by A. D. Smith
I’ve already lost the first love of my life and that guilt continues to destroy me daily. I can’t lose the second. I just can’t.
I gingerly take Chrissy’s hand. The once curious little girl slightly opens her eyes. Cracks at the sides of her dried mouth indicate an attempt at smiling.
“Daddy,” she whispers.
“There’s my baby girl,” I whisper back.
Weakened, she closes her eyes. Her small fingers continue to grasp my hand as I swallow hard. I can’t let myself break down in front of my baby girl. “I tell you what. Daddy’s gonna talk to the doctors for a minute and when I get back, I’ll read you a story. Deal?”
Eyes still closed, Christina answers, “Deal.”
Usually I get my daily report after first sitting with Christina for a few minutes. No need to search for personnel today as Dr. Amali enters the room. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Mr. Myers?” he asks.
“I was just coming to find you, Doc.” We step out into the hallway. “What’s with the new equipment?” I ask.
“It’s a—”
Quickly, I cut him off. Gone is any remnant of the tender tone I took with Christina. “Why can’t you figure out how to make her better?! I mean you can figure out she needs more machines but you can’t figure out how to take her off of ‘em? I don’t get it.”
The doc keeps calm. “I understand your concern, Mr. Myers. Let me reassure you we’re doing everything we can to help little Christina. But honestly she’s just not getting better and then today—”
“What—what do you mean today?” I mutter.
“Well today her heart stopped beating for approximately sixty seconds.”
My throat completely closes. I know exactly what I want to say but it takes seven seconds before my esophagus allows any air to expel. Finally I speak. “Why didn’t you call my job? Why am I just finding out about this?”
“We did try, Mr. Myers, but we were told you’re no longer employed there.”
I wanted to say something, do something. But what could I do? He was right.
“I’m sorry Mr. Myers,” he continues. “Christina’s body isn’t responding to anything and quite frankly, we’ve tried it all.”
Christina has been misdiagnosed too many times to count. Most doctors first thought it was a rare form of cancer. Some said Leukemia. So-called specialists said Kawasaki’s Disease. Truth was … no one was certain. The only certainty was that her body was diminishing rapidly.
Desperation rings through my voice. “What about … what about those experimental drugs you talked about? Can’t you give her more of those?”
“It’s not that simple, Mr. Myers. Her body rejects everything we’ve tried so far.”
“So what exactly are you trying to say, Doc?”
Dr. Amali clears his throat as he slowly backs up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Myers. There’s nothing else we can do for Christina. All we can do now is let nature take its course. Unless she makes a drastic change, she’s looking at one, maybe two months. We’ll do everything we can to make her comfortable until then.”
I turn my back to the doctor. I’ve heard enough.
“Once again, I’m sorry, Mr. Myers.”
Still not facing the doctor, I can hear his footsteps inching closer but I have no interest in the sympathy pat that’s coming. Slowly, I proceed back to my daughter’s room. Water engulfs my eyes as I continue to walk, my maimed leg feeling heavier than ever. Dizziness, anger, and brokenness overtake me.
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I don’t notice I’ve left my bag at church until I reach for my keys to open the front door. Luckily, I keep an extra one in a small hole in the wall outside our apartment. Thankfully, our gracious management never had it fixed. A’ma starts as soon as I open the door.
“Gloria? You know I could’ve died waiting on you.”
I ignore the comment heading straight for the kitchen. “A’ma, what would you like to eat?”
She strains her neck as she turns towards the kitchen, apparently wanting me to see the look on her face. Although in her mid-forties, A’ma bears the countenance of someone much older. Matted, disheveled hair rests unevenly upon her head. The difficult woman sits atop a worn down couch, wearing an old, tattered nightgown. Our outdated television is tuned to a rerun of ‘Matlock’, her favorite show.
Aged furniture fills the stuffy, slightly rundown apartment. We don’t have a lot but we get by. Noticeably, there are no pictures visible with the exception of one. Sitting on a small end-table near the front door is a picture of me in my high school graduation cap and gown. So far it’s the only real accomplishment I’ve ever had.
“I can’t believe someone would do this to their own mother,” she continues. “What if I got too hungry to wait on you? I could’ve easily burned myself or worse.”
I place a TV dinner in the stove. Over the years, I’ve mastered the art of ignoring A’ma’s comments. Here it comes, I think to myself.
A’ma starts ranting in Spanish. Although she never officially taught me the language, I know a few choice words when I hear them. She switches back to English to continue her investigation of my whereabouts.
“And just where have you’ve been Mija?”
“I was at the church helping Deacon Nichols.”
“You and that god forsaken—”
“A’ma!” I quickly interrupt. “Don’t talk about the Lord’s house like that.” I usually ignore her tirades, that is until she speaks negatively about the church.
“I’ll say what I want!” she yells back. “And that damn Nichols. They nothing but a bunch of phonies and crooks!”
“I’ve had about enough of that A’ma. Deacon Nichols is a fine man. You don’t even know him.”
“I know his kind. They’re all alike,” she finishes before switching back to Spanish.
Eventually I sigh, “Dinner will be ready shortly, A’ma.”
Living with her is nearly unbearable at times, but what else can I do? She’s the only family I’ve got.
I move to the bathroom to find A’ma’s painkillers. I could definitely use some, too. As I search for something to put the cranky woman to sleep, my own reflection grabs my attention. Deacon Nichols’ words ring through my head. “… pretty girl like you?”
Staring back at my reflection, I’ve almost forgotten what I look like. For the most part, average features stare back at me. Probably wouldn’t have ever been noticed by anyone if it wasn’t for my height. They say 5’7” is pretty tall for a girl. My Mexican features are predominant, though not overwhelming. I’ve always thought my father could be from almost any background. Old classmates would probably say I’ve done little to change my look in the two years since graduating high school. Brown hair, brown eyes, round button nose, full lips. Maybe I would be considered attractive if I fixed myself up and didn’t act so much like a tomboy. That’s what a guy told me one time. I didn’t find it too complementary at the time but who knows … maybe he’s right.
“What am I doing?” I smirk as I resume my search through the various prescription bottles. My hands fumble around as my mind continues to wander. I couldn’t entertain the thought of dating with A’ma the way she is. I’ve tried that before. It lasted a whole four weeks. It’s like she grows more ill whenever I grow close to someone. Some coincidence. And besides, most guys in their early twenties want more than I’m willing to offer. So with two strikes against me, I stopped dating all together. Things are just easier that way. A’ma is the only family I have here in the states. I’m her only child, and honestly she’s done pretty well by me. As a matter of fact, I even respect my mother, Gabriela Torres, in a lot of ways. Coming to a new country on her own as a young woman, working and providing for a child, even though the father leaves her and their daughter to fend for themselves. It’s a miracle A’ma didn’t deteriorate sooner than the last seven or eight years. So what if the doctors can’t find anything wrong with her. They don’t know everything, and
she’s definitely been through a lot. These are all the things I tell myself to keep a positive outlook on my non-existent life.
“Found them!” I shout aloud as I place my hands on the missing sedatives. When I reenter our dimly lit living room, A’ma seems to be in better spirits.
“I’m sorry Gloria,” she says. “I just don’t want anyone taking advantage of you. You’re all I have, Mija.”
“It’s ok A’ma”, I smile. “Now take your medicine. I’m gonna go take a quick shower and then I’ll get your dinner before I leave.”
“What? You’re leaving me again?”
“I have to work tonight. They’re doing a big interview with that celebrity in town and I have to help.”
“Will you at least be on TV this time …” A’ma winces.
“I told you A’ma, that’s not what I do. I’m a cameraperson.”
A’ma frowns as she turns up the television. She doesn’t think my job is suitable for a girl, but I think it suits me just fine. Besides, I’m glad I’m not on the tube. One less thing for her to criticize.
“Now you have your medicine, your dinner is cooking, anything else you need?”
A’ma grins. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Mija.”
Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s the truth or if it’s part of her act. The two intertwine seamlessly. “I know A’ma. Oh, I also may have to go back by the church. I left my bag there.” And just like that her grin is eaten by a monstrous frown.
I never understood why A’ma hates the church so much. Though she never attends, it was her who initially brought me to St. Peter’s all those years ago. Only nine at the time, I distinctively remember my mother combing my hair, dressing me in a homemade flowery dress and dropping me off in front of the intimidating structure. Her only words were, “I’ll be back in two hours to pick you up.” And I definitely didn’t understand her disdain for Deacon Nichols. She’s hardly ever interacted with the man, much less know him. Besides the few times he walked me to the car as a kid, the two never spoke. I guess there must be a small place somewhere deep inside the complex woman that wants, or at least wanted faith ingrained in me. So in many ways I’m grateful to her for introducing me to an aspect of life I hold so dear.
Chapter 5
“What took you so long, daddy?” Christina whispers.
“Huh?” I mumble. Distracted by emotion, I barely make sense of her words. “Oh you know those doctors,” I regroup. “They love to talk to Daddy.”
“What do you talk about?” my delicate child murmurs. “About me?”
I make an effort to perk up. This is not about me in the least bit. I do my best to smile as I approach the bed. “About you, about birds, about trees, about … monsters.”
She slightly turns her head. “Monsters? Uhh unnn.”
Kneeling beside the bed, I softly rub my nose against Christina’s. “Uh hunn.” It takes every ounce of energy in my being to hide the anguish that brews inside.
“Uh unnn”
“Uh hunn”
Alicia smiles as Christina and I go back and forth.
“You guys having fun?” says a voice from the door.
The smile I once entertained leaves. “Can I help you, Chap?”
Standing at the door is a man dressed in faded blue jeans, slightly worn white tennis shoes, and a speckled blue blazer. Modern bifocals protrude over his nose. He wears a black buttoned-down shirt with a white circular collar. Slight blemishes in his coffee skin tone bear signs of a middle-aged man. His coarse hair has already begun to recede.
“And how’s my little Chrissy?” he asks, seemingly ignoring my question.
“Hey Chappy Brynint,” says Christina, her front two teeth missing as she smiles. I hate to admit it but her face lights up at the sight of this man.
“Ok, Chap,” I grunt. “You said your hellos, thanks for stopping—”
Alicia cuts me off. “Zeek stop it. I asked him to come.” Her tone softens as she addresses our company. “I’m sorry Chaplain Bryant.”
“Oh no problem at all,” he says before glancing my direction. “I’m glad to see you’re doing as well as usual, Mr. Myers.”
Like him, I ignore the comment as I move closer to the door. I don’t care for the Chaplain’s visits, but Alicia requests his presence and Christina seems to enjoy the man.
“Chappy Brynint?” She could never get his name quite right. “Say the brayer with me, please.” Matter of fact, there were several words she hasn’t quite mastered.
“Sure sweetie,” he answers. “You wanna join us Alicia?”
“But of course.” Alicia moves to the other side of the bed. They each clutch one of Christina’s small hands.
“Think we should let your dad join us?” he asks.
“Uh huh,” Christina nods.
“You go ahead sweetie. I’ll watch,” are the words that pour from my mouth although my face says more.
“Ok suit yourself. On a count of three. 1 … 2 …”
The three join in a synchronized prayer. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”
I’m sure my face has deepened in color by now. The only thing that keeps me from berating this hospital preacher man is the fact I don’t wanna upset my daughter.
I throw the chaplain a curt glance letting him know it’s time to end his visit.
“I’ll try to stop by tomorrow, little Chrissy. I’ll say a prayer for your father too,” he smiles as he winks. Christina almost seems to blush. He hugs Alicia before I ask to see him outside. I don’t understand why he has this effect on them.
In the hallway, I’m ready to give the reverend an earful. I could care less about his white collar. To me, anything or anyone that represents a god is just as fake as the smiles people give me around the hospital. This so-called chaplain just takes advantage of families in their time of sorrow. With the door firmly closed, I begin my rampage.
“Look, I don’t care who you are. Stay away from—”
“Mr. Myers, are you a man of faith?” the chaplain interrupts.
Part of me wants to ignore the chaplain’s question and continue with my storm of words but something compels me to answer. This may be the perfect segue to really tell him what I think of all this ‘god’ mumbo-jumbo. I look him straight in the eye.
“If you’re asking if I believe in some jolly, white bearded dude that sits in the sky determining who lives or dies, the answer is no.”
“That’s unusual, Mr. Myers. Especially considering your daughter is so full of faith.”
“She’s a child easily influenced and as a matter of fact, I don’t appreciate you filling her head with this junk. Especially while she lies there …” Tears beg for permission but I deny their request. “… dying.”
“Mr. Myers, I don’t believe in an old white-haired guy that sits in the sky picking people off at random. I believe in God. A God that is kind, loving—”
“Loving?” I counter. “What kind of god lets an innocent five-year-old die?
“I don’t know God’s reasons for everything,” says the chaplain. “And frankly who am I to question God? But I do know—”
“That’s just what I thought preacher man. You don’t know anything. Me and my daughter are doing just fine without you or your god.”
I turn my back on Chaplain Bryant as I head towards the room. He calls for me but I refuse. The chaplain tries again, this time almost shouting. “Mr. Myers! Please!”
I stop for a moment, my back still turned.
“Mr. Myers, your daughter lies in that room fighting for her life. I’ve prayed for her and with her, but sometimes God wants to see what are you going to do for yourself before He intervenes. Please, pray for your daughter. What do you have to lose? If I’m wrong, oh well, life as usual. But just imagine for one moment that I’m right. Think about it, sir. Don’t let the past destroy your faith. Make the first step. God will do the rest. Do i
t for your daughter, Mr. Myers.”
I turn towards Chaplain Bryant, making sure he hears and understands every word I’m about to say. “Your services are no longer needed … preacher man,” I spew before slamming the door.
“Why did you do that Zeek?” Alicia frowns. She’s been listening. “We need all the prayers we can get!”
“Prayers?!” I nearly growl. “Alicia, god has nothing to do with this! There is no—” I glance towards Christina. Our voices have risen quite a bit and neither of us wants to do anything to upset her, regardless of the topic. We continue, more subdued. “There is no god,” I say. “What kind of god would let a five year-old suffer like this, hunh? First Angel, and now Chrissy? Where’s god in that?”
“You can’t keep blaming God for what happened five years ago,” she says taking my hand. “Or yourself for that matter.”
Not wanting to have that conversation, I turn away, but Alicia continues. “Look, I’m a wreck too, but I’ve gotta have faith in something. I mean with my sister and now my niece? I’d be crazy by now.”
She steps in front of me, her hand stretched towards Christina’s bed. “You have a beautiful little girl lying there. At least have faith in her. We can agree on that, right?”
I try to look away but Alicia won’t let it go. “Right?”
I give in, finally smiling. “You just don’t quit, do ya lil sis.”
“Nope,” she smiles.
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Dusk falls fast over the Memphis skyline. The drinks fall fast as well, the lights now dimmed at Round One, giving the spot a more club-like atmosphere. Now this is more like it, I observe after returning from the bathroom. Attractive young women adorn the bar like beautiful decorations. I turn on my million dollar smile as easily as the flick of a light switch. Most return the favor. Slightly buzzed, I select my latest acquisition. It’s much easier being Tre “TNT” Turner when I’ve downed a few.
