A Cautionary Tale Chapter 7

Chapter 7 

I will never again discount the value of normalcy, of humdrum, or regular'o. After the start I've had to this month, the rest of the year could be filled with a whole lot of nothing special and I'd be fine with that. Marla is looking and behaving more like herself today. She was up had her coffee, and got CJ out-the-door for me. Cyrus Is at CareerLink for a mandatory seminar for the newly unemployed. Cy got notice that the temporary furlough from Dynamic Solutions was going to be permanent two weeks ago, as a matter of fact, the day after Big Jim collapsed. He had been at that company for just over fourteen years. So now he has all that hoop jumping, and mandatory this and that the state puts you through to collect the pittance they give you from Unemployment Compensation, but it will keep him busy for awhile.  

 Monday morning I happily skip my heiny to York Hospital and whistle while I work. I'm even early, which confuses the hell out of my co-workers. I'm due at my office at 9:30. I'm supposed to be clocked in, headset on, scheduling and registering patients in need of an x-rays, ultrasounds, CTs, or MRIs. I am usually racing across the parking lot at 9:29, weaving between patients and visitors to play 'beat-the-clock.'  Then I stop at Starbucks for my Americano and a croissant or my favorite breakfast sandwich; then make my way down to the Imaging Administration hallway, arriving at my cubicle sometime between 9:40 and 9:45. Not this morning. This Monday morning I am in my cubicle, powered up, logged on, and ready to rock at 9:15. My little slice of York Hospital is in the basement, just past the morgue. All of my co-workers and I have had narrow escapes with mortuary attendants or other staff, and residents of the morgue. And by narrow escape, I mean, turn a corner and barely miss colliding with a gurney carrying a dearly departed. It's happened to all of us, and it usually creeps me the hell out, but not even that can get to me today. 

I am terrible with a cell phone. If I'm at work, it's a home. If I'm at home it's upstairs and I'm downstairs. I don't text because..., what's the point, just call dammit! The only game I would play would be solitaire, and I've got a laptop for that. So keeping up with a cell is not high on my priority list. More often than not, it's not on me and I have no idea where it is. So it's not until Thursday the 19th that I find it in the bottom of my pocketbook, dead. I only think to look for it because it is LaNissa's 22nd birthday and I want to tap out a text to my baby girl. I'm over in Bernadette's cube telling her about the service, and seeing Mack, when my phone pings letting me know it has finished charging. When I turn it on all kinds of lights are flashing, an alerts are buzzing. Good grief. I've got, like, fifteen missed calls, My voice mail is full, and I have a string of unread text messages, but the ones reading 'Mack' catch my attention immediately. I've missed a call on Monday and a text message 30 minutes ago. 

Mack:  Heyyyyy! * 

Me: Hey back'atcha. Just saw ur messages. How u be? What's up? * 

Mack: I'm good, real good now?* 

Me: Ok, I'll bite. Y u 'real' good now?* 

Mack: Catching up with u. I still can't believe after all these yrs, seeing u again. I'm still smiling & u got my heart skippin beats. U always did that anyway. Just know I've always luv'd u & nev'r forgot about u. Let's not lose touch again.* 

My mouth is hanging open so wide, my chin is scraping my desk. Boy, am I glad he can't see me..., not a good look. I compose myself, and tap out my own confession. 

Me: This is absolutely crazy. I was just talking about u the week before my dad collapsed. It is remarkable how the passage of time hasn't changed a thing. I have thought of u often over the years.*  

Mack: No u didn't stop try'n to butter me up.* 

Me: Lol, ok, it was good hearing from you take care now.* 

I'm biting the nail on my index finger, and nervously drumming the fingers of my other hand on my desk. I hope he knows I'm just teasing. And I wait. Take a call, eyes darting to my phone every ten seconds. Oh shit. I finish with my patient, and just when I'm about to text him back his text pops on screen. 

Mack: Wait til I see u, I'm spankin' that sweet ass of urs.* 

Whew, I exhale. The smile on my face bright enough to light City Hall.

Me: Promises, promises. Just so u know, I'm rolling my eyes at u. For real tho, u know u always did it for me. U were the one that got away.* 

Me: Hey, I am not supposed to have my cell out on my desk, HIPAA, and all that good stuff. Do u have an email address, that way I can put my phone away and still chat while I do my job.* 

A good fifteen minutes pass before I hear that ping, that makes me grin like an insane woman. 

Mack: No, but I will create one. I'm on my way into a meeting. Text me ur email, and I'll holla back in a few hours.* 

Me: Cool, I'm sending now. Boy, am I glad u can't see the grin on my face. Bye :P* 

Mack: smh* 

Me: dangoodman2@yorkhealthsys.edu* 

Mack: 2 dang-good! I bet u r and I'm looking forward to a refresher.* 

I, literally, have to cover my mouth to stifle the squeal of delight that bubbles up and out of me. He was always quick like that. In 1981, when I was 15 going on 16, Big Jim got me and Dena a phone of our own..., in our room. That was big time for us. He was tired of not being able to get through when he called home, so he said. But who were we to argue? Yup, we need our own phone Dad. The last four digits of our new number was my friend Vanita's address backward. One summer evening Nita and I were sitting on her steps; Mack was on his way to Nate's and stopped to talk for a second.  

"I heard you got your own phone." 

I was always so shy and self-conscious when he was around. 

"Dag, who told you?"  Nita asked. 

He just gives us this 'who do you think' face. 

"You don't have nothin' to write with." I say. 

"I'll remember it."  

"No you won't." 

"What's the number?"  

I give him the number and he immediately says, "I'll remember it, it's Nita's address backward."  

We twist our heads in unison and look at the numbers beside her door. 

"He's right!" We giggle like the teenage girls we were. When I turn back he pins me with a gaze that would light tinder. Pure fire. That may have been 'the' moment he stole my heart. It was definitely the moment when he piqued my interest. I will never forget it.  

I float through the rest of my work day, cell phone on my person, not in my bag, not in my desk, in my pocket, so I hear it, and feel it the instant it rings. Oh well, so much for hum-drum.

I know I'm wrong, ain't nothin' right about me, but if this is what wrong feels like..., dammit, I don't want to be right. 

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A Cautionary Tale Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 

Cy sticks close by the rest of our stay in Philly, but I just can't shake the leaden feeling extreme disappointment leaves within you. Something in me has shifted toward him, and not for the better. Thankfully, I've been able to ignore the feeling, actually, stow it would be a more accurate expression, to be dealt with at a later date. Directly after the funeral and repass we were busy with family and friends that came back to Bailey St., to support and comfort Audree and the rest of us. Cy and CJ went down South Philly to see his mom, so Nissa and I ride with Dena to take Cameryn back to school. There is an organic buffer between Cy and I and we don't have to deal with the elephant in our relationship. Things have not been right with us for a long time, but life and events keep popping up, allowing us to push our marital problems to the back burner to simmer into a nasty little pot of dysfunctional stew. 

 Aunt Ena calls early Saturday morning in a panic. Marla has gotten sick and she wants us to hurry and get it together so we can take her  home. Shit! I shout in my head, looking over at the time it's not even 8 o'clock. 

"You gotta get over here quick, your mom is real sick." Ena informs me.
"What's wrong?"  I ask as I get out of the bed. 

"She just threw up." Ena says talking fast. 

"Shit." I say aloud this time. "Alright, we'll be there shortly."  

I am pressed and panicked because Carrie doesn't need to be around anyone sick. Her chemo treatments have her immunocompromised and susceptible as hell, but I can't say that to Ena, because she doesn't know her sister is dying of colon cancer. I'm also worried because both of Marla's heart attacks were preceded by bouts of nausea and vomiting. That, coupled with the way she looked yesterday at the funeral have me really concerned. Audree even pulled me to the side and mentioned that she didn't think Marla was looking well. I was happy when Carrie said she was taking Marla back to 'the house' so she could take it easy and rest.  

'The house,' is what we called my Grandmother's house on Montgomery Ave. It has always  been the meeting place, the gathering point. Christmas day, Easter, and for me and Dena, every Sunday after church we all gathered there. After a speedy check-out we get to Montgomery Ave. sometime around 10. Sure enough, Marla is not looking well at all, and in typical Marla fashion she refuses to go to the closest emergency room. I was hoping to stay in Philly for a few hours, and leave somewhere around 3pm, but now I think we may be here until tomorrow because I just don't feel good about traveling with her sick like this. My aunts, Cy and I have a pow wow in the breakfast room. We go around and around for about ten minutes, until Marla ends it. She's come downstairs while we were in the breakfast room discussing her. 

"I'm not going to no damn hospital." She says. "I just want to go home. I'm fine." Clearly she's not. After a few more minutes of trying to convince her to go to the ER I give in, because I really just want to get her away from Carrie. And for the fourth time in less than two weeks, I'm back on the highway; this time my husband is right with me, as we take our family home. 

"We'll ride with Dad so Grandma can stretch out in the back seat."  

My kids are a trip. They both decide to ride back to York in their dad's car because if Grandma gets sick again they won't have to deal with it. At least Nissa is clever enough to couch her dread as concern.  Mmmhmm, I think to myself. By 3:30 I've got my mom situated on the third floor of my home. She's sleeping comfortably, no more vomiting, and she is looking a lot better. I really need to get out of the house for some 'alone' time, so after making sure everyone has what they need, and that Cy doesn't want to join me for an early dinner, I head out to my favorite little dive bar in York, The Stockade. It sits on Eberts Lane, which should be renamed,  Eberts Alley, that's how out of the way it is. They have great wings and cold beer, and no one will bother me for a couple of hours, but you want to make sure you're out of there before 11 o'clock when the younger crowd comes out. Way too much testosterone and estrogen, pissing contests, and cat fights;  yeah, I pass on all that. I belly up to the bar, order an ice cold Bud, and the Old Bay wings and relax for the first time in weeks. I wrap my lips around the tip of the bottle, tilt my head back, and let the cold, golden liquid slide effortlessly down my throat, taking with it all thoughts of dead daddies, disappointing husbands, and demented step-mothers. I'm not thinking of anything in particular, just enjoying my beer and waiting for my wings when my cell vibrates against my hip. I contemplate not answering, but remember Marla is not well, and I might be needed at home, so I pull it out of my pocket to see who is disturbing my 'me time.'  Holy shit! I'm taken aback, it's Mack! I wasn't expecting to hear from him this soon. When we exchanged numbers at the church I thought it was just a perfunctory gesture; 'yeah, sure, we'll keep in-touch, here's my cell text me,' kinda thing. But I am pleasantly surprised. The phone stops vibrating just as I am about to swipe to answer the call. That's probably for the best, I think to myself, when the phone pings in my hand and a text alert pops on the screen. 

Mack: Hey Butter, are you going to be at your dad's later? Would love to see ya before you leave. *

Me: Hi Mack, um, no I won't. I'm already back home..., in York. *

Mack: Damn, you don't waste no time, do ya? *

Me: Lol, my mom got sick and wanted to get back home. I don't waste no time? Neither, do you; I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon, but it is a very pleasant surprise.* 

Mack: Now that I have found you, I'm not letting you get away again.* 

I'm grinning so hard my cheeks hurt after a few seconds. The barmaid, Rhonda, sits my wings in front of me and says, "Mmmm, who you sextin,' I mean textin,' got you smilin' like that?" 

I roll my eyes, still grinning like a fool. "An old friend from home, that I haven't heard from in years." I answer. "Can I get some bleu cheese?" 

"Old friend, mmmhmm," She continues, "Old male friend, from that grin plastered on ya face and the little sparkle in ya eye." She reaches in the bar fridge and stops to give me the duck lips face.  

"Bleu cheese, please." Is my only answer. 

Mack: You still there? *

What? I scroll the screen up and see I missed a line of text. 

Mack: Is your mom ok? * 

Me: Sorry. Yes, she's ok now, but I thought I might have to take her to the ED. She wasn't keeping anything down earlier, but she's better. Thanks for asking, very considerate of you, I remember that about you. *

Mack: ED? *

Me: Lol, Emergency Department, the new name for the Emergency Room. I'm getting ready to dig into my wings, so won't be able to talk with my fingers.* 

Mack:  Ok. It was really good to see you. I was hoping to see you before you left, but I'll be in touch. *

Me: I hope so. It was really good to see you too. Holla at me sometime soon. *

Mack: I will. Happy Valentine's Day, Butter Lips! *

I laugh out loud. Rhonda stops wiping the bar and squints at me. 

"That's trouble."  She says pointing at me while circling her finger. 

"Rhonda, can I have another beer?" I wag my bottle back and forth, grin, give her the duck lips, and an exaggerated. "Thank you." Pick up my phone and scroll to the top of the conversation so I can read it again.

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All work on this site is the intellectual property of the author Diane Gossett