HeartWorks

by Charmaine Gordon

  “No. We’re in a twelve step program for alcoholism.”

  “So alcohol, but no drugs?”

  “No drugs.” Desi sounded defeated.

  “Alright then. We’ll just let her rest, and she should be good to go home later tonight.”

  “Okay. Thank you, doctor.” Desi replied in a slightly nasty tone.

  Chantal heard footsteps again, but this time, they were getting quieter – further away.

  Still unable to open her eyes, Chantal remained in this quiet state for hours on end.

  “I don’t like this,” Chantal said wearily as she was being wheeled out to Desi’s car.

  “I don’t like this either, baby girl.” Desi replied.

  “No. I don’t like sitting. This hurts. I want to get out of it.”

  Desi stopped the nurse. “She can’t sit? The woman broke her back! She can’t sit, but you want to send her home. What the hell is wrong with you people?”

  The nurse inhaled deeply, looking Desi right in the eye. “Sitting does put a lot of pressure on the lower spine. See if you can recline her seat for the ride home. Then I would plant her on the couch or in bed once you get home.”

  Desi stared the woman down. “Fine.”

  Once they reached the car, Desiree went over and reclined the passenger seat as much as she could. Both she and the nurse carefully lowered Chantal into the seat.

  Desi shut the door. She gave the nurse one quick last nasty look before walking around the car and getting in.

  “You alright, baby girl?” Desi asked.

  “Yeah,” Chantal moaned.

  “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

  Desi knelt down next to her. “Are you set? Are you gonna be okay?”

  “You really gonna leave me tonight?”

  “Chantal,” she sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been with you every night for the past four nights. I have to go back home. I have my own things to do.”

  Chantal looked at her.

  Desi was so beautiful. Even after being so exhausted and staying with her for four days straight. Her hair was still perfect. Her face was radiant as always.

  Chantal took a deep breath. Did she really need her to stay around, or did she want her more for selfish reasons? She knew she was being selfish. She couldn’t hold her hostage, even though she wanted to. “Desi, can I ask you something before you go?”

  “Sure, honey. What?”

  Honey. That raised Chantal’s hopes even more. “When you told the doctor I was your partner, and you kept calling me baby girl, did you mean all that?”

  Desi suddenly looked uneasy. She began to fidget with her hands; her eyes darted around the room, but she never made eye contact with her.

  Chantal’s heart sank.

  “Chantal,” she started. “I do love you, you know that. I do care about you, and I do like taking care of you. But…”

  But… Chantal bit her lip.

  “I can’t. You know I can’t. I said that to the doctor so he’d let me in. There was no other way for me or anyone to be with you. I had to do something – and besides, I know you better than anyone else.”

  Chantal slowly nodded. “You do.”

  “I did what I had to do to take care of you. It was for your benefit.”

  “But not yours.”

  “Chantal, come on! Don’t do this. We’ve been through this before.”

  Chantal turned her face so she didn’t have to look at Desi, nor would Desi see her tears. “Yeah. Gotchya. I guess I’ll see you around.”

  Her warm hand rested on Chantal’s for a moment. “I’ll call to check on you later, okay?”

  “Okay.” Chantal still faced the back of the couch.

  Desiree slowly stood up, and quietly left the house.

  “Come on in,” Desi whispered. She held the door open and let a girl in. “Thank you so much for coming and helping. It really means a lot to me.”

  “We’re all here to be in service and of help to each other. Remember? You taught me that!” The young woman said.

  Desi smiled at her. “C’mon in. Let me introduce you.” She guided her into the house. “She’s been sleeping most of the day. They said she’d be doing that a lot in the beginning.”

  Desiree stopped by the couch and gently rubbed Chantal’s arm.

  “Chantal, honey, I want you to meet somebody.” Desi said.

  Chantal wearily rolled her head over to see them.

  “This is Grace.” Desi said softly. “She has kindly offered to help out from time to time while you recover, okay?”

  Grace was a mousey little woman. Her blonde hair was stick-straight. She had pale white skin and very light blue eyes. She had tiny little shoulders; her frame was long and thin.

  She offered a small, dainty hand to Chantal. “Hi!” She said meekly.

  “Hello,” Chantal mumbled. “How do you know…?”

  “From the rooms,” Desi cut her off. “I just wanted you to meet her. You’ll be seeing a lot of her. For now, we’ll let you rest, okay?”

  “Okay,” Chantal’s words were garbled. “I’ll see you around.”

  Desi gently clutched her hand. “Yes, you will, sweetie. Yes you will.”

  Chantal tried to keep her eyes open, but her eyes lids were so heavy; everything around her was fuzzy. Out of her own control, she quietly slipped back into sleep.

  Chantal stared at the ceiling. She hadn’t slept at all. The pain was excruciating. Everything hurt. She had bone pain in her spine and hips. She had muscle pain and spasm. She had tremendous nerve pain that shot down her legs. She desperately wanted to crawl out of her own skin. This was nothing short of horrible.

  This was it? This was going to be her life for the next six to eight months? There was no way. How the hell could she live like this? Living off favors from friends, not being able to pay her bills without financial assistance from friends or family or whomever? This couldn’t be her life. She couldn’t stand staying like this for six days, let alone six months. What the hell? Why did this have to happen? What on earth could be the reasoning behind such a debilitating accident?

  “This is not cool, man. Not cool at all.” She said into the dark room around her. Maybe someone heard her. Hopefully God heard her.

  Chantal pursed her lips and tried closing her eyes for the umpteenth time. Maybe this time she’d actually fall asleep.

  “So,” Grace shifted in her chair. “Are you originally from here?” Her voice was weak and shaky.

  “Ain’t nobody original from Vegas. I’m a transplant just like everyone else.”

  “Oh, okay.” She said sheepishly. “So, where are you from?”

  “Detroit.”

  Chantal moved a little to try to get more comfortable. She grunted once she was situated.

  “Oh! Like Desiree.”

  Chantal put her right hand behind her head. “Yup.”

  “Did you two know each other out there?”

  Chantal laughed. “She brought me out here!”

  “She did?”

  “She did. We were together. We moved out here together.”

  “Oh! Isn’t that nice?” Grace faked a chuckle.

  “You thought two black sisters from Detroit just happened to meet in the rooms?”

  “Oh!” Grace was obviously shocked. “You’re…?”

  Chantal rolled her head towards Grace. “Seriously? You didn’t know? What did you think?”

  “Oh! No, it wasn’t that at all. I didn’t know…”

  “You didn’t know what?”

  Grace pushed herself as far back in the chair as she could. “I…uhhh…you’re skin…”

  Chantal’s eyes expanded. “You didn’t know I’m black?! Are you kidding me? What the…? What the hell did you think I was?”

  Grace’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for an answer on the floor. “I’m sorry. I…didn’t know. I didn’t think…I wasn’t sure.” She paused to breathe. “I never thought…”

  “I know. My ski
n is light. But I’m still black. As black as Desi.” She struggled to prop herself up. “Do you know anything about Desi?”

  “Yeah.” Grace’s voice was now as quiet as a mouse.

  “What do you know about Desi?

  Grace tried to take a less fearful posture in the chair. “Well, she’s my sponsor.”

  “She’s your sponsor? What could you possibly have in common? You’re a white girl from the suburbs. You’re just a little white snow flake. Never had to fight to put food on the table. Never had to sell yourself out to feed your kids. Never had to stay in a fucking abandoned building because there was a hole in your roof you couldn’t afford to fix.”

  “That’s exactly why she’s my sponsor. She’s been through hell and back. I admire her for all that she’s done and all that she’s been through. If she can build herself from the ground up, she can certainly inspire me and keep me on track.”

  Chantal pursed her lips. “Alright. I’ll give you that. Maybe you’re not so bad after all, Snowflake.” Chantal laughed at herself.

  A low deep voice came through the low volume of the television. Grace suddenly turned her attention to it. “Who is that?”

  Chantal fought to pick up her head. “Oh, that’s Brittney Griner.”

  “Brittney?”

  “Yeah. Brittney Griner. She’s a WNBA player.”

  “She?!”

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  “Look at her! Listen to her! Her voice is so deep.”

  “Yeah. She’s a sister.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were black, but…”

  “No, Snowflake! She’s a sister.”

  Grace was clearly still very confused.

  Chantal’s tone lowered. “She’s a lezzie.” She winced in pain for a second. “She was married to Glory Johnson, another WNBA player, but they split. She still gay, though.”

  “Oh.” Grace looked at the floor. She took a deep breath. “I’m a sister, too. Just so you know.”

  Chantal roller her head as far as she could to see her. She laughed. “What?”

  “I’m gay too. I mean, I’m a lezzie too!”

  Chantal laughed hysterically. “You’re a lezzie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh shit! It hurts to laugh!” Chantal tried to stifle her chuckles. She paused; breathing deeply in the hopes it would alleviate some of her pain. “Little suburban Snowflake is a lezzie?”

  “Yes!” Grace stood up. She looked around, and then shrunk back into the chair.

  “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re a sister too. Cool. Welcome to the family.” She smiled at Grace. She genuinely smiled at her for the first time. Her smile was warm, sincere, and beautiful.

  The television roared with laughter, waking Chantal. Once her eyes cleared, she looked over and saw Grace holding a pair of her boxers.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Chantal yelled at her.

  Grace was stunned. She stood doe-eyed looking back at her. She didn’t move.

  Chantal tried to prop herself up. “I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing with my underwear?!”

  Grace blinked a few times before she spoke. “I was just folding them. I’m doing your laundry, if that’s okay.”

  Shit. Once again, she jumped to a conclusion. Grace was helping her out, not doing some weird voodoo with her favorite red silk boxers.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry about that. I just woke up and saw you with my drawers and…”

  “It’s okay. I understand. I would probably be caught off guard too.” Grace finally folded them and placed them in a laundry basket beside her chair. “Can I get you anything? Is there anything you want?”

  “Yeah, like a million dollars!”

  “I’d like that too!” Grace chuckled. “Are you hungry or thirsty at all?”

  Chantal pondered the question for a moment. “You know what? I think I am.”

  “What would you like?”

  “What do I got? Is there any food in my fridge?”

  “Yeah. Desiree went shopping for you this morning.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you call me ma’am!” Chantal teased. “But seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s so awesome.” Chantal sat herself up. “Hey, did you see what she got?”

  “Yeah, I helped her put it away.”

  “She didn’t happen to get cinnamon…?”

  Grace slyly nodded her head. “Yes she did.”

  Chantal’s eyes opened up. “And OJ?” She asked with great excitement.

  Grace chuckled. “Yup!”

  “Sweet! That’s awesome. Yo man, can you make me up some cinnamon toast and OJ?”

  “I certainly can.” Grace nodded and walked into the kitchen.

  “Dude!” Chantal called out. “I like my toast like I like my women: light and soft!” She laughed at herself.

  “Duly noted!” Grace called back from the kitchen.

  “Ha ha!” Chantal squealed with excitement. “She loves me. That girl won’t admit it, but she loves me!” Chantal propped herself into a sitting position. This was worth the pain.

  It wasn’t long before Grace came back in with a plate full of cinnamon toast, and a large glass of orange juice. “Here you go!” She placed them on the table in front of her.

  Though she was eating somewhat sideways, Chantal was able to manage her meal with a fair amount of ease.

  “Hey, tell me about that tattoo.” Grace said softly.

  “Which one?” Chantal extended both of her arms, which were equally covered in ink.

  “That one there.” She pointed to a phoenix, underneath it was written, sweet baby A – 12/2/96.

  Chantal’s face dropped. She took in a deep breath. “Of course you gotta start with that one.”

  Grace looked puzzled.

  “It’s for my baby brother. Azaiah. He was shot. He was fucking fourteen years old, and he was shot by a stupid gang just so they could rob him of the twenty dollars he had in his wallet.” She cleared her throat. “Twenty bucks. That’s it. And you know what the worst part was?”

  Grace stood like a statue.

  “That was money his best friend’s mother gave him so he could buy our mother a Christmas present.” Chantal huffed.

  Grace stood uncomfortably. She looked awkward and fidgety. After a minute or two of silence, she finally spoke up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to…”

  “Nah, it’s alright.” Chantal took a drink of her orange juice.

  “Tell me your story.” Grace murmured.

  Chantal whipped around. “What?”

  “Tell me your story. I’ve never heard your story before. Share your experience, strength, and hope with me.”

  Chantal looked up at her quizzically. “For real?”

  “For real.”

  “Ok, for this, I gotta lay down.” She slid herself back down flat on the couch. “Hi, my name’s Chantal and I’m an alcoholic.

  “I’m originally from Detroit. Grew up in the projects like a lot of black kids. My dad used to beat up my mom. So bad that she could never work from some of the damage he did. Then he found some little tramp, left and started beating on her. Seemed like everyone’s story was the same. Every kid there had the same family, the same problems, the same fucked-upness.”

  She paused. “So life was rough. We were poorer than poor. I really don’t know how we had food or how we survived. But we did somehow.” She rubbed her head along her buzzed hair. “The church we went to gave us a lot. They had a food pantry and would give families like us food. It may not have been much, but it was food, man.”

  She squirmed a bit on the couch. “I must have been eleven, maybe twelve years old when I had my first drunk. You know, it’s so funny. None of us had enough money for food in the house, but didn’t everyone have alcohol. And lots of it. Funny how that shit works out.

  “So, I don’t know. We were at a
party or somebody’s parents were out that night. I don’t remember. All I remember was feeling warm from all the alcohol. I felt so cool and grown up. I felt indestructible. It didn’t matter that I was black – it didn’t matter that I was a light skinned black. It didn’t matter if I was poor. It didn’t matter if I hated myself for being black or being poor or being a fucking lesbian. It didn’t matter. I was grown up and I was cool.”

  She stopped and adjusted the heat on her heating pad. “I don’t remember much of school or growing up after that. But I do remember…” She stopped herself by laughing. “Oh shoot! I don’t know what we were thinking. We thought we were so cool sneaking vodka into school in water bottles. We thought nobody would ever figure it out. We thought we were so cool and so clever like no one had ever done that before.” She laughed some more. “It wasn’t until later on that I learned we were dumb as shit and kids everywhere did that. Ha! I was so stupid.”

  Chantal cleared her throat. “So, I spent most of my time in school drunk. Time outside of school drunk. We stole from the liquor store, we stole from our parents. We would offer the homeless people or some of the bigger kids our food from the food pantry if they would buy us stuff. Shit, we did whatever we had to for booze. So we were drunk most of the time, and I really don’t remember much. But I’ll never forget…”

  Chantal bit her quivering lower lip. She took in a few deep breaths before the tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I’ll never forget the day my brother was shot.”

  She paused to sob. “I walked him over to his best friend, LaMarr’s house after school. I walked him to make sure he didn’t get hurt. I got him to LaMarr’s house. He promised he’d be safe getting home. I dropped him off thinking everything would be okay. He said LaMarr’s mother would drive him home. I thought he was safe.”

  She wiped some tears away. “And then we heard all the sirens going off. We heard them all the time. It was the fucking ghetto, of course we heard cop sirens. But this one was different. This time, my heart sank. I just knew.

  “I ran over in the direction of LaMarr’s. After a couple blocks, there were cops everywhere. Shit was tapped off. They had already put a blanket over him.”