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*
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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