Down Home Blues

by Phyllis R. Dixon

  “Well, just because man can do it doesn't mean it should be done. You want me to go in some doctor's office, jack off, then let them mix up my sperm and your eggs like they're making a cake, let it hatch, then stick it back inside of you? It might not even be my sperm or your eggs. Who knows what they’ll concoct?”

  “Derrick, it’s not like that at all. Come to the doctor's office with me and let her explain it. She says I'm a good candidate.”

  “She means guinea pig. This stuff is crazy and I know why you're saying this. Your birthday is a reminder that you’re getting older. Let’s be happy about it and be satisfied with what we have. You can’t bring back your youth.”

  “I'm not trying to bring back my youth,” I said. “But we have a very short window. I don’t want us to look back in five years and regret not trying.”

  “Well, I promise you. I won’t regret it. If we do, we can always adopt. Besides, it's not of God.”

  “How can you say that? Thousands of children are conceived by in vitro fertilization. Are you saying all those children are not God's creation?”

  “I just know what the Bible says and—”

  “Don't preach to me. I know what it says. I don't see you turning away from doctors and medicine when you feel bad. You couldn't get to the hospital fast enough when you had those kidney stones removed.”

  “Baby, this is different. You're talking about creating a life.”

  “Well, I thought God was in control. If he created the doctors who created the technology, who created the procedure to create the life, isn't that his handiwork?”

  “Are you having a midlife crisis or something? People our age are grandparents. We’re not twenty-five anymore.”

  “I’ve always wanted a family. I thought you would be happy about this.”

  “You really should have talked to me about this before you ran off to see all these doctors. I could have saved you the hassle.”

  “It came up because I took my old behind to the doctor to get a checkup. There are certain tests you should have when you turn forty. She asked me about our childbearing plans.”

  “You should have told her we don’t have any plans. I am not interested.”

  “So that's it? That's the end of the discussion?”

  “Yep.” Derrick turned the key and started the car. I turned and looked out the window at the water as he slowly backed over the bumpy cobblestones. It never crossed my mind that Derrick would be opposed. I thought he made all those negative comments to spare my feelings, and that he would be excited about being a father. He’s so good with the children at church. He just needs more time to get used to the idea. This won’t be easy, but I know he’ll come around.

  “Listen, people to what I'm telling you

  Don't let your left hand know what your right hand do.”

  Lil Johnson

  Chapter 7

  NEVER LET YOUR RIGHT HAND KNOWWHAT YOUR LEFT HAND DO

  Carl smiled when he read his ex-wife’s text message. She thanked him for the money he sent and said she was able to get caught up on her bills. He had paid several months back child support and sent Pat extra money for the boys. It felt good to be able to take care of them. Rather than sit around and whine about his situation, he finally decided to do something about it. His wake up call came when he didn’t get a call at all. He hadn’t spoken to his boys for weeks and when he did call, their mother’s phone was out of service. He drove to Little Rock and discovered her transmission had gone out. The first week her car wasn’t working she and the boys took the bus. They had to leave home ninety minutes early for her to get them to school and she to her job on time. The routine in the evening was even worse. The last three weeks she rented a car, but this meant she couldn’t save money to get the car fixed and was actually spending more money. By them getting home so late, she didn’t have time to cook in the evenings, so they were spending money on takeout. Her phone had been cut off and she was a month behind in her rent.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Carl asked.

  “I guess I’m so used to handling things myself it never occurred to me. Besides, I know you’re not working.”

  She hadn’t said the words in anger, but her statement was worse than being cursed out. What good was he if he couldn’t help his boys when they needed something? So he had done what he said he wouldn’t do. He called Perry. Within two weeks, he had money to send his boys and one thousand dollars in his pocket - thanks to a skill he learned while locked up.

  He had lived in Chicago and Little Rock and his crack addiction followed him from one place to the other. He smoked crack for ten years and couldn’t seem to shake the hold it had on him. Eighty-five percent of the U.S. prison population has a history of substance abuse, and once inside many just exchange one drug of choice for another. The prison wall is not a barrier and people would be surprised at the availability of drugs inside. Drugs get in via relatives, staff, even the mail, since legal documents are exempt from search in mailrooms. Inmates die of overdoses and the drug counseling programs are a joke. People sign up for counseling just to look good at the board. The first six months of Carl’s time, he stayed almost as high as he had on the outside. But when he failed his first urinalysis and was then assigned to the laundry – where he was surrounded by never ending piles of clothes, towels, sheets, and funky underwear with no air conditioning - he decided to quit getting high for good. He signed up for everything he could to pass the time, and one of the classes he signed up for was computer classes.

  The computer classes helped him stay sane. Some of the guys acted like they were just away for a while and the prison environment was as normal as anything else. Carl never felt that way. Access to the internet gave him a window into the outside world. He had never been much into computers, so he didn’t realize how restricted their access was. He was just glad for the access he did have. He started with computer privileges of one hour a week. By the time of his release he was spending hours in the library. He completed their introductory computer classes then taught himself coding and basic programming. He even thought he could pursue a computer related job when he got out. Unfortunately, there weren’t many of those jobs in and around Eden. He thought about moving in with one of his sisters where those jobs were more plentiful, but he would need more training. He wasn’t eligible for training programs since he had a felony on his record, and he couldn’t afford to pay for the program.

  He ran into Perry one day when he was picking up a pack of cigarettes at the gas station. He usually dismissed Perry’s ‘job’ offers, but that day he listened. When Perry told him all he had to do was deliver a package, and it wasn’t drugs, Carl couldn’t believe how easy the money was. He knew it wasn’t legal, but couldn’t see another way. He had tried longer than most. He thought maybe others just hadn’t tried hard enough to get in the game. Carl tried to work his way off the bench but he couldn’t even get in the stadium. Then when ex-felons end up back in prison, folks act like it’s a validation of their weakness. Carl never thought of himself as a criminal. He was just a victim of the system. True, it was a situation he created, but he saw no way out. Perry was the only one offering a way out, so he took it.

  Most offenders know the statistics and that the chances are high that they will eventually be caught. They also think they are smarter than others and start out with a plan to get enough money to go legit. That was Carl’s plan. He had done a few runs for Perry and made a little money. Carl hadn’t asked what was in the package and hadn’t looked. But Perry had let him in on a plan to make even bigger money. Turns out the bag was full of credit cards. Perry had a source that had a connection that had a hook-up with a computer hacking ring in Russia. Every month or so, his hook-up bought thousands of stolen credit card numbers, made cards, and distributed them. Carl and Perry were in the distribution chain. Perry said they could make more money if they made the cards themselves. The equipment wasn’t expensive and anyone could buy it. Carl said he didn’t want this to
be a long term deal. He’d do the computer work, but only for a month or so. He just wanted to do a few more runs, until he got enough money to pay down his back child support and saved enough to move to North Dakota. Then he’d be gone.

  CECELIA

  Cecelia’s stomach growled so loud she looked around to see if anyone else heard it. Today’s not going to be a salad day, she thought as she walked past the salad bar and headed to the grilled food line. She rarely ate in the cafeteria. She usually ended up working through her lunch break and grabbing a snack from the vending machine on her floor. She also kept nuts and raisins in her desk. But today she was hungry. She arrived at work last night at eleven and was working a double. They admitted two cardiac patients and she missed her six o’clock break. So it was about ten-thirty but her stomach didn’t know if she wanted breakfast or lunch.

  She checked her account balance on her phone to make sure she had enough to pay for a meal. Today was payday, but she didn’t want to chance using her debit card until she was certain her paycheck had been deposited. She had given Sheree two hundred dollars on Friday to pay for her car insurance. Sheree said she would pay her back, but Cecelia knew not to count on that. She didn’t mind helping her daughter. It just seemed that she needed help whenever Cecelia could least afford it. But Cecelia had a full tank of gas and a full pantry, so she knew she would be okay until payday. There was a time she would have just gotten a cash advance on one of her credit cards and headed to the casino. She got complimentary meals and rooms whenever she wanted. But she now realized those meals and rooms weren’t really free. Besides, all that buffet food ran up her cholesterol.

  She wasn’t worried about her cholesterol today. Cecelia splurged and ordered an omelet with extra cheese, pancakes, coffee, and an apple for later. She was surprised to see a line at the cash register. The cash only line was moving, but of course, she didn’t have any cash. The computers were down and the cashiers had to manually input credit and debit transactions. “My food will be cold at this rate,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Computers run everything these days,” a baritone voice behind her said.

  “What did we do before we had computers?” Cecelia said, as she glanced at her watch. “The one day I decide to come to the cafeteria, they have issues. Like the blues song, if it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all.”

  “Well, I’m going to say this is my lucky day. If the computers were working, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to talk to such a lovely lady.”

  Cecelia turned all the way around to get a good look at the man who had just complimented her.

  “Gabriel Andrews,” he said as he extended his hand. “I haven’t been sick much, but I certainly didn’t have a nurse as lovely as you.”

  “Thank you, but my patients usually are in such distress they could care less what I look like. They just want me to do my job and do it well,” Cecelia snapped.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. I forget that women are touchy about compliments over here.”

  “What do you mean by ‘over here’?” Cecelia asked, noticing his accent for the first time. She also noticed that he was clean shaven with a low hair-cut, medium build, about six feet two inches, with Hershey chocolate skin and perfect white teeth.

  “I’m not from the states. I forget that people here are more sensitive, and even innocent comments can be construed as sexual harassment. I promise I meant no disrespect. I apologize.”

  “I apologize as well. I didn’t mean to be touchy,” Cecelia said. “I guess that’s the hunger talking.”

  Seven minutes later they finally made it to the front of the line. Cecelia paid for her food, then found a table. Gabriel grabbed his tray and followed her. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked, and sat before she could answer.

  In the next fifteen minutes, Cecelia found out he was a Johnson Fellow in a doctoral program co-sponsored by the hospital university. He was born in Petionville, a suburb of Port Au Prince, Haiti, spent his teens in London, and now lived in Miami, where his parents, both college professors had retired. Just as she was putting sweetener in her coffee, an announcement came over the speaker.

  “Code blue, 3016 Stat. Code blue, 3016 stat.”

  “That means I have to get back to work,” Cecelia said, as she quickly finished her coffee and put the apple in her purse.

  “But you just sat down. Your hour can’t be over yet.”

  “Tell that to whoever they just wheeled out of the ambulance.”

  “I’ve enjoyed talking to you. Can we go to a real lunch sometime – not in the cafeteria? Unless there’s a man in the picture?”

  “No man in the picture. I feel like I’m married to this hospital,” Cecelia said as she grabbed her purse.

  “We need to do something about that. So can I call you?”

  “I really need to go,” Cecelia said.

  “Here, put your number in my phone,” he said as he handed her his cell phone. “Now when you see this 305 area code, that will be me. When’s your next off day?”

  Cecelia had to think. She had gotten into the habit of working on her off days, even if it was just to do paperwork. “Thursday.”

  “Okay. It’s a date. I’ll call you before then and we’ll set something up for Thursday.”

  Cecelia nodded, took another gulp of coffee and left. Anyone looking at her would never guess she was on her way to someone’s emergency by the smile on her face. But she had just done something almost as elusive as getting a royal flush. She had been asked on a date.

  Cecelia was supposed to be showing Gabriel the city but felt like a tourist herself. Between the hospital and her family, she rarely ventured outside of her routine. But she had seen more of Chicago in the last three weeks than she had in the twenty years she had lived there. They were both working nights and spent their days touring the city. They had been to Buddy Guy’s Legends, the Chess Records Museum, Navy Pier, and the Field Museum. Like some people close a club, they closed the International Museum of Surgical Science, a place Cecelia had heard about, but never visited. She had taken him to several pizza places and had even broken her “no meat” rule and indulged in Chicago style hotdogs. Riding the ‘el’, was also on Gabriel’s ‘to do’ list. Cecelia rode it at the beginning of her marriage when they just had one car, and it wasn’t an experience she coveted, but she joined him in his adventure.

  Cecelia was the longtime resident, but Gabriel was teaching her a few things too. They went to the DuSable Museum of African American History, a place Cecelia had been on field trips with her kids’ schools. But she hadn’t realized that DuSable, regarded as the first non-native resident of Chicago was of Haitian descent. There was a sizeable Haitian community on Chicago’s north side that Cecelia had been oblivious to and Gabriel had introduced her to some awesome Haitian restaurants over there. She took him to Lady Luck but he quit playing after he lost twenty dollars. He described the players as irrational fools and couldn’t understand how people could throw their money away. She tried to explain to him that people didn’t always lose. “They wouldn’t build them if they weren’t making millions,” he said. He didn’t complain, but Cecelia felt uncomfortable with him watching her play, so they left after two hours. She had actually won one hundred dollars, but Gabriel wasn’t convinced.

  Their best date was the tour of the old Sears Tower, not because of the view, but because Gabriel bought postcards in the gift shop and quickly wrote a note to his parents and mailed them. He told them he was enjoying Chicago, work was going great, that he had met a special girl, and couldn’t wait for them to meet her. That told her he was feeling what she was feeling. Maybe she had finally hit the jackpot.

  CAROLYN

  The garlic and onion aroma overwhelmed the car and I cracked my window even though it was raining. Derrick’s been gone all week on field visits throughout the state. My initial plan had been to cook his favorite dish; smothered steak and rice, and have it ready when he walked in the door
. Cooking is one byproduct of marriage that I hadn’t fully considered. I had a chef’s kitchen in Chicago, but my oven was primarily storage for the Martha Stewart cookware I rarely used. Being the youngest girl, I guess I didn’t spend as much time in the kitchen with Mama as my sisters. When I did venture near the stove, my culinary skills leaned more toward pasta or grilled fish, especially since I’ve lost weight. Derrick expected meals with a meat, preferably coated in flour or meal and fried, with at least two vegetables every day. I now have a new appreciation for both of my sisters. Taking care of houses, husbands, children, and a job requires superwoman skills. Of course, I don’t have the children part— at least not yet.

  Primarily because it’s tax season, Derrick doesn’t give me a hard time about cooking. If I don’t cook, he’ll go to Mother Roberts' house. She seems to cook a Sunday dinner every day as though she expects me not to cook. True, I don’t relish cooking and planning meals every day, but I don’t appreciate my mother-in-law assuming I’m not taking care of my husband. I made it my mission to learn to fix Derrick’s favorite meals. Beverly confided the secret to good smothered steak was low heat and lots of bell peppers, (my first two attempts were on the bland side and a little chewy). Sweet potatoes, baked in the oven, just as Derrick liked (microwave would have been fine with me), and some pickled beets would complete the meal.

  I left work early with plans to chill some of Daddy’s plum wine, spruce up the house, and have all this waiting when Derrick got home. But I got stuck behind an accident on the Mississippi River bridge. Then, Rick stopped me just as I crossed the county line. Luckily, he’s always had a crush on Beverly, so he only gave me a warning and told me to tell her to call him sometime. Now, it’s almost six o’clock. Enter Plan B - pizza with salads from Wendy’s. It’s not fancy, but I’ll spruce it up with my mother’s dishes instead of paper plates and light Bird of Paradise candles from our honeymoon.