by Aviva Gat
“Apparently you were one of the only caucasians to volunteer there,” the journalist continued. “What brought you there?”
“I lived in Harlem,” she responded. “When I studied at Columbia. I thought I could be helpful. Do you have any more questions about my bill?” Madeline rushed the journalist off the phone and called Jane into her office.
“Everyone needs to be on their toes,” Madeline said in a slightly raised voice. “Things are going to come up and we need to be ready for everything.”
“Of course, we’re always on our toes,” Jane responded, unsure why she felt like she was being reprimanded. But she knew her boss was under a lot of stress and she got back to work, telling herself she would do better.
Madeline was unsettled by the mention of her volunteering at the community center. She had never mentioned it for the same reason she had never mentioned Hunter—it was something she kept safe, locked away in a box where she contained her old life. She couldn’t pull out one part of her old life without pulling out the rest, everything was connected like a chain of linked circles. Her old life didn’t mix with her new life. Hunter, the community center, the abortion she helped that girl with, they needed to stay in that box.
Madeline tried to remember Keisha, but the name didn’t ring a bell. She remembered the girl she helped with the abortion. She was a young, timid girl who seemed like she was trying hard to fit in where she knew she didn’t. What was her name? The years seemed to have erased that specific detail. Madeline didn’t remember the girl’s friends either, but she recalled other girls who used to hang out at the community center, all of them with their beautiful braids and fatal nails. She was surprised any of them would remember her after so many years.
Trying to put the comment aside, Madeline got back to work with her team. By morning they had rewritten her speech for the event, developed a new strategy for the SAVER Bill and perfected her response to the incident. She hadn’t spoken to any more journalists. When they called, Madeline said to give out their prepared press release and email any other specific question. No one emailed questions about the community center.
When the sun was already up, and the first light of the morning had faded into daytime, Madeline decided to go home. She would take a quick shower, change her clothes and be back in the office until the evening’s event.
Chapter 27
Rhonda was waiting outside her apartment at dawn. She was waiting for the white lady—Madeline she would try to remember to call her—to come pick her up and take her to take care of her problem. She was early because she hadn’t slept the night before and once she saw that dawn was approaching she pulled herself out of bed and snuck out, careful not to wake up her brothers and sisters.
She had only told two people about her problem: her best friend Keisha and the white lady. “Congrats, bitch!” Keisha had said in response. “Do I get to throw you a baby shower or something? Get yourself some hopping new clothes to go over your belly? What’d the baby daddy say? He’s good for it, right?”
Rhonda had feigned excitement with her best friend and the two of them fantasized about raising the baby girl—they hoped for a girl—together. They would dress her up, paint her nails, it would be fun, like having a doll, as neither of them had had a doll before. Keisha promised they would do everything together, they could both be mommies. All the meanwhile, Rhonda felt scared. It was fun pretending with Keisha, but Keisha couldn’t understand. After all, she wasn’t the one throwing up after first period at school. Nor was she the one who would destroy her vagina by pushing a baby through it. What would happen after that? She wasn’t sure she trusted that Keisha’s enthusiasm would last. And where would they live? Rhonda lived with her parents and two younger siblings in a one-bedroom apartment. Her mother, who was only 18 years older than her, had told her plenty of times that she would kill her if she got pregnant before getting married. Rhonda believed her mother was capable of following through with this threat, but even if not, she was sure her mother wouldn’t let her raise the baby at home. Keisha, on the other hand, lived with her three older brothers. Her parents were gone—she didn’t know where—and Rhonda wasn’t sure there was room for a crib there either.
The baby daddy? Well, she didn’t think he was good for it, as Keisha suggested. He was just 13 himself and—at the expense of Rhonda—was recently initiated into the Cobras, the most exclusive and scariest gang in Harlem. Rhonda hoped she wouldn’t see him again and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to ask him for help even if she did.
Unsure of her options, Rhonda had called the one person she thought might have an answer. After all, this person was older, white, and in college—Rhonda was sure she’d know what to do. Rhonda didn’t know the white lady very well, but she liked and trusted Hunter. He’d been hanging out at the community center for a while and recently started bringing around his new friend. The next afternoon, Rhonda pulled the white lady aside and explained her situation. She expected the white lady to offer her money or teach her what to do with a baby—because white people both had money and knew things—but neither of those options came out of her mouth. Instead, the white lady surprised her by giving her another option: abortion.
Rhonda hadn’t thought about that before; it wasn’t something that her peers did. She had peers raising babies, peers who gave babies to aunts or grandparents to raise, but none had aborted. She didn’t even know if that was even legal and if it was, where it could be done. The white lady assured her it would be OK and she would help her. Rhonda just nodded and followed along when the white lady told her when her appointment would be.
Madeline showed up right on time to pick up Rhonda in a taxi and take her downtown to a clinic where no one from their neighborhood would accidentally see them. Rhonda was afraid of many things and that was a big one—what if people knew she had an abortion? What would they say about her? What would the baby daddy say if he heard she killed his baby? Rhonda quietly got in the taxi as is sped downtown through neighborhoods Rhonda had never seen before. She hadn’t seen red carpets in front of doorways, or apartment buildings with gold trim out front. She hadn’t seen doormen or artisanal bakeries that advertised specialty dog treats.
Madeline held her hand during the car ride and Rhonda kept her eyes glued to the window. When they arrived, Madeline led her into the building and helped her fill out the paperwork. She sat with her in the operating room as she put on the hospital robe and held out her arm for the nurse to check her vitals. No one asked questions about why a young white woman was with a younger black girl at the clinic. No one looked at them judgmentally, nor did they give her a pitied eye. And this also bothered Rhonda. Why didn’t they judge her? Why didn’t they scold her or pity her or nod knowing that she was another cliché of her kind? Why did they just accept her and continue with their work?
Madeline hugged her before the anesthesia was delivered and promised to be there when she woke up. To Rhonda is felt like just a blink before she opened her eyes in a different room, with Madeline sitting beside her.
Madeline was reading a textbook and taking notes on a notebook when she saw that Rhonda woke up. She quickly put away her schoolwork and stood by the young girl’s side. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
Rhonda felt hallow and numb. Like these white people who operated on her had stolen a vital organ of hers. “Is everything OK?” she asked, but she knew the white lady would lie.
“Everything went perfectly,” Madeline responded. “We just need to wait until you feel good enough to get up and then we can go back home.” Madeline handed her a juice box and poked the straw through the little hole for her. “You need to drink some sugar.”
Rhonda took the juice box, feeling like a child who needed someone to take care of her. But she wasn’t a child. A child wouldn’t be able to bring a baby into the world. Wouldn’t be able to have sex even. Rhonda felt suffocated and angry. Why had she let this white woman do this to her? Why had she listened to her? Why had she let th
ese people kill her baby?
“You can probably go back to school tomorrow if you feel better,” Madeline said. “But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
Rhonda nodded, finishing her juice. “I want to go home.”
Madeline nodded and retrieved a nurse to organize Rhonda’s release. Once they left, Madeline suggested they stop for a Tasti D-Lite. Rhonda had never had the famous soft serve ice cream before, and she truthfully didn’t want it then, but how could she say no? She sat quietly and ate her dessert even though it made her feel sick. Then they took another silent taxi ride back uptown, past the fancy buildings and dog walkers leading poodles with bows in their hair.
“Drop me off here,” Rhonda said when they were a few blocks from her apartment.
“But you shouldn’t walk too much, let me help you into your bed,” Madeline responded, but Rhonda refused. “Everything is going to be OK.” Madeline rubbed her shoulder. The gesture reminded Rhonda of something she saw a mother do in a TV show she had seen once. It made her feel warm and even more hateful inside.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Rhonda said as she pulled away. “Everything is easy for you.”
“You’re right,” Madeline responded. “But that’s why I am here to help you. To make things easier for you. Call me if you need anything. I’m always here for you.”
Rhonda nodded, but she would never call. She would never ask another white person for help. That afternoon she told Keisha about the operation.
“Those damn white people don’t want us to reproduce,” she said, shaking her head. Rhonda nodded in agreement. When she went back to the community center, she avoided Madeline. What did Hunter see in her? Shouldn’t he be with someone like them? Were they not good enough for him? She started to flirt with him when Madeline wasn’t around.
It only took five years, but eventually Rhonda got Hunter in bed. It was the second time she had gotten pregnant, but this time she would keep it.
Madeline had never told anyone about Rhonda’s operation, not even Hunter. She felt proud of herself that Rhonda trusted her and that she was able to help the poor girl. She had high hopes for her. Maybe she would turn her life around and escape the trap that Harlem seemed to be for so many people. She had thought about it often right after the operation. At the community center she wanted to hug her and ask how she was doing, but she felt that Rhonda had a barrier around her. She sensed that Rhonda didn’t want a hug, nor did she want to be questioned about her wellbeing, and Madeline respected that. Once Madeline moved downtown, she didn’t see Rhonda at the community center anymore. She thought about her less and less until eventually she didn’t even remember the girl’s name. The girl’s scared face and the way she shivered when Madeline touched her would stay in Madeline’s memory a little longer, but even those things had faded over the years. Eventually the experience was filed away in Madeline’s memory and she never thought it would come up again.
Chapter 28
When Madeline stepped into her kitchen, Brandon was filling a thermos with coffee. He had his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and was dressed for work. He nodded to acknowledge Madeline’s entrance, but didn’t make eye contact.
“Saw the news,” he said as he closed his thermos and studied the cup with his eyes. Madeline nodded to him and eyed the empty coffee pot on the counter. “Would have made you some, but didn’t know whether to expect you.” He brushed by without giving her a kiss on the cheek as Madeline would have expected him to do.
“You’re coming tonight?” she said, her tone more of a statement than a question, but she was still afraid of the answer.
“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be a good husband.” He let himself out the door and Madeline heard his car start.
The boys were already at school and Molly was out, so Madeline had the house to herself. She started another pot of coffee and headed upstairs to take a shower. She set her phone down outside the shower so she could see the screen in case of an emergency—and so many things could be considered an emergency at that time that it seemed almost criminal to get in the shower. She had just put the conditioner in her hair when her phone startled her. She quickly wiped her face and looked through the shower’s glass doors at her vibrating phone on the counter. Brandon. She stuck out her hand and dried it on the towel before answering the phone and putting it on speaker.
“Madeline?...” It was hard for Madeline to hear what Brandon said next with the water still pounding on her shoulders. She heard the words hospital, school, and…Noah? Madeline shut off the water immediately. She begged Brandon to repeat what he said.
“Noah was in another fight at school,” Brandon said. “He’s at the hospital. I’m on the way. I suggest you get on your way as well.” While Madeline implored him for more information, he had none. He’d update her from the hospital after seeing Noah.
Madeline finished her shower and completed her face routine as quickly as she could, smothering on all the anti-wrinkle, anti-shine creams that she was required to use, especially on big days like today. She slipped into one her senator-suits, even though she knew she would need to focus on being Madeline the mother while Noah was in the hospital. It was just the worst possible day for Noah to get injured. The day of her campaign launch, the day after Jay Flynn was shot in Harlem, her full attention was needed to be Madeline the Senator.
She called Jane from the car, telling her she wouldn’t make it back into the office that day, but would arrive at the event venue a few hours early to prepare. “Anything I should know in the meantime?” She asked as an aside.
“Madeline, I know you are busy, but you are a political genius!” Jane stated. “How did you get Hunter Williams to come speak at the event? It’s perfect with everything going on and he sent over a great speech. Why didn’t you tell me you were inviting him?”
“It was sort of a last-minute thing,” Madeline responded. “Email me the speech so I can read it.” She’d skim it on her cell phone from the hospital when she had a few minutes. Jane agreed and hung up just as Madeline parked her car. As she walked towards the entrance, her phone rang again.
“Where are you?” Brandon asked.
“I just parked,” she responded. He gave her directions to their room and said a doctor was on the way to give them updates. It took her a few minutes to find the right ward and room, but when she did, the doctor was talking to Brandon above Noah who was lying in the bed with a swollen face and his eyes closed. Madeline leapt to her son and put her hands on his shoulders.
“Noah, what happened?” She looked at her son, but he appeared to be sleeping.
“Do you have any more questions for me?” the doctor asked. It appeared that he and Brandon had already had an extensive conversation that Madeline had missed. She could see the doctor was eager to leave, surely he had other patients, but he stood with patience that only doctors have when dealing with life or death situations.
“What happened?” Madeline turned to the doctor, who made eye contact with Brandon.
“I’ll explain,” Brandon said, thanking and excusing the doctor from their room. “Noah was climbing on one of the awnings at school. Apparently he and Jamie got in a fight on top of the awning and he fell down.”
“Jamie pushed him?” Madeline was sure that other boy was to blame.
“Noah says he fell,” Brandon responded. “It’s hard for him to talk. It seems like he took a few punches to the face before falling down. He broke his cheekbone and a few ribs. He’s on pain medication now, so he’s pretty out of it. We need to just let him sleep.”
Madeline nodded and sat down on the side of the hospital bed. She held her son’s hand and watched him breathe. She felt like an outsider in the room, like she was intruding in an intimate family moment. But this was her family, even when she wore her senator clothing, she was still Madeline the mother. It was a costume she could never take off.
Brandon was sitting in one of the chairs in the room. Sh
e could feel him looking at her, but they said nothing. The clock ticked. Noah sighed. Machines beeped. Madeline and Brandon were silent. When her back started to ache from sitting on the edge of the bed, she moved to the other metal chair in the room and pulled out her cellphone. She had messages from Jane, Hunter’s speech to read, a few other notifications.
“You’re working?” Brandon asked. To Madeline it sounded like an accusation.
“He’s sleeping,” she motioned to her son with her cellphone. Madeline wished she could have left Madeline the senator at home, but it was one of those days she couldn’t. Mothers are required to juggle hundreds of balls. The balls aren’t just motherhood and career, but every little thing that each of those entail. In one hand, Madeline juggled Noah’s problems at school, giving Adam the love and inspiration he required, finding time for family dinners. On the other hand, there was her career; the SAVER Bill, her reelection, her constituents. Then the blackmail was thrown into the loop and Madeline had to keep juggling, hoping no balls would fall. But balls will fall. No one can juggle everything. And no matter what falls, women will be judged for it. They will be judged for not handling everything. For not juggling even more balls. At this moment, Madeline knew she would have to drop the ball for Noah. She could be judged for holding onto her career balls above her family, but sometimes these things must be done. Brandon was there, he could catch this ball and be there for Noah when she couldn’t. She would trade this ball for a sheet of guilt that she would struggle and fail to get out from.
She sat quietly in the chair and worked while Brandon sat with his hands in his lap looking at his son. When nurses came in, he spoke with them. Madeline looked up occasionally, but she was focused on her phone. When the morning turned to afternoon and Jane began pestering Madeline to get to the event, Madeline knew she had no choice.