If This World Were Mine

by E. Lynn Harris

  “You think so?”

  “Look, I don’t even know why I’m discussing my business with you. I wish you whatever, man. But don’t call me no mo’, got it?” I said as I hung up the phone. The first thing I was going to do the following morning was get another unpublished number.

  “I feel like I already know you, Yolanda,” Mattie Thompson said as she gave me a big hug.

  “And I feel like I know you. I’m so sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” I said.

  “Oh, my baby will be just fine. He’s in God’s hands and he’ll be just fine.”

  “I know that’s right,” Uncle Doc said. “Where are the rest of your friends?”

  “They’re down in the coffee shop, getting some coffee. Have you talked to the doctors?”

  “Yes, we just spoke with them. They’re preparing Leland for surgery. Where are the young men who donated blood? I have to thank them,” Mattie said.

  “That’s Dwight and Selwyn. You’ll meet them in a few minutes,” I said.

  “I look forward to that,” Mattie said as she took a seat on the sofa. She looked tired.

  “How was your flight? Do you have a place to stay?”

  “Darling, the flight was just fine. And I’m going to split my time between Leland’s place and Doc’s. Thanks for asking.”

  The group returned and introduced themselves to Leland’s mother. It felt like a family reunion, all of Leland’s family and friends waiting for word of how his operation had gone. Uncle Doc had found out from the police that they had apprehended the guy who shot Leland and proudly told us how his nephew was a hero for putting his own body in front of the young lady working at the store.

  “My baby always was concerned with others,” Mattie said softly. Mattie Thompson, wearing a floral scoop-necked dress, was a short, square-bodied woman with strong shoulders and generous hips. She had calm brown eyes with flawlessly mascaraed lashes. Mattie’s long and thick salt and pepper hair was curled on the ends.

  “Mattie, ain’t you tired yet? Girl, look at them heels you got on. I know at least your foots are tired. Let me take you home,” Uncle Doc said.

  “I want to wait and talk with my baby,” Mattie said.

  “That might be a while. Yolanda and them will be here, and they can let us know,” Uncle Doc said. “We ain’t gonna be no good for Boo if we too tired. We’re old folks. We need our rest.”

  “Speak for yourself, Douglas Thompson. Speak for yourself.” Mattie opened her brown leather purse and it looked like she was organizing its contents. A few minutes later she pulled out a couple of peppermint candies and popped one in her mouth. “You want one of these?” she asked Uncle Doc. Uncle Doc rolled his eyes and said, “What you trying to say, Mattie. Is my breath kickin’?” Mattie smiled and pushed him with her whole body and said, “Take this, you old man.” They both laughed and gave each other a supportive hug. I noticed Leland’s and Mattie’s lower lips tucked under their teeth the same way when they smiled and both had an easy, elegant laughter.

  “Mrs. Thompson. Maybe you do need to get some rest. We’ll stay here and I’ll call as soon as we hear something.” I turned to Uncle Doc, who was now sucking on the peppermint with a smacking sound, and said, “Uncle Doc, somebody from Leland’s biological family might need to be here or inform the doctor that it’s okay to give me information. Dr. Cheng was really strict about following the rules. She ain’t giving up any information.”

  “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of Dr. Cheng and be right back. Mattie knows she needs to get some rest,” Uncle Doc said.

  When Uncle Doc and Mattie left, the solemn mood of a couple of hours before seemed to lift somewhat as the four of us enjoyed coffee and each other’s company, like we were back at Hampton hanging out in front of the Grill. Dwight was almost staring at Riley and Selwyn sitting together, looking like a couple again.

  “Riley, if you’re tired, you and Selwyn can go home. Dwight and I can stay,” I said.

  “That’s all right, we’ll be just fine. I want to make sure Leland’s all right,” Riley said. Selwyn looked lovingly at her in agreement. Dwight took my hand and said he was going to look for Dr. Cheng and see if he could find out any more information on Leland’s status. I nodded my head and glanced back at Riley and Selwyn and saw Riley lay her head on Selwyn’s chest while he gently patted her back. They looked like they had years ago, when we were all so very young. How I missed that time.

  About fifteen minutes later Dwight returned and said Leland was in recovery. We found the recovery room and were told Leland was being prepared to be moved to the intensive care unit on the next floor. I could feel a subtle creep around my heart, and Dwight held my hands and led me toward the elevator. We rode silently up one floor, and I jumped slightly when the elevator beeped at the fourth floor. I hesitated a bit when the elevator door opened, and Dwight waited patiently for me to take a deep breath and move forward out of the elevator. We walked together down the quiet corridor, and I wanted nothing more at that minute than to turn and run back in the other direction—away from this place, away from this terrible feeling of impending doom.

  “I need to go and call Uncle Doc,” I said suddenly. “I need to let him know Leland’s out of surgery.”

  “I’ll have Selwyn and Riley do that,” Dwight said. I guess he could tell I was stalling. I hated hospitals.

  The ICU was a glass-enclosed room, cold and sterile. There were three occupied beds inside. Each patient was hooked up to a beeping monitor and yards of plastic tubing. One bed held the frail body of an elderly woman, and another held a middle-aged man. Leland was in the third bed.

  My spine tingled and Dwight had to pull me closer to the glass. Leland’s eyes were closed. He had a slightly troubled expression and his face and his arms were motionless at his sides. He lay on a white sheet, a white pillow beneath his head. Another white sheet covered him from his feet to just above his waist. His chest was a mess of white bandages. Tubes and wires seemed to extend from everywhere—his chest, his arms, his nose and mouth. I was totally unprepared to see my baby-boy like this, so still, so quiet. I wanted him to open his eyes, look up at me and tell me he “loved him some Yolanda.” I wanted him to wake up so I could tell him I loved him too. And that I was sorry for the hurtful things I had said to him. I wanted my old friend back, laughing with me while we shared a plate of Uncle Doc’s wings.

  “Oh, Dwight. He looks so still,” I said. “You don’t think we’re going to lose him, do you?”

  “I don’t know, Yolanda. Leland’s tough. We don’t always see eye to eye, but I’ve always respected his strength. I look forward to getting the chance to tell him just that.” Dwight shrugged his broad shoulders and his chest expanded with a deep, low sigh. We both felt a twinge of helplessness as we stood side by side behind the glass barrier separating us from our dear friend.

  “It’s all my fault,” I sobbed. “If I hadn’t gotten so mad at him, maybe we would have been together having dinner somewhere instead of him being in that store. Uncle Doc said the police said Leland was holding a TV dinner. He didn’t have anybody to have dinner with. It’s all my fault.” My admission of being so childish and guilty made me cry that much harder.

  “This is not your fault, Yolanda. You didn’t have anything to do with this. You didn’t make him go in that store and you didn’t shoot him. So don’t go tripping and beating yourself up. It’s like Selwyn said when we were in the coffee shop, things just happen. It’s how we deal with what life throws at us that shapes our character, makes us who we are.” Dwight pulled a neatly folded white handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed away my tears. “You’ve got to be strong, Yolanda. You’ve got to have faith that Leland will be all right. Despite your little disagreement, Leland knows you love him.”

  “You’re sure he knows it?” I asked. “The last thing I said to him was also the worst thing I’ve ever said to him. I’ll regret those words forever if I can’t ask for Leland’s forgiveness.”
I started to cry all over again.

  “I thought you promised me you’d be strong?” It was Uncle Doc. He was standing behind me. When I turned around and looked at him, he opened his arms wide to embrace me.

  “Come here, baby doll,” he said. He let me have a good cry while he talked to Dwight over my head.

  “Me and Mattie have been through here already. It was kind of a shock to see him like this.” He nodded toward the glass. “Mattie is pretty shook up, but we talked to the doctor and I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how the good Lord plays it.” Uncle Doc patted me on the back and rocked me ever so gently until I was able to catch my breath and stop crying.

  “I left my sister back there with Riley and Selwyn. Sure was good to see them together, all cuddled up and comforting each other. I think it’s a sign that everything is going to be okay. Leland knows we’re all waiting on him. Anyhow, a little old gunshot wound is a piece of cake for the good Lord.”

  Dwight and I smiled in spite of ourselves and thought maybe Uncle Doc was right. At any rate, it was out of our hands and all we could do now was pray and wait.

  “They gave me Leland’s stuff,” Uncle Doc said, holding up the plastic bag. “His clothes, shoes, his wallet, and such.” He reached into the bag and retrieved a blue envelope. “This here’s for you, Yolanda. It was in his coat pocket, they said.”

  The envelope looked vaguely familiar. I recognized my name and address scrawled across the front in Leland’s distinctive handwriting. He had written his return address in the upper-left-hand corner. I took the envelope from Uncle Doc’s hand and held it gingerly in mine. Leland had written me a letter. He’d been shot before he had a chance to mail it. I looked down at the envelope in my hand, at Leland’s writing, at the blood spattered over the stamp. A gift as precious to me as a good friend.

  Chapter 32

  On an early Monday morning, the week of Thanksgiving, a dusting of snow left a glittery, fresh surface on Chicago. Across this city, on the North Side, Mag Mile, and in Hyde Park, three friends drank cranberry juice, coffee, and orange juice while writing in journals that kept them sane in the midst of a storm. Not the winter weather outside, but one of the heart.

  I read my mother up and down this morning and felt nothing. No guilt. No call back a few hours later with an “I’m sorry.” She made me mad. Again. When she asked why she couldn’t reach me one evening, I told her I was at the hospital, visiting a friend. When she asked who and I told her Leland, she said, “Isn’t he gay? Didn’t his friend die of AIDS? Does he have AIDS?” After I answered yes, yes and no, I told her Leland had been shot, and the questions started again, “Did some man shoot him for making a pass at him? Is he on drugs? Was he trying to buy drugs and some dealer shot him?” These questions I didn’t even answer. I told her from now on out, I wasn’t discussing my friends with her and would ask that she do the same and that included Miss Wanda Mae Washington, whom I was not going to work for again under any circumstance. While I was talking to her I was smiling at myself in the mirror and doing circle pops all around myself, thinking to myself, take that, Miss Clarice. But in many ways I’m not really mad at my mother. I’m starting to feel sorry for her. Sorry that she will probably never live her dreams, whatever they are. Me, I think I might have a chance at my dreams.

  When I told Selwyn about my conversation with my mother, he told me he was so proud of me. We had just left the hospital and were sitting in the library, having a brandy, just gazing into each other’s eyes. I’m loving him more and more each day. This is really love like the first time. When I mentioned the part about Wanda Mae, he asked me what did I want to do? I told him I wanted to continue with the poetry and music. He was supportive and said I could do anything. I’m not so certain I’m ever going to be some diva singer or poet; to be honest, I’ve finally faced that I probably will not. But I can help others. What I want to do is help young kids, maybe from the lower-class areas, who have an interest in the arts. Maybe they have parents who aren’t listening to them, not because they don’t care, but because they’re too busy worrying about two jobs or how they’re going to put food on the table. That’s when Selwyn came up with this brilliant idea. Well, it wasn’t totally his, because I had thought about it several times but never mentioned it to anyone. “Why don’t you open some type of after-school program? Hire some instructors and make it free to the kids you were talking about. We have more than enough money to fund it and it could be a way for you to give back and share your dreams. And you’d get a chance to use that wonderful business sense you have,” Selwyn said. All I could do was kiss him all over his face, lips, and hands. He has such complete faith in me and my dreams.

  So I’m looking forward to the future, and more important … the near future. I think once Leland has recovered, the group will reconvene. I’m praying that it’s before Christmas. I need my friends. I need the love of my children, who have been calling almost every other day asking about Leland’s status and our ski trip to Vail. I want so very much to share a wonderful holiday with my family, meaning Selwyn, Reggie, and Ryan and the best gifts of the season—family and friendship.

  God is testing me. My new wave of tolerance, that is. First thing, I find myself sleeping in Leland’s hospital room, just so Yolanda, his mother, and Uncle Doc can get some sleep in a real bed. I don’t like hospitals, but we, I mean, I want to be there for Leland. Despite our differences, I think he’d be there for me if our roles were changed. I’m falling in love with Leland’s mother, Mattie, who reminds me of my mother. Mattie and Sarah would get along just fine. I was telling my mother about spending so much time at the hospital with Leland and she told me how proud she was of me. When I asked her why, she said, “Oh, baby, after Scooter died, I didn’t think you’d ever go in a hospital again.” I told her I didn’t ever remember being in the hospital with Scooter, and she said, “ ’cause you wasn’t. You refused to go in. You just stood outside the emergency room door.” I didn’t tell her I didn’t even remember that. I realized there are certain things about that day and the days following I have blocked out. I used to think people were bullshitting when they talked about this repressed memory shit, but I guess it’s as real as rain, as Sarah would say.

  Being at the hospital has given me a chance to have really long and honest talks with Yolanda and Riley. I’ve realized they are both wonderful, yet different types of women. Yolanda told me she didn’t believe the doctors when they told her Leland would probably recover, but when I said it, she believed it. That’s deep. Riley asked me to talk to Selwyn about never-knowing my father, because she knew it would help him accept his own family roots. I didn’t even know the old boy didn’t know his people. He always carried himself like he had the world by the balls. I feel closer to Selwyn knowing where he came from and what he’s achieved in his life. It’s funny how this new combination of testosterone and sensitivity is working in my body. I guess it was always there, but I never let it show.

  One night after leaving the hospital I got home and called Kelli’s mom, who I always liked. We talked a few minutes and I asked her for Kelli’s number. After a little bit of hesitation, she gave it to me but warned me to hang up if her new husband answered. I called, and when Kelli answered, I said quickly but calmly, “Kelli, this is Dwight. I hate to bother you this late, but there was something I have to say. I’m sorry and I was wrong. I should have given you an explanation, but I was young and dumb. It wasn’t you. And I wish you and your new husband well.” There was a few seconds of silence and then Kelli said, “Thank you, Dwight. I’ve been waiting for years to hear you say that. Good night.” I made the phone call, not because I felt I had to, but because it was right.

  But back to God and his test. I had decided to take the job in Washington, D.C., you know, go and work for the brothers. Becky screamed, “Yes!” when I told her I would accept the offer. I’m sure it was the commission that had her excited. I told them I’d report the second week of January.

  But a couple of
days ago, when I got back from the hospital there was a message on my machine from Dan Stickens over at MedMac. He wanted me to call him right away, said it was very important. Since it was around two A.M., I waited until the following morning.

  When I called Dan he told me he had somebody he wanted me to meet, and he hoped I was available for lunch. I asked who it was and he just said somebody who could change my life. We met for lunch at Glady’s and I was a little surprised when Dan walked in with this white man with reddish-brown hair and a full beard. He introduced his associate as Myron Weinstock. I shook Myron’s hand and told him it was nice meeting him, but I still didn’t know why Dan wanted the two of us to meet. Myron looked vaguely familiar. I think I had seen him around MedMac in the computer room. I assumed he was one of the program contractors MedMac hired on occasion to assist in bringing up new applications while permanent personnel maintained existing systems. Maybe Dan was introducing me to Myron because he could help me in getting a job doing contract programming. But Dan was wasting his time, I wasn’t interested.

  After we all ordered smothered chicken, Dan told me he was moving to Detroit to help open up a new office for MedMac, so his job as MIS director was open, and he wondered if I was interested in his job. He said they were willing to meet my salary requirements (Like I had some. I was thinking how about a paycheck). Of course I was interested. I knew Dan’s role at MedMac and it was definitely a management position. That’s when I found out who Myron was and why Dan said he would change my life. As it so happens, Myron was CFO at MedMac and one of the founders. He had been one of the primary investors when the company was founded and had developed several of the software packages the company used. Currently these products were being used by MedMac and their customers, but they were preparing to sell them through a regional sales distributor. And MedMac was preparing to become a public company and if I signed on before the end of the year, I would receive some unbelievable stock options. Dan said if things go as planned, we’d all be millionaires this time next year. I was sitting there in Glady’s, letting my food get cold and not believing my luck. I wanted to stay in Chicago. I think I could get used to being a millionaire. I wouldn’t change, you know, like drinking champagne and eating caviar and shit, but I could do some things for my mother, and maybe a future wife. I’ve decided I want love in my life.