Is It Ever Easy?

by Lydia Norwood

Is It Ever Easy?

  Lydia Norwood

  Copyright 2012 Lydia Norwood

  Smaswords Edition, License Notes

  Connect with Me Online:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/lnorwood6 Or mailto:lnorwood6@gmail.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  My name is Emmanuel Zachariah Jones. I am 54 years old, and that’s all I can say ‘I am’. Everything else is, I was. I was a big baby with an even bigger smile – or so they tell me. I was born in an abandoned building. Don’t think I was ever in a hospital or a real home. I’ve been told my mother left me in an abandoned building for a bag of crack shortly after someone cut the cord. But who knows? It could all just be folklore. All I remember is the orphanage and what I was, big, strong and good at hitting things. I used my talent on the field mainly, but sometimes off. It was a double, edged sword that I wielded like a warrior, until that day.

  Growing up my nickname was Smack. ’Cause I talked it and I did it. Even some teachers took to calling me that. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t right. But hell, it wasn’t no real school no way. I got put out of real schools early. The principals say I caused too many problems. I say I didn’t cause them but I sure as hell finished them. After the 4th school and 5th group home, my social worker sent me to the orphanage. There were about 40 kids there. We had school in one shabby, old building. We ate and slept in another that wasn’t any better. The floors were more dust then wood. You couldn’t tell if the wind came thru the windows or the cracked walls. They called it a campus. Looked more like a bunch of old barns to me.

  One day, I snuck out of class to go play in the field behind the school and I heard a couple of teachers talking. “Emmanuel, my ass. If he’s an angel then I’m the Pope.” He had to change his tire after school.

  I became an NFL Defensive Tackle; most feared in the league. I was a druggy w/no particular drug of choice. A reporter once asked me ‘What fueled my aggression on the field?’ I told him life…

  That was my last interview. 3 games later, I never played again.

  It ended at a party in a big ass house on the beach. Some soft drink company was sponsoring it and my agent thought I should go. I can’t tell you the details cause I don’t remember. Just know my left leg and arm were almost cut off. I woke up on a black slate floor slick with blood on top of a man they say I beat to death. No ones told me what happened ‘cept when they looked up, I was chocking the guy with my left hand and punching him with my right. Then we both went thru a 20-foot plate glass window. Damn those beach house windows! Thanks to them I was a murderer given 30 year

  So now I am 54 with little use of my left hand, a limp and HIV. Don’t get me twisted. I didn’t get HIV in jail. Nah, it was either drugs or women that turned me into the walking dead. I was the man, for a minute. Now I’m just waiting to die. Or, so I thought.

  ****

  Chapter 2

  It was a day like any other. Sitting on a crate, in front of the A & P grocery store with, who some call, the bravest m.f’s on the face of the earth. Mike and Samuel, two guys who still call me Big EZ. I call them Richard and Redd after Richard Pryor and Redd Foxx. The only brothers on earth who could make me laugh.

  “Hey Big EZ, looks like your public awaits.” Redd says. With flourish of his hand, he points at a little girl standing behind me about four feet away.

  “Quit playin’ Redd and get your grandbaby to stop starin’ at me.” I joked back.

  “I ain’t ever seen that child. How do you know she ain’t yours?”

  “Cause his Johnson stop working thirty years ago. Hell, she’s a midget and we know he ain’t planted no seed that little.” Richard slapped his knee and chuckled at his joke.

  “Watch your mouth Rich, she’s a baby.” I balled my left hand as best I could. It wasn’t much but he got the message.

  “Go on back to yo’ mama baby, this grown folk’s business.” I shooed her away with my right hand. I also tried my former one thousand watt smile; which is only half what it use to be thanks to that window.

  My scars usually scare children and most adults. She didn’t even blink her big brown eyes. “Well EZ, looks like your groupies have found you again.” Redd and Rich both laugh.

  “Go on girl!” I try my NFL “mean mug” look that use to make linebackers pee their pants. But got nothing from the little girl. Not a muscle moved.

  “Oooh Scary.” Howled Redd. I pointed the look at him. He almost tipped his chair over. “Whoo look at the time Rich.” Redd held up his empty arm to Rich. “Oprah’s on, gotta go.”

  “Yeah me too. Hate to miss Oprah.” We all stood up.

  “Ha, Ha, ya’ll should have your own special.” I yell after them.

  “Whatever man… your audience awaits”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Aaahhh, it’s like that?”

  “Just like that.” Redd says over his shoulder.

  “Well I’m out too.” I yell back.

  “Out of what? Diapers? C-ya later EZ.” Rich and Redd hobble off.

  “Ya’ll know” I stop myself and look down at the shortie behind me. “Go on now. I mean it.” The little brown eyes didn’t blink. “All right then, suit yourself.” I head for home. Shortie manages to keep up. She has to take four steps for every one of mine. I ignore her for two blocks but it don’t faze her. She follows me, like my shadow.

  I turn to look down at her. “What do you want?” She says nothing. “Look kid, I got no candy or money. Go on home. Now!” Still nothing. “Look kid, I’m not Barney. Go on now.” Still nothing. “Where’s your mom?” That got a reaction. First she looked down at her shoes then back at me. She tilts her head and may have raised her shoulders. But I can’t be sure.

  I look up and down the street. It was early afternoon and no one was around. “Well then, come on.” We went back to the store. She stays with me but never got too close. I have to wait on the street corner to make sure she could cross. The last thing I need is a dead kid to add to my list of sins. I’m pretty sure I’m not getting into heaven with all the dirt I’ve done. But, I wasn’t about to seal the deal. I walk half way down the aisle before the little girl enters the store. It was like an invisible pole tied us. “Hey!” I boom to get the attention of the people working in the store. “Does anybody know this kid?” They all shake their heads no in unison.

  “What’s the problem here?” The stocky manager came sprinting from the back of the store with a raised broom handle. He almost trips over the broom when he circles the aisle and sees me. “Ahh, look here, mister. We don’t want any problems.” I get that a lot.

  “Look all I want to know is if anyone knows this little girl.

  “Isn’t she with you?” He stammers.

  “No she’s not. Does she look like she’s with me?” Just then the little girl wraps her arms around my leg and hides her face in the back of my knee. “Oh Great! Look if you don’t recognize her, can I use your phone to call the police.”

  “No police! Get out. You take your problems somewhere else.” The manager chose now to get a backbone.

  “Shit.” I thought and said. I want to shake her off and live out what time I have left in my own private hell. But when those little brown eyes lock on mine, I can’t help myself. I didn’t take care of the kids groupies told me where mine, when I was making money. But something in her eyes told me I was doing something more than just helping her out. I am saving that baby in that abandoned building
54 years ago too.

  Against my will, I hold out my hand. “Come on.” Her little eyes looked at the knurled hand that must have looked like a giant paw to her. Then she looks up and locks on more than my eyes. Her tiny fingers feel like a daddy long leg dancing in my hand. I walk to the cash register and rip an ad from the stack to write down my address and the lobby phone number. “Look, this is where I live. If someone comes looking for her you send them there.”

  The clerk takes it with a nervous smile. As we walked out of the store together, I am stunned to hear a little sigh, echo my own. I might have seen a smile when I looked down at her face. But, I wont swear to it. We walk hand in hand. Her hair had been combed and braided but probably not in a while. Her clothes were a little faded and had straight white lines from too many pressing.

  “Do you know how to talk?” I ask. She looks up at me with a look of indignation and nods. “Well then what’s your name?”

  ‘What does it matter’ she says with her eyes. ‘How will we find your mom?’ I try to say with my eyes. Call me crazy, but I swear her eyes told me she’s gone. I stopped dead in my tracks; got down on my knees. She cocks her head to one side and stares at me sizing me up. I feel stupid and if I could get up faster, I would have run. As I struggle on all four, I feel something small on my shoulder. I want to strike out, but in that moment I feel weak. She wraps her small arms around my neck and everything changed. I rise like the tackle I use to be. I feel stronger than I ever felt. She isn’t mine but at that moment I am hers. Her hair smells like cocoa butter and sunshine. “Come on little mama. Let’s go make things better.”

  ****

  Chapter 3

  “Hey Big EZ, who’s your little friend?” the clown behind the desk yells across the room.

  “None of your business.”

  “Of course not. Sorry sir.” He turns back to his paper. I hate when people use my old nickname. I know it’s stupid to think they don’t know who I am. But, I want to forget. Most times, thanks to my record, I can force others to pretend to forget. So I am not Big EZ who took my team to the super bowl. Now I'm Mr. E the killer. I feel the head on my shoulder and think maybe I could be more.

  The eight blocks to my home is usually a long haul. But now, I feel that I can take the stairs two at a time. When I enter my studio apartment, I am energized.

  “You hungry?” She gives me a little nod. I rush to the fridge, nothing there but cheese, butter and hard bread. But butter makes everything better.

  “Yes mam, your meal will be ready right away.” I say with a big smile that I hope will make up for the food. She walks up and stares at the box that is my 13” TV.

  “But of course” I said in my best imitation of the bow tied waiters I heard in nice restaurants. I caught a tick of her lip that I wishfully took as a smile. I also notice the silence, because I never heard it before. I sprung for the door. “Can I help you?” I boom as several of my neighbors almost land on my shoes.

  “Oh, no. No sir.” They whisper and run like roaches. I smile as a giggle from behind me tickles my ear.

  “The breeze is wonderful wouldn’t you agree?” I bowed at the waist again as I moved from the door. I was treated to another slight smile and nod. I left the door open to assure that pedophile would not be added to my list of sins. “Dinner then, right away.” I was amazed at how the tiniest smile from the corner of her lip gave me new energy and removed my pain. I hustle to the kitchen like a child given permission to use the stove for the first time. I look in the pantry to find something to go with the sandwiches. I stop as I find myself moving like my pants are on fire. I have a couple of cans of pork and beans. They will have to do. I add ketchup, onion powder and water to my pot of pork and beans. I’m smiling at the soundtrack of Barney. “I love you, you love me. Where a happy family.”

  Cheese and beans are probably not the best idea but at least we are full. “So are ya gonna to tell me your name?” Those tiny eyes kill me. Boy, she’s gonna break some hearts when she gets older.

  “OK how ‘bout tell me about your necklace. It sure is pretty.” It wasn’t, just a dirty string with a plastic black pouch attached. She grabs it and presses it to her neck.

  “Hey don’t worry I’m not gonna take it.” Her shoulders relax but her hand doesn’t leave her neck. “Okay, how about a little after dinner walk?” Her pretty brown eyes widen. “Okay mademoiselle, after you.” I swing my arm toward the door, but she doesn’t move. I raised my eyebrows to question. With the slightest nudge of her chin, I get the point. Our game of shadow will continue.

  “But of course” I said with flair and exit the room. A couple of steps later, she appears.

  “Could you close the door please?” She skips back to close the door. There was that slight curl to her lips again as she looks at the big smile on my face.

  ****

  Chapter 4

  Rich and Redd are in front of their stoop engrossed in a game of dominoes. “Well if it ain’t the pied piper.” Redd proclaims as he slams down his domino.

  “You’re killing me Redd. How ‘bout some help?”

  “Help?” Rich chimes in. “Our baby sitting days are over.” I ignore the comment, while their shoulders heave up and down.

  “Look, really, what should I do?”

  “You should call the police.”

  “And say what? I’m a felon who can’t get rid of a little girl. I’d be shot on sight.” The little girl gasped and dropped down to hug her knees.

  “Oh don’t worry honey, that’ll never happen.” Redd says and reaches to pat her head. She instantly shoots up and backs away. “Well look at little bit. She’s a spit fire that one.”

  “Best keep your hands to yourself.” Rich said pointing at Redd.

  “Ya don’t have to tell me twice.” Redd presses his hands to his chest with the palms out.

  “You never were good with kids.” Rich winks at me as he slams down his piece. “Or dominoes for that matter.”

  “Good? Babies, no. Dominoes, yes. Bam! Get to pickin’ up them bones.” Redd delivers a backhanded slam on the table. “Bone yard, Brother.”

  “Guys can you focus, please?” I’m getting desperate.

  Redd takes off his hat and scratches what's left of the hair on his head. “Ok, if no police, how ‘bout Ms. Maggie over there at that center three blocks up? She seems to know every kid around here.”

  “For once you’re useful.” I almost knock Redd out of his chair with what I intended to be a pat on the back.

  “Damn EZ, keep your hands to yourself. I can’t afford no hospital bills.”

  “Watch you mouth Redd there’s a young lady present.”

  “Sorry miss. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  ****

  Chapter 5

  Miss Magdella Raymond, known to all as Ms. Maggie was all of 5’2’’ and one hundred-fifteen pounds. Twenty pounds where probably the dreads that hung below her waist. But that didn’t stop her from seeming like a giant. Her claim to fame was in making the toughest thug inspect their shoes when she walked by. And probably increased the longevity of the elderly community by making sure every mother and women of a certain age were treated with the utmost respect. In her presence I even found myself looking down.

  “Yes Mr. Jones? Don’t be surprised. You’re too big to hide in any jungle.” She takes off her glasses. “What can I do for you?” Not knowing what to do, I step aside to reveal my shadow. There she was, unlike me, she stood ramrod straight with her chin held high and her eyes straight ahead.

  “Well, hi miss lady. What’s your name?” My brown-eyed soldier held her ground as Ms. Maggie came from behind her desk. Then with her tiny fist clinched I hear the most amazing sound. It’s high and clear like when I use to hit my glass with a knife.

  “Jasmine Inez Calhoun.” I look down and see her hands flex making mini fist.

  “Well now,” Ms. Maggie smiles “isn’t that a strong, beautiful name.” Ms. Maggie appraises th
e child and leans back on the desk. “It suits you.”

  “Thank you.” Again with the voice.

  Ms. Maggie nods her approval “With manners no less. You must have done something right Mr. Jones.”

  “Oh no, it wasn’t me. We just met. Well not too long ago.” Ms. Maggie raises one eyebrow. “She was at the A&P and started following me.” Ms. Maggie questioning look makes me nervous. So, I keep talking. “I didn’t know what to do and the frickin’ manager wouldn’t help.”

  “Excuse me.” The little voice chimes in. “may I use the bathroom?”

  “Yes baby, it’s the door right…”

  Jasmine interrupts. “I know where it is.”

  “Really?”

  There were four doors along the far wall with laminated hand written signs. Jasmine points to the one marked restroom. I was impressed. I was thirteen before I knew that restroom meant bathroom.

  Once a year a rich man would take us orphans to a nice restaurant. I use to hear people from other tables excuse them selves to go to the restroom. I imagined a big room filled with cots like the ones they made us use during naptime. At thirteen I finally got the nerve to ask to go to the restroom. The eyes around the table got big because none of us had ever been before.

  “Yes you may, but come straight back.” He nodded. I gave a quick stare around the table to keep everyone else from trying to go with me. It worked. I was a bad ass and the last thing I needed was someone to see me scared.

  I swaggered back to the table with my new information. They all sat with mouths and eyes wide open. But no one was brave enough to ask. I wonder how long it too the rest of those losers to learn about the restroom.

  “She’s a smart little girl.” Ms. Maggie snaps me from my memories. “Someone’s sure to be looking for her. I’ll call DCFS.” Ms. Maggie circles her desk. My back is to the door; but I see the slightest movement out of the corner of my eye. My reflexes kick in and I spring for the door, blocking it with so much force, the glass shakes. Then comes the pain. First in the back of my knee, which sends me to the floor, then in the eye.