Down Home Blues

by Phyllis R. Dixon

  “Carl, you never answered the question,” Beverly said.

  “Actually, Portia and I aren’t seeing each other anymore. But I’m sure she’s registered and will vote.”

  “I hate to hear that,” Beverly said. “You two seemed like a perfect couple.”

  “Portia’s a great girl, but I need to get myself together first. Maybe once that happens, I can think about getting serious. I’m working on a few things to get my finances in order. Hopefully she’ll be patient and when and if it happens, we’ll be as happy as Carolyn and Derrick.”

  CECELIA

  “My husband truly has a split personality. He can be so sweet and loving. He is the life of the party and funnier than anyone on television. He is a good provider and an officer in our church. But when he drinks he becomes mean.”

  “And you didn’t see any of this before you married,” the counselor asked.

  “No. He was my son’s football coach. He was tough on the field, but I figured that was just football. The first time I saw any meanness was when he knocked my son down after a practice, saying he wasn’t trying hard enough. We had only been married a month and of course I was furious. He said I was too soft and it took a man to raise a man. I thought maybe that’s what boys needed.”

  “So when did he begin to abuse you?” the counselor asked.

  “The first time he hit me was when I came in from a birthday happy hour for one of the girls at work. He met me at the door, asked where I had been and slapped me before I could answer. I had told him I was going to be late, but he had been drinking and forgot. I know when that happened I should have left, but it was so gradual. It started with name calling, then yelling in my face and one thing graduated to the next.”

  Hmmm. That fool would have flunked the first time he laid a hand on my son, Cecelia thought. I can’t believe these women are this weak. We could save a lot of time if this counselor would just tell these women to get a backbone. These stories always made the women in the circle cry and everyone was passing around a box of tissue. Cecelia didn’t cry. It just made her mad. Mad at the women for having no backbone and mad at herself for ending up here. Carolyn’s condo had sold and Cecelia had spent the money she had set aside for first and last month’s rent at the casino. Now. she was officially homeless.

  She knew it was a mistake when she pulled into the casino parking lot. But that Sunday had been one of her worst days on the job. Sunday afternoons were usually slow, but two shooting victims were admitted within ninety minutes of each other. She was usually able to remain detached, but that day had been different. The first boy was the same age as her son and was also named Michael. The second boy was only fourteen and came in with a bullet in his neck. He made it through a four hour surgery and was in ICU but then went into cardiac arrest and died. His mother’s wail sounded like her insides were coming out. Cecelia sat with her. There was nothing she could say, so she didn’t try to patronize her. She just let her cry and held her until her husband came. When the woman’s blood pressure shot up she had to be admitted. By the time Cecelia left, she sat in her car for thirty minutes in a daze. She got chilled and came out of her stupor, as she hadn’t even put on her coat. Every now and then the life and death nature of her job got to her. Not that she didn’t care about all of her patients. But to be effective, you couldn’t get emotionally tied to them. Although, sometimes it was hard to remember that rule.

  She knew the Chicago murder statistics. Black folks were outraged at reports of black boys shot by whites or police, but where were the protests about the boys killing each other? Those numbers were epidemic and she had seen boys as young as eight shot by rival gang members and babies shot by stray bullets. Where did this disregard for life come from? People touted money, studies, and politicians as the solution. All she knew is they admitted a gunshot victim almost daily. The police didn’t even come take a report anymore unless the person died.

  As soon as she put on her coat, she called her son, but he was getting ready for school and couldn’t talk long. She just wanted to hear his voice. Cecelia missed seeing him every day. The condo was convenient to the hospital, but was almost an hour away from her son so she couldn’t just stop over whenever she thought about him. But she was glad he was there. She and Michael had argued for years about moving out of the city. Michael said leaving was part of the problem and they needed to stay. Cecelia said she wasn’t trying to save the whole race – just her family. One day Junior came home with a black eye, torn jacket, and no shoes. He said some boys jumped him in the bathroom at school, said he ‘talked white,’ and took his new Jordans. Michael was furious and wanted his son to identify the boys so they could press charges. Cecelia said nothing, but went to the school the next day and withdrew her children. She kept them home for a week while she looked for another house. She told Michael he could stay with his people or be with his family, but she was not staying any longer. Michael agreed to rent out the house and they bought a house out in Glenview. The seventy-five minute commute was worth it not to have to worry about gangs and drive-bys. They rented their old house for a while, then she moved back in after the divorce. She stayed in the house a few months before letting it go into foreclosure. How ironic that Michael was now the one in the suburbs and she was living in the city.

  Without Gabriel to share the details of her shift, she found herself in a familiar place. The clinking and ringing of the machines and the busy paisley pattern in the carpet dulled her senses and within fifteen minutes her breathing slowed and her headache subsided. She planned to go to the buffet, get breakfast, run home to change, then head back to the hospital. She was surprised to see no eggs or pancakes on the buffet. When she asked the waitress about it, she told her they stopped serving breakfast at eleven thirty. It was just past noon, and she was supposed to be at work at one o’clock.

  She went to the ladies room, splashed water on her face, washed under her arms, rinsed her mouth, then rushed to the hospital. She worked a double shift then went to her casino hotel room to take a bath and get the last of her things. She had found an apartment, but still hadn’t gathered together all she needed for the security deposit, and first and last month’s rent. The manager was holding it for her and she had planned to move at the end of the month. There was a gap between when she had to vacate the condo and when she would have the money for her apartment. She had used all her comp nights at the casino and still had six days before she could move in her apartment. She went through her bags and pulled some items she could take to the consignment shop. One benefit of buying designer clothes was that she could get money for them. She dropped off some clothes and picked up one hundred eighty dollars from items she had left last month. That money had to last until payday. She sat in the parking lot an hour, unsure of her next move. She could use it all and pay for a room at the casino, or she could go find her favorite machine and try to double the money. She could have called Carolyn or one of her brothers but she was too embarrassed to ask for help. She knew their help would come with a lecture and she didn’t want to hear it. This was just a rough patch and she’d be okay with her next paycheck. She went back to the hospital and went to the chapel to nap before going back to work. As she passed the bulletin board in the cafeteria, a flyer caught her eye. The employee assistance group had a contract with an abused women’s shelter. She recognized the neighborhood and knew there were nice houses over there, so she had made up a story and headed to the shelter.

  They welcomed her, no questions asked. They were so caring, she almost felt guilty being there under false pretenses and vowed to send a donation when she got her finances straightened out. The only thing she had to do was help in the kitchen every other day and attend daily counseling sessions. They didn’t make everyone talk so she didn’t have to come up with a story and no one asked her any questions. She was seen as one of the lucky ones. She didn’t have small children and she had a good job. Some of these women made minimum wage, or had no job at all. Where were these wo
men’s families, Cecelia often wondered. Carolyn had dated a boy in college that hit her a couple times. Cecelia told her brothers and all four of them drove to campus, jumped on the dude and left. That was the only time Carl had ever missed a game. Carolyn didn’t have any more problems. Unfortunately, many women’s stories didn’t end as well as Carolyn’s had.

  This was her twenty-second day here. She had had two roommates. One went back to her boyfriend and the other moved to Texas with her sister. Cecelia could have left after one week, when she got paid, but decided to stay two more weeks so she had enough money to get her things out of storage. At least Gabriel wasn’t here to see her predicament. Her apartment was ready and all of this would be a memory by the time he got back. She was making her rounds to say good-bye to the evening staff. Most of them would be gone when she left in the morning.

  “You’ve been pretty quiet, but we’re still going to miss you,” the counselor said as she hugged Cecelia. “The girls have learned a lot from you.”

  “But I feel like I didn’t really contribute anything,” Cecelia said.

  “You have. Your quiet strength is a testimony of action. They see you taking care of business and vowed to do the same. And the information about the hospital training program was really helpful. Many times women don’t leave because they can’t afford to. We all know it’s usually who you know that makes the difference in getting a job. Two of the women have a second interview scheduled.”

  “The hospital is always short staffed. There’s a lot of paperwork, but I’m confident they’ll get hired.”

  “Take care of yourself. I wish you the best and hope we helped you.”

  “You have, and don’t take this personally, but I hope I don’t see you again,” Cecelia said with a smile.

  “At least not under these circumstances,” the counselor replied.

  Quiet strength – if they only knew, Cecelia thought as she went back to gather her belongings. She had called human resources several times to be sure they pulled the ladies applications. At least she helped in some way. They had definitely helped her. She still didn’t understand why a woman would stay with someone who abused her. No one in her family would take that mess. No one in her family would be hiding out in a shelter either. How could I have been so stupid? She thought. She had gone astray, but like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind, she would never be homeless again. She had gone to the bank today when she got paid and put her apartment rent on auto debit. If she didn’t have a dime, at least she’d have a roof over her head. She had cleaned a lot of stuff out of her storage unit and sold it. After being with these women for almost a month, she realized she didn’t need so much stuff. Then she called all the casinos where she had a line of credit and closed them. Her credit was so messed up, she knew they would never reopen them. From now on, she would go back to the changes she had adopted last year. She would leave her credit and debit cards at home, and limit her casino visits to Triple Play Thursdays. She had a one hundred dollar free play coupon left that expired in two days. She needed to use it, and once she used that, she’d be done. She had learned her lesson. After all, she had already been homeless and broke. How much worse could it get?

  “When you get what you want, you don't want what you get…”

  Irving Berlin

  Chapter 10

  AFTER YOU GET WHAT YOU WANT,

  YOU DON’T WANT IT

  “You paid a lot of money for this little BW car, didn’t you, Chubby?” C.W. asked.

  “It’s called BMW, Daddy,” I said. “It was a birthday present to myself for turning forty.”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is. Give me a Cadillac any day. Plus, you’ll be keeping jobs in this country,” C.W. said as he turned his head back and forth. “Trying to nap in this little car has given me a crook in my neck.”

  We’re headed to Little Rock and should have been there by now. Traffic slowdowns on this freeway are almost as bad as in Chicago. At least up there if you run into a problem you can take another route. Down here you’re stuck, unless you want to take a two lane highway and stop in a bunch of small towns. We finally passed the last construction cone and I changed lanes and increased my speed to eighty-five miles per hour.

  We’ve got thirty minutes to get downtown so I can file the CARE injunction against U.S. Energy for failing to register as a lobbyist. The state’s lobbying ordinance defines a lobbyist as anyone employed to

  communicate with government officials to influence their action. It’s a long shot but it’s worth a try. We have thirty days left to file, but I don’t want to wait. Every day we wait is like letting the dynamite get closer to the end of the fuse, so I took a vacation day to make the drive, although I didn’t tell Derrick.

  I had planned to leave earlier, but I had to search for an electrician to fix issues the inspector found in my condo. Cece said she would do it, but didn’t. I tried to get the best price but that was taking too long, so I just picked the next one that popped up on my internet search. Then I spent more time than I anticipated at Aunt Belle’s. Her home-care aide called and asked if I would come over. This is the third one she’s had in two months. Either they don’t wash the dishes good enough, or they’re stealing, or they can’t cook. I spent hours completing paperwork to sign her up for the Dwight County Seniors Meals on Wheels program. Then Carl told me, he saw unopened trays in the garbage when he would take the garbage out. She said she wouldn’t feed that slop to her dog. I know it’s not the home cooked meals she’s used to, but seems like it would be better than nothing. But of course, the alternative isn’t nothing. I’ve been cooking extra on the weekends and packaging food in to-go containers for the week. Carl says he’ll help me with her. But how did she become my responsibility? I know her son died and her grandchildren don’t live close, but still… I try to be sympathetic. That could be me one day. I don’t have any children. Who will care for me when I get old? I just hope I remember to be more cooperative.

  By the time I resolved Aunt Belle’s drama (she was livid that the worker swept her feet with the broom - a bad luck omen - time to look for home-care aide number four), my plan for a leisurely drive with Daddy was history and this day turned out to be just as hectic as any other day. I’m going to get home even later than if I had gone to work, which only confirms Derrick’s claim that CARE is too time-consuming.

  My husband and I are in an uneasy truce. There have been no more harsh words, but we’ve each drawn our line in the sand. He claimed he had a cold and slept on the couch the last two nights. The couch gives him backaches, but if he wants to be stubborn, so be it. I can’t sit by and let Daddy’s legacy be ruined.

  I’m always amazed when I see tax returns for young couples with six figure salaries, capital gains, and Schedule D income. Of course there are no pictures, so I can’t swear that they’re all white, but I’m ninety-nine point nine percent certain they are. They have trusts and inheritances, and even if they aren’t wealthy, at least they don’t start from zero like black folks always seem to. My parents worked hard so my generation and those after us had a little head start. They sent us to college and invested in our businesses. Mama may not have been in the field, but she was just as important to Daddy’s success as fertilizer and good weather. I can’t let their hard work be for nothing. I’ve given in to Derrick on just about everything else. I know marriage is about compromise, but it’s his turn to compromise.

  “I see we’re almost there,” C.W. said. “Emma wants me to stop at a GNC and get her vitamins.”

  “She’s got you doing honey-dos and you’re not even married yet.”

  “If I had known this wedding was going to be such a big production, I would have tried harder to talk her out of it. Seems silly to me, going through all of that at our age, but if that’s what she wants…”

  “I’m just glad you found someone to make you happy.”

  “I’m relieved to hear you say that. I know your sisters don’t feel that way. They think I’m trying to re
place your mother and that could never happen.”

  “I’ll admit I felt that way too. But now that I’m here, I can see how happy she makes you. It’s nice to have someone to spend your days and nights with. Everyone grieves differently, and just because you’re living the rest of your life and not spending it shut up in the house wearing black, doesn’t mean you didn’t love Mama.”

  “I’m still grieving. Losing Lois was like losing my right hand. But for some reason, I’m still here. If it had been up to me, it would have been the other way around. I don’t understand why the Lord took your mother and not me. Maybe because she was so good, he wanted her closer to Him.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “It’s the only way I could make myself go on. I don’t know how much longer I have, but Emma really helped me and I don’t have time to be courting.”

  “Well, don’t worry about my sisters. They’ll come around.”

  “You’ll all understand one day. We have to live life to the fullest. Tomorrow is not promised.”

  “You’re right and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Have you discussed a prenuptial agreement with Miss Emma?”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a legal document that outlines what happens to your assets if something happens to you.”

  “I already have a will. Paul helped me set up a trust to hold the land. I already put forty acres in timber. That portion will start generating income in about eight years, and you’ll all get one or two royalty payments a year. I did it after that family reunion when y’all acted a fool, thinking I was ready to kick the bucket. Everything is in order.”