now filled the air. Anthony pushed the stuff from the bed to the floor, then pulled me next to him on the bed. I leaned my head on his chest in the spot that seemed made just for me.

  I raised the jar to check the expiration date on the bottom. The coffee had been in the cabinet almost a year. It was the brand Anthony liked and I hadn’t bought any since he left, but I hadn’t thrown it out either. The biscuits were the last item on my menu of softly scrambled eggs with cheese, grits, bacon and Mama’s pear preserves.

  “It smells great in here,” Anthony said as he walked in the kitchen. “I can’t remember when I’ve had such a full breakfast.”

  “I can’t believe I used to eat like this every day, and this was just the first meal. No wonder I was big as a house,” I said.

  “Your weight never bothered me, but I must say, you’ve lost it in all the right places. Last night was fantastic. In fact, let’s put these plates in the microwave on a keep warm setting and go back and get this day started right,” Anthony said as he pulled me to him and kissed my neck. I followed him through the living room, stepping over boxes and bags. The food would keep.

  My eyes opened as my stomach growled. I sat up in bed and searched for the origin of the buzzing noise. Anthony’s phone was on the nightstand and it kept vibrating. He was in the shower and I knew I should have ignored it. Aunt Belle always said if you look for trouble, you’ll find it. But old habits die hard. I picked up his phone and noticed he had gotten three texts from K. He thought he was being slick by just putting initials after I busted him years ago about numbers in his phone. Like I couldn’t figure out that full names were guys and initials were women. K thanked him for agreeing to go car shopping with her today. She said she understood about him having to break their date and go to Eden to check on his folks, to be safe on the highway and she had something waiting for him when he got back in town, with a smiley face.

  I threw the phone on the bed and went to the kitchen. I was spreading preserves over my fourth biscuit when Anthony came in. “I have some errands to run, but I’ll call you later,” he said.

  I nodded my head, but remained silent. Anthony hastily put two slices of bacon in a biscuit, kissed me on the cheek and left. I scraped the rest of the breakfast into the garbage. I still smelled like Anthony, but decided there was something I needed to clean before I cleaned my body. I spent the rest of the morning cleaning out Anthony’s stuff. Instead of carefully sifting through boxes and drawers and putting things in a keep or toss pile, I dumped everything in garbage bags. For years, I’ve been the long suffering wife and made excuses like, “boys will be boys, if every wife left every husband that played around no one would be married, a black boy needs his father, at least he brings his money home.” But I’m through making excuses. I have been long-suffering, understanding, forgiving and tolerant (some called it stupid), but I will not be a booty call.

  When the downstairs closet and his side of the bedroom closet was clean, I dragged the bags to the landing then kicked them downstairs and dragged them to the garage. I heard the garbage truck turning the corner, tightened my housecoat belt, then dragged the bags to the curb. I am officially out of the Anthony Townsend business. This time I really mean it.

  CAROLYN

  God don’t like ugly. I heard Mama’s words as I tried to wipe the cranberry juice stain out of my new cream colored comforter. Derrick had brought me breakfast in bed and I knocked the juice over when I got up to turn on the ceiling fan. I guess ruining the comforter is the price for the lie I told my husband.

  This morning I claimed killer cramps as an excuse to stay home. My cramps were no worse than usual, but I did feel bad. Getting cramps meant I had gotten my period and am not pregnant, again. I fought back tears when I felt the sharp pain in my lower side and got the pimple on my chin, both signs that my monthly was coming.

  “We’re hosting the Usher Board anniversary this afternoon,” Derrick said this morning as he entered the room with a tray of sausage, eggs, yogurt, toast, cranberry juice, and the Dwight
County Times. “Hopefully you’ll feel well enough to come to the program.”

  I had no intention of attending the program but just smiled. I felt like a kid lying to my parents to get out of going to church. Mama always said to be careful what you ask for. That was definitely true in this case. I had prayed for a God-fearing, church going man, but didn’t mean go to church every time the doors opened. Derrick attended Sunday School, was president of the usher board, and a trustee. I was proud to accompany him to church, even though we rarely sat together. Since he was an usher, he was usually at the door. When he wasn’t on his usher post, he sat on the front row with the deacons and trustees. The Sunday School classes were separated by gender, so we didn’t attend classes together. Then after church, he usually had some meeting or other church business. So we were in the same space, but still not together.

  While we dated, whenever I came home, it was understood that I was going to church with my mother. Derrick invited me to his church, but I declined until my mother told me, “go mark your territory.” I went a few Sundays, then returned to Friendship, my mother’s church. One of the last things she and I did together was go to church. The smell of cinnamon, a special treat she reserved for Sunday morning coffee, still triggered memories and tears.

  I haven’t been back to Friendship since her funeral. Once I moved to Eden, I went to church with Derrick, although I haven’t officially joined. I consider myself a Christian, but I’m not used to going to church every Sunday, and don’t think I’ll be condemned to hell if I don’t. When I lived in Chicago, I attended Bedside Baptist. French toast, vanilla roast coffee and T.D. Jakes had been my usual Sunday morning routine. Going to church with a husband seemed like a dream of a perfect life that I would never have. I got the church-going husband, although maybe my request should have been more specific, but I’m not complaining.

  The past few weeks, Derrick has been more like the sweet man I married. Flowers, breakfast in bed, and date nights remind me why I fell in love with him. I moved to Derrick’s side of the bed to let the comforter dry and grabbed the newspaper. The Dwight County Times was less than twenty pages, but the weekly paper kept us up to date on area happenings. Instead of the usual news about who shot john and what politician was under investigation, there were stories that touched me personally. I noted that a planning group was meeting at the library this week, and Raymond was listed as the contact person. Raymond had mentioned that a group was forming to oppose fracking in Dwight County. The bottom half of the front page was devoted to the Eden High School basketball team, with a picture of Raymond and his team. The team was now one win away from going to the district tournament. I grabbed my tablet, went to the online version of the paper and sent Beverly a link to the article.

  I was about to turn off the television and concentrate on the newspaper, but something the minister said caught my ear. His title was, Let It Go. He was speaking on forgiveness and he quoted Colossians chapter three, verse thirteen: Bear with each other, forgive one another if any of you has a grievance toward someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. He went on to quote several other scriptures. He said not to deny the hurt or injustice, but if you hold on to it, you’re the one suffering. It’s easy to love someone when they are good to you, but a characteristic of unconditional love is sticking with someone when they aren’t so loveable. Not that you turn into a doormat. Sincerity and repentance are key ingredients, both traits Derrick has displayed. I guess it’s time to let it go and move on.

  I thought about how blessed I am. But I also know God hasn’t run out of blessings and there are things I still want for my life. A baby is at the top of the list. Funny how life changes. A year ago, having a child wasn’t even on my radar.

  I had gone in for my regular checkup before I moved. "I see you’ll be forty-two in a few weeks," Dr. Turner had said.

  “Don't remind me,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with forty-two? If you continue to take care of yourself and watch your weight you'll still be a knockout. But you do need to start getting regular mammograms. I will schedule one for you. And one more thing, you may not look your age, but your body knows how old your eggs are. I know you’re a newlywed, but if you plan to have children, you better get busy.”

  “Children? I gave that notion up long ago.” When I turned thirty, I considered using a sperm donor or just getting pregnant and raising a child on my own. A few years later, a coworker and I dated. We were so in love, I transferred to another department so our relationship would not be a problem. We moved in together and planned to have children, so I threw my birth control pills away. I knew we were doing it backwards, since he hadn’t put a ring on it. After six months of trying to get pregnant, I went to the doctor and learned that my tubes were blocked due to endometriosis. This was a shock because I hadn’t had any symptoms or abnormal pain. I was prescribed medication and even tried acupuncture. Then I had a laparoscopy and it seemed to do the trick. I got pregnant and was prepared to announce a long maternity leave, sit home and rock babies, but I had a miscarriage. Then I found out he was seeing his ex-wife. Luckily, in our effort to keep up appearances, I had kept my apartment. I moved out of his place, and hadn’t been with anyone I remotely considered father material since. A child just wasn’t in the cards for me. The picture on church fans with a caramel colored mother, father, and two children was so out of reach that I had stopped praying for it. I had found a husband who loved me, and Derrick said he was happy with just the two of us. I figured asking for a child was just being greedy. I accepted my fate as aunt and godmother and was content, or so I thought.

  “I know you’ve had some miscarriages, but you are not infertile. You may just need a little help. In vitro fertilization is much more common now than even ten years ago,” Dr. Turner said.

  I listened to Dr. Turner's explanation of the mechanics, risks, and costs associated with the procedure. After my conversation with Dr. Turner, I began reading and searching the internet for information on infertility. My periods were regular, so ovulation was not a problem. Dr. Turner referred me to a specialist in Memphis. I scheduled an appointment and had a pelvic exam, blood test and ultrasound. Those tests revealed no issues and I went on fertility pills. This is my second period since being on the pills, so it looks like the next step will be in vitro fertilization. That will be expensive and insurance doesn’t cover it. We aren’t rolling in money, but I can figure out a way to pay for it. We’ve saved money for a down payment, so we can dip into that fund. Everything is clear now, and I feel like the sermon was specifically for me. I said a special prayer for God to bless my marriage with a child, then made a note to schedule an appointment first thing in the morning. I don’t have time to sit around licking my wounds. Forgive and move on.

  CARL

  Carl walked out of the office a happy man. He was officially off paper. He had paid his debt to society through almost twenty two hundred days of incarceration and parole. He hadn’t gone to his sister’s wedding because it was a last minute deal and he couldn’t get permission to travel that quickly. Potential employers had told him they wanted to hire him, but couldn’t hire anyone on probation or parole. He initially reported once a month and now had gotten to every eight weeks, but it was still a nagging reminder that he wasn’t quite free. Some guys stayed inside and did all their time so they wouldn’t have to be on parole. Carl just wanted to get out. If he had to jump through one more hoop, so be it. He was now finished jumping. No more drug tests or filling out the same stupid form each month. He had felt like a slave with a traveling pass having to check in and get permission to do anything. Now he could go to the moon if he wanted and it was nobody’s business.

  The fight at the high school had been another unexpected hoop. He was just trying to help and ended up the one being taken into custody. Luckily there were several witnesses to corroborate his story. He wasn’t charged, but did end up prohibited from helping Raymond with the team. They claimed felons were a bad influence on the young
men, and Raymond was reprimanded for not following school board policy. Ironic, since he was probably the best one to talk to the boys about why they needed an education and didn’t want to go to prison. But keeping his own sons in line was job enough for him. He didn’t have as much time to volunteer anyway. He had gone to see his sons for the past three weekends and he was working.

  He had already gotten his first paycheck from Franklin Contracting. C.W. said he and the owner knew each other and Mr. Franklin happened to mention his vacancy when they saw each other at the bank. Carl applied to appease his father. He didn’t expect to be hired, but he was. Carl enjoyed working for Mr. Franklin and having contact with the owner. He liked not having to punch a time clock. He was hired as a painter, but once they discovered he was a plumber by trade, they took advantage of his skills. They would ask him something, knowing he knew the answer and would volunteer to do it. They couldn’t hire him as a plumber since he didn’t have a license, but he hadn’t complained. He was just glad to have a job. He could see his boys without begging someone to take him or loan him money, and he and Portia were settling into a comfortable routine.

  Looks like things are finally starting to go my way, he thought.