Chapter 5
These little bastards are going to kill me, fact; but quitting right now ain’t gonna happen, fact. I curse the day I took my first drag. Fall 1987, Tallahassee, Florida; me and my crazy ass roommates called ourselves having a poker night, and somebody, probably me, got the bright idea to create just the right atmosphere. Before moving to Tallahassee I lived a pretty sheltered life. So I knew nothing about what a poker room atmosphere was supposed to be, except for what I’d seen on tv or in the movies. All I knew was it was supposed to be a smoke filled room, some brown liquor in dirty glasses, and some kind of salty snack. Pepsi passed for bourbon, and Pepperidge Farm Gold Fish were our salted nuts for the night. My roommate Davida was a smoker, so she handed out cigarettes to the three of us non-smokers and we puffed away. Since we weren’t smokers, we pulled on the filter, got a mouth full of smoke…,yuck, and immediately blew it into the air. Like President Clinton we didn’t inhale, at first. Davida’s barely contained snickers let us know how ridiculous we looked. Dionne, the 3rd D in our triple D household, was green, like sickly green; and Michelle, her home girl from Tampa, was swaying in her seat, looking distinctly ill. By some evil twist of fate my cigarette didn’t have that effect on me. It made my head swim alright, but in a way I liked. The only other time I had been high was a few weeks before when we baked pot in a batch of brownies. The weed made the brownies taste like dirt, and me miss a great party, because after I ate my pot-laced brownie it was lights out, and nighty-night for this kid.
I give a little head wag as I chuckle at the memory. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why this memory surfaced today. Daddy hated that I started smoking; and here I am sneaking away on the day we say, "farewell, for now," to him to suck on a cigarette. The Repass, is in full flow. I won't be that long, just a puff or two to keep the beast at bay. I pull my coat collar around my ears and hit the center doors of Heavenly Grace Baptist Church. The hawk is out this jawn today, kicking ass and taking names. None of us lingered at the graveside very long. Mr. Oyende asked the younger kids to come up and lay their rose upon the casket, then my uncles, my cousins, me, Dena, and Jimmy, and finally Audree. He said some ceremonial words and we return Big Jim Goodman to the ground from whence he came. He would like where he's been laid. Same lane, just a few yards back from his mom, Lillianne, or Mama Looch as he liked to caller her; and his favorite aunt, Isadora; who I liked to call Aunt Izzie. When I was in college Aunt Izzie would Saran Wrap twenty-five dollars in every letter she wrote me. She wasn't one to spare you a tongue lashing if you needed one; she did not suffer fools gladly, but she was also incredibly generous. Big Jim was her favorite nephew, and it is family lore that many neighbors thought Big Jim was her son with the amount of time and affection she lavished on him. Aunt Izzie was a smoker too. So all of them now rest not far from home, neighbors I like to think, and Daddy just down the lane where he can keep a good eye on them forever more.
It is either the sharp wind or my overloaded emotions, probably a little of both, but my eyes just continue to tear. Cyrus joins me outside. I hand him a smoke and the lighter. He doesn't usually smoke in the daylight hours. He takes one look at my face.
"You ok, baby?"
The devil in me is thinking, 'Oh, now you not gon let me out'cha sight; where was all this care and concern yesterday when I really needed you?'
He. Left. Me.
Cy walks in the salon where I am getting my hair done, and announces that he is leaving. He wants to get on the road to beat the evening rush hour. So his things are packed in his car, and he's heading to Philly..., now. I'm too dumbstruck to argue. I just sit there and watch him walk out of the salon. I wonder what or who he's in such a rush to get to Philly for, beat rush hour my ass. The stylist finishes my hair and I go home to gather Marla, Nissa, and CJ. On my drive home I think of all kinds of things I could have said.
"Oh, you out! Mmmhmm. Ok, well do you, Boo," and throw him the sideways peace sign. "Deuces!"
My Philly girl alter ego got all the mouth in the world now that the moment has passed. The story of my life, though; always missing the moment, perennially a day late and a dollar short. This is my third trip to Philadelphia in the last ten days, and I'm a zombie right now. I thought I would be able to relax just a bit because my husband would be in front of me leading the way, or just behind me watching my back. Let down again. He knows about the race to get to the hospital in time. He knows about all the emotional upheaval engulfing me since Big Jim's passing, and he knows about the emotional trauma after the fight with Audree. All I can do is hunch my shoulders, center my girls, lift my head and keep it pushin'.
We arrive in Philly some time around 8pm. I drop Marla off at my Aunts' Ena and Carrie's house. LaNissa and I head to the Four Points Sheraton on Race St. I'm so upset with Cy that I refuse to get in the bed with him, me and Nissa sleep in the same bed that night.
Cy is up at 0-dark-thirty everyday. I am not surprised when I peel my eyes open at 6:45 that he is up, showered and has coffee for me and Nissa. The gesture only marginally dampens my attitude.
"You left me." I say, instead of good morning.
"Huh?" Coffee cup stopped midway to his mouth.
"You. Left. Me." I enunciate each word.
"I'm getting in the shower, so can y'all hold off for 30 seconds and let me get outta here." Comes a muffled disembodied voice; and Nissa emerges from under the covers.
I sit up in the bed, get real comfortable, grab my coffee cup and sip. LaNissa's ass is moving much too slow. The room is quiet except for Mika and Joe Scarborough on Morning Joe, Cy's favorite morning news show. Everybody's body language is stiff and tense. It feels like the proverbial calm before the storm. I plan on ripping my husband a new one. Nissa is still fumbling with her bags. I know she feels me staring daggers at the back of her skull, that's why she doesn't turn to look at me when she finally gets all her knick/knacks together and slides into the bathroom.
"Who does that?" I ask Cy.
"Does what? He responds.
"What man leaves his wife and children to travel on their own like that?" I snap back. "We're all coming to the same place, for the same reason...." I cut myself off. "What was so pressing that you had to get her before we did?"
"Daniella, cut the melodrama."
"Melodrama." I hiss, as I cut him off, and climb out of bed. I need to be on my feet for this.
"Alright, that was the wrong word, but you just insinuated that I was doing something sneaky and underhanded; when all I wanted to do was beat traffic, and not have to drive in the dark."
"And that was more important than making sure your wife and kids got here safely?" I question.
"Why would I think you wouldn't get here safely, Danie? You make this trip regularly. You just did it a couple of days ago, in the middle of the night." Is he for real, I think to myself.
"Exactly, Cyrus!" I'm starting to get loud. "I've been back and forth three times in the last ten days." He's put the bed between us. "My dad just died! Maybe I'm tired, maybe I'm overwhelmed, maybe I need my goddamn husband to show me some fucking care and consideration. To think about me and what I might need in my time of bereavement." I shout, my voice choked with tears.
"Danie...," He begins, I can hear genuine concern in the way he says my name.
My cell starts ringing in my purse. I snatch it off the chair and see that it's my Aunt Carrie.
"Hey Carrie." I sniff, wiping my eyes. I listen for a minute, "Ok, it's just a little after 7:00, we'll be there well before 8:00. I'll make sure to bring her medicine with me."
"What's wrong?" Cy asks.
"I took the wrong bag last night. I've got all of Marla's meds here." I begin looking around the room for the bag with her medicine case. We both want to avoid picking up the prior conversation. Nissa comes out of the bathroom.
"Everything good out here?"
"I've got to hurry and get ready. I took the bag with all of Marla's meds." I say still searching.
"Go get in the shower, Mom; Dad and I will find it." Nissa offers.
I gather my toiletries and head for the bathroom letting our argument die; tossing it on the bonfire of all the other issues consuming our marriage.
But the wife in me lies, "I'm ok."
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All work on this site is the intellectual property of Diane Gossett
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