by Cydney Rax
“When are men ever in their right mind?”
“You gotta give them some time, sometimes a lot of time, and cross your fingers that one day they’ll come to their senses.”
“Ha, if that’s the case, my fingers need surgery. I’ve been crossing my fingers for so long it’s like I have four fingers instead of eight.”
“Mama, you know you’re not right,” I say teasingly.
“I’m just telling the truth about my situation. But I want to see you happy. Hopefully things will work out exactly the way you want, Little Bit.”
“Speaking of work, I’m just pulling into the clinic’s parking lot, and I see an empty space that’s waiting on me. Then I gotta hurry up and go to the bathroom and fix my face, and do the job thing so I can earn my little paycheck. I’ll call you soon as I get off work.”
Mama hears me out and softly tells me how much she loves me, that I’m her reason for living. I feel embarrassed by her display of emotion and just murmur, “Thanks for calling, Mama.” I quickly hang up and concentrate on parking my car.
Moments later I am in the ladies’ restroom splashing lukewarm water on my face. I reapply some mascara and lip gloss, then thoroughly wash my hands so I can go to the lab and face my coworkers, plus the endless line of patients.
And for the next several hours, I make sure my voice is authoritative, yet friendly and positive, as I call out patients’ names. After I introduce myself, I collect their urine samples and prick folks with needles. The small waiting area is cramped and crowded.
I stand with a clipboard in my hand and loudly say “Duane McGraw.”
This big and tall guy stands up, then rocks back and forth on his feet. He’s so big and bulky he looks like a high-rise building swaying in the wind.
“That’s Duane Anthony McGraw,” the big guy states.
I shrug my shoulders and ignore his arrogant pose.
“Come on and have a seat.”
He takes his time getting to me, like he enjoys walking in slow motion. I concentrate on preparing my equipment and take a deep, measured breath.
“How is your day going, sir?” I say, trying to be professional.
“Couldn’t be better. You haven’t heard the news?”
I gaze at him and feel startled by his odd question.
“Can you roll up your sleeve for me, sir?”
I clean his skin with a cotton ball soaked with alcohol and ask him to ball his humongous hand into a tight fist.
“Yes, indeed, old boy made that move. Got engaged. The team is throwing me an engagement party.”
“The team?” I ask. I prick his skin with a needle and begin to draw his blood.
He winces and closes his eyes and begins to whimper like I’m stoning him to death.
“Hey,” a teenager within earshot says. “That’s that tight end Duane Anthony McGraw; they call him Dam for short. He has some sweet moves.”
I inspect my patient more closely. He’s got a big, wide ring on his left finger. I notice an NFL emblem on a thick gold chain that is wrapped about his neck.
“Well, congratulations. Sorry, I know exactly who you are, but I haven’t had time to look at the news today,” I lie. “Must be nice. Is your wife-to-be excited?”
“She cried when I said yes.”
I draw enough blood to fill the bottle and secure the adapter cap.
“Are you saying that she asked you to marry her?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“That’s a trip. What made you say yes?”
I continue collecting blood samples and want to burst out laughing every time this big man grunts and twists in his seat. He looks like a little kid. I should offer him a green lollipop.
“My girl, she is down for me, you know what I’m saying? Even though she knows a lot of women are after me because of who I am, Vanessa doesn’t trip out. She knows when it’s all said and done, I’m the one who will be in her bed every night. I’m going to pay every single bill, and as long as I’m in her face giving her attention, I’m going to honor her.”
I’m the type that reads between the lines. You can’t only pay attention to what a man says; you have to listen for what he doesn’t say.
“Excuse me for being blunt, but does this mean you feel you have a right to cheat on Vanessa as long as you don’t disrespect her to her face?”
“You can take that how you want. Bottom line is she is going to have my last name, not any other woman. Quiet as it’s kept, that’s how a lot of men out here feel. Real talk. At the end of the day, a woman’s gotta be confident she’s number one. Once a woman is clear on her position with her man, everything else falls into place.”
I finish my work with Mr. Football Playa and think about what he says for the rest of the afternoon. Think of how his relationship philosophy factors into the hesitancies I experienced when it came to me and Jeff. Sometimes I felt like the majestic queen; other times I felt like a mere mortal.
During my break Alita calls, as promised. “Hey, Ms. Phlebotomist, how’s work?”
“Girl, same old, same old, but I swear to God, some folks know they don’t need to be getting married.”
“What you talking about, Rachel?”
“There was this so-called famous athlete that came into the clinic. He was talking about how he’s engaged to this woman. But he practically said he will still cheat on her. That he may step out on her, but she’s still his number one.”
“Well, Big Hen better not cheat on me. That’s why we aren’t getting married. I’m scared marriage would mess it up. And I do not plan on becoming a divorce statistic.”
“I don’t blame you,” I tell her. “Just think, if Jeff and I got married, I wonder where we’d be five years down the road.” I shudder. “What if we got married and were very happy and he woke up one morning and told me he was leaving me for another woman …”
“And the woman turned out to be Marlene.”
“Girl, I’m telling you, not only would there be a quick-ass divorce, there’d be two funerals, you hear me?”
“I hear you, girl. Anyway, I hope you’re coping all right today.”
“Yeah, I’m cool. I just can’t stop thinking about why Jeff still carries my ring in his pocket.”
“That’s some messed-up stuff. First of all, he was wrong to take back the ring. Everyone knows a woman never returns the ring.”
“Apparently I don’t know what everyone else knows, or else I would have fought him for it. Or maybe I felt he deserved to have it, under the circumstances. That’s probably why I’m in this predicament in the first place. I need clarity for my life so I can make the best decisions. I get so angry with myself, Alita, I swear to God. I wish I can go back in time, undo some things.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, Rachel. Even Marlene.”
“You think so?” I ask, feeling hopeful for the first time since the day began. “You think she’s making a mistake?”
“Your sister is delusional. She is chasing a hopeless dream. You just gotta wait this out and watch her fairy tale morph into a nightmare.”
“Great, then maybe I can carefully revisit my relationship with Jeff. I’ll do everything I can to make sure things stay on point this time. If I had been brave enough to face the issues I had with him in the first place, maybe we wouldn’t be going through this.”
“Which issues?”
“Certain things about him disturbed me. I wasn’t sure I could trust him one hundred percent. That’s the main reason why I broke up with him. If I am to be with a man for the rest of my life, I want everything to line up perfectly.”
“Um, Rachel. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about when we were on the phone earlier.”
“Okay, go ahead.” I am devouring a Club Lite sandwich that a coworker picked up for me from Jason’s Deli. Imagine toasted whole grain stuffed with smoked turkey breast and ham, a strip of lettuce, tomato slice, and Swiss cheese. I keep a bottle of Grey Poupon at work and had sla
pped a spoonful underneath the lettuce. Just the way Jeff likes his sandwiches.
“Even though you are convinced you still care about him, I think it’s only because he’s with your sister. And I think you should consider using your energies in other ways besides Jeff, because he’s not the only man in the world. And as soon as you let go of trying to get him back and consider dating others, you will find out someone or something better exists for you. Something much better.”
“Better than Jeffrey Williams?”
“Even better than Big Hen.”
“That’s easy for you to say Alita.”
“True, but you know it hasn’t always been this way.”
Boy, do I know. I remember how Alita would call me on a daily basis; she’d complain for hours about the men she was dating. It’s not that they were all bad; they just never clicked with her the way she wanted. And after a while she’d get tired, kick the guy to the curb, and begin that vicious dating cycle over again. But one day she heard Bishop T D. Jakes say that if you find someone who possesses 80 percent of the qualities you’re seeking in a partner, then you’re doing good. It’s true many women make up a long and detailed wish list of what they want in a husband. But Jakes said get rid of the lists, because no human being can possibly fulfill all the things jotted on them.
“So do you really think that you’ll never be with any other man besides Big Hen for the rest of your life?”
“I may be twenty-three, but I’m smart enough to realize there are no guarantees. All I can do is enjoy our relationship and do what I can to make sure it’s successful. That means not wasting time fussing at my man about petty things. And I try not to go to extremes where my emotions are way off balance. Things like that can run a man out of your life.”
“Damn, Alita, why didn’t you tell me this good stuff a couple months ago?”
“Hello, Miss Thing, you weren’t ready to listen when I told you this good stuff. To be honest, you rarely listen to my advice, but that’s what I love about you.”
I don’t see how anyone can love me right about now. But I’m glad that Alita cares for me even when I don’t seem worthy of love.
“Hey, sis, I know how you can be, so I won’t hound you. Just let me know when you’re ready to listen to my specific suggestion of how to get over Jeff. You’re going to have to be totally focused to do what I think you should do.”
I tell my best friend that I will get with her when the time is right. I leave work around seven and decide to pick up some carryout from Olive Garden on the way home.
After I leave the restaurant, first thing I see when I open my apartment door is big-head Marlene. She’s standing in the center of the living room with a wooden broom tightly clutched between her fingers. She’s singing out of tune to a ballad that’s blasting on the CD player. And she’s twirling around with the broom as if it’s a human being. Her eyes are closed, and a small smile forms on her lips. I watch her for a moment and shake my head. Like many times in the past, even though I grow upset with my sister, I still cave in sometimes and end up talking to her.
When I can’t take watching her dance with the broom anymore, I tell her, “You look so crazy.”
Marlene’s eyes pop open, and the broom crashes to the floor. She rushes to lower the volume of the music.
“Girl, don’t be sneaking in here on me like that. I wasn’t doing anything,” she says nervously, her face red. “I just need to sweep the kitchen, but got sidetracked.”
“Oh, okay, I see,” I say and tote my Olive Garden sack over to the kitchen table.
“Hey, what’s in the bag?” she asks, licking her lips.
“Why are you asking? Don’t you have a hot date tonight?” I say sarcastically.
“Girl, he called and told me …”
“He called and said what?”
“Um, that food smells so good. I love those salads and yummy tasting breadsticks. You know good and well that Olive Garden is one of my favorite places to go eat.”
“Then I suggest you get up and drive yourself over to your favorite restaurant and get you some carryout. Or why not have your sweetie do it for you? He used to do it for me all the time.”
“Rachel, stop being so nasty and sarcastic. Jeez, by the way, I am going to ladies’ meeting tonight at the church. You want to go with me?”
“Marlene, you must be losing your mind. Why would I want to go to church with you?”
“I was just asking … no need to raise your voice.”
I am so disgusted with her that I grab my bag and head for my bedroom. I feel like she should apologize to me, but she’s acting like we’ve officially made up and now are best buddies. Frustrated, I set my dinner on the TV tray and turn on my HDTV. There’s nothing on that seems even halfway entertaining, so I flip through my collection of movies, neatly organized by genre in DVD racks. Action, drama, comedies, romance, and horror.
“Fuck romance,” I say to myself. “I don’t have a man. Screw comedy, because there’s nothing funny happening right now. Forget action, because it looks like Rachel Merrell won’t be getting any action anytime soon. Hmm, that leaves horror and drama. Drama will have to do, because that’s all I seem to be experiencing these days.”
Even though the winter holiday is months away, I decide to settle down and watch This Christmas, an engaging African American film that stars Loretta Devine, Idris Elba, and Chris Brown, among others. One of my favorite parts is when the two older Whitfield sisters engage in an all-out brawl one night and start cussing each other out and pulling each other’s weaves right in front of their mother’s house. I envision myself as actress Regina King beating the hell out of Marlene.
The movie has barely begun when I hear a frantic knock on my bedroom door.
“Who is it?”
“Don’t be dumb, who else would it be?”
“What do you want?”
“Rachel, come here, please,” Marlene yells. “Loretta is on the phone crying.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“It’s about Blinky!”
I hop up out of the bed, open the door, and run as fast as I can. I find Marlene pacing across the living room and folding her arm under her big set of boobs. She looks gorgeous as usual.
“What happened? Put Loretta on speaker,” I say, and Marlene nods.
“Mama, did Blinky hit you in the jaw again?”
“What do you mean, ‘again’?” I ask, looking surprised. “He never hits her!”
“Girl, you are so naive it’s not funny,” Marlene says and rolls her eyes. She hesitates, then whispers to me, “He’s done it once before, but Loretta didn’t want you to know, because she thought you’d run and tell Brooke. I feel it’s something you should know, because I don’t know how to handle Loretta when she gets this upset. We need to convince her not to press charges.” She speaks in a normal tone and says, “Mama, where is Blinky right now?”
“I dunno and I don’t care,” Loretta’s shrill voice rings out through the speaker phone. “He ran out of here like a little fucking coward. I’m going to kill his ass. He oughta know better than to be putting his hands on me.”
I’m sure she feels hurt and embarrassed because she makes her living counseling women going through domestic crises. But I’m so surprised that a woman as strong as Loretta would allow Blinky to go off on her like that. I wonder what happened to cause Blinky to lose his temper to that degree.
“Well, did you hit him back?” I ask.
“Is that Rachel? Girl, he socked me in my eye so hard I couldn’t even see him good enough to hit him back. But I could smell that evil liquor on his breath,” Loretta yells through the phone.
“Ya’ll need to use better judgment when it comes to partying and drinking,” I say in a huff. “Can’t always blame bad behavior on the tequila.”
“I hope you aren’t trying to lecture me, young lady. I’m not trying to hear all that right now.”
I clamp my mouth shut and nod, but it’s
not like Loretta can see me.
“Rachel, can you act a teensy bit more understanding?” Marlene begs me, looking perturbed. I know it’s because although she wants my input about this situation, she still wants to be in control, the older sister who makes the final decision when it comes to family matters.
“I understand that a man shouldn’t hit a woman … unless he’s prepared to get locked up. Blinky ought to be ashamed. But Loretta knows how he is.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she screams.
“Okay, Loretta. I’m sorry for being blunt, but you know Daddy either acts real silly or gets depressed and mean when he’s in that partying mood and has too much to drink. I’m not trying to excuse his behavior. He’s wrong, point-blank. But next time this happens, don’t let him overdo it.”
“What did you say? You’re saying it’s my fault?”
“No, Loretta—.”
“Look, girl. You are not making my eye feel any better. I am in pain, you hear me? I feel like calling the police.”
“No! Don’t bring the police into this. Too many black men are overcrowding the county jail already over stupid stuff.”
“Rachel, this is crazy,” Marlene finally jumps in. “This is not the time, nor the place. Our daddy hit our mama in her face. That’s serious. We need to figure out how to support my mother. This is about being down for the family.”
“Oh, hell no, you’d better not talk about being down for our family,” I shout, fuming when I think of her audacity. All I can envision is her and Jeff. I continue, “Why now, Marlene? Why didn’t you feel this way about ‘family’ a few days ago? You are one of the biggest hypocrites I’ve ever met.”
“Marlene, ignore Rachel. Sometimes she can be so insensitive … just like her mama.”
