Hero

by J. F. Gonzalez; Wrath James White

  “Have you ever heard of Adelle Smith?”

  “Who?” The name sounded familiar. She remembered reading something about a woman by that name in the paper. She’d had a heart attack or a stroke or something.

  “Adelle Smith. She was a Civil Rights activist back in the sixties, went to jail for holding a judge hostage in some sort of police brutality protest or something. She just received an NAACP lifetime achievement award. Not for kidnapping judges. She did a lot of work with inner-city kids, welfare reform, equal opportunity and affirmative action programs, stuff like that. Got a lot of the big companies in town to start hiring Black employees. She’s a real hero to many of the people who grew up here. Well, she had a stroke right after she received the award and now she’s practically bed-ridden. She can get around a little with her walker, but she’s partially paralyzed on her left side. She’s coming home from the hospital tomorrow and she’s going to need full-time nursing care.”

  Natsinet felt all of her hopes and fantasies come crashing back down to reality. She would be caring for an old Black woman, an activist at that. One of those American Blacks that still blames everything that happens to them on the White man instead of their own laziness and stupidity, waiting around for someone to give them for free what everybody else on the planet has to earn.

  “The neighborhood she lives in isn’t the best in the world, but her daughter assures me that you’ll be safe. Apparently, Mrs. Smith is well respected there.”

  “What neighborhood is it exactly?” Natsinet was trying her best to hold it together but she could feel her mask slipping as her anger rose. They were sending her into some sort of ghetto to care for some woman who once went to jail for kidnapping. This had to be a joke of some kind, a trick they played on all the new-hires. But there was no humor in the old nurse’s eyes. She was completely serious.

  “Mrs. Smith lives in North Philadelphia, right off of Columbia Avenue.”

  Natsinet sprang from her seat, startling the old nurse who instinctively raised her arms in front of her face to ward off a blow. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  “Natty! Calm down! There is no need for this.”

  Natsinet paced back and forth like a caged animal, clearly distraught.

  “I thought this would be perfect for you. This family would feel more comfortable with someone their own color and I thought for your first assignment you might feel more comfortable as well.”

  “Their own color?” Obviously the woman had not listened to a thing she’d said during their interview or else this was her way of bringing Natsinet down a peg, taking her off her high horse. When she was back in the ER, the head nurse would often make her take care of all the gangbangers that came in, to try to force her to get over her prejudice. It’d had the opposite effect. She’d grown more and more disgusted by them until she’d eventually quit. She’d done other things, too; things that had led to three deaths that she’d never been blamed for. If this woman was trying to force her to confront her biases or prove to her that all people were the same or something, she was wasting her time.

  “Look, I’ve already told them about you and they’re excited to meet you. Besides, you’re new and none of my other nurses will set foot in that neighborhood, which means that if you want to work here you will take this assignment. There will be others. We have people coming in here all the time looking for nurses. When you’ve got a little more seniority you’ll get some of the better jobs too, maybe even working for one of those millionaires in Chestnut Hill or Society Hill. We’re the most prestigious hospice in the city, as I’m sure you know. There will be other opportunities.”

  Natsinet stopped pacing and plopped back down into the chair in front of the old nurse’s tiny desk. She was still breathing hard, still angry, and she refused to make eye contact with Doris at all, turning her head to stare out the window instead.

  “I’ll take the assignment.”

  “Good. They will be very pleased. This packet has all of the details of the type of care she will need including her medications and the dates and times for her physical therapy. The daughter’s phone number is in there too. She’s paying for all of this, along with donations from the NAACP and a few charitable foundations, many of whom her mother helped to found.”

  Natsinet wasn’t listening to anything the old nurse was saying. All she was thinking about was how to make this assignment as short as possible.

  When the phone rang on Doris’ desk and one of the other nurses frantically announced that a patient just had a massive myocardial infarction, Natsinet didn’t even have to hear the name to know that they wouldn’t be spending any more unnecessary dollars on heart medication and arthritis pills.

  Chapter Six

  The ambulance had dropped Adelle off at the apartment thirty minutes ago and Tonya was going over the living room tidying things up when the doorbell rang.

  She gave a quick sigh, her eyes sweeping the room. The room looked about the same as it did the night after her mother’s stroke when she’d showed up to retrieve some of her mother’s belongings for the hospital stay. She’d had to babysit the locksmith who’d shown up to change the locks on the busted-down door and do some minor repair work—the police busted it down to allow the EMTs to gain entry. She’d also retrieved the handgun mom kept stowed in the magazine rack by the sofa and moved it to a more secure location, in a shoebox at the bottom of her closet. She did the same with the .45 in the dresser drawer by momma’s bed. Momma had told her about the weapons a few years ago, and as Tonya unloaded them she thought about Mike Simmons, a guy she’d grown up with in this neighborhood. On her way to the apartment she’d seen Big Mike hanging out with his friends in front of a burnt-out rowhouse around the corner. A crackhouse no doubt.

  Mike was one of about a dozen kids she used to play with when she was growing up, and even though he’d gone in a clearly opposite direction in life than she did as an adult, he still treated her like the childhood friend she’d always been. She knew he led a crew of some bad asses, and she made a mental note to try to talk to him on her way home.

  The doorbell rang again and Tonya answered it. Standing outside was a tall, slim, light-skinned woman dressed in a dark overcoat carrying a bag. Her eyes were green and her skin was almost White but her features were unmistakably Black.

  “Ms. Smith?”

  “I’m Tonya Brown, Adelle Smith’s daughter,” Tonya said. “You’re from Hospice Nursing?”

  The woman nodded.

  “I’m Natsinet Zenawi. Hospice Nursing sent me.”

  “Come in.” Tonya held the door open and Natsinet entered. Tonya had been expecting her, and as she led Natsinet into the apartment she quickly pointed everything out to the nurse.

  “Momma’s asleep now, but I’ve made you up a bed on the futon in the second bedroom.” Adelle Smith had the nicest apartment in the neighborhood—a two bedroom. “And I’ve cleared out space for you in the bathroom and kitchen.”

  “Thank you.” Natsinet set her overnight bag and a heavy black leather satchel down on the floor, her eyes surveying the apartment.

  “I’ve stocked up on groceries, so you should be good for the next five days,” Tonya continued. She quickly showed the nurse the layout of the kitchen, pointed out where the linens were stored and the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Natsinet was quiet and nodded with approval as Tonya made the rounds. The last stop was the master bedroom where momma was sleeping. The overhead light was off but Tonya had installed a nightlight in the wall socket and it gave off a bluish glow. She stood at the doorway and watched as Natsinet approached her mother’s bedside and took her pulse.

  “How long has she been asleep?” Natsinet murmured.

  “About two hours.”

  Natsinet exited the bedroom and brushed past Tonya. The woman seemed a little aloof, and as Tonya followed her into the living room she told herself to stop being paranoid. The woman barely knew momma; to her, she was simply another patient. And besides, Hospice Nur
ses of Greater Philadelphia was the most reputable nursing facility in town. This nurse had just showed up, the first of two nurses who would take five day shifts, staying at her mother’s apartment day and night to provide round the clock care. If it hadn’t been for the generous donations solicited by the NAACP in the wake of momma’s stroke, her mother would have been confined to a state-run hospice center. God knows what would have happened to her there.

  Natsinet retrieved a file from her satchel and was reading through it.

  “I see that a bed has been provided for me?”

  “Yes,” Tonya said, nodding. Tonya had sprung for the hospital bed with her own money and had hired movers to haul momma’s bed away where it was now in storage. She felt it would be better for her mother’s physical rehabilitation to have a semi-electric hospital bed for bed height adjustment and upper body positioning to help momma sit up.

  “Wonderful. And Dr. Albright is her physician?”

  Tonya nodded.

  Natsinet seemed pleased with this. “Albright is a good doctor. How much damage was done to your mother’s nervous system? It says here she’s partially paralyzed on her left side?”

  “Her left side is completely paralyzed,” Tonya said. “She has limited movement in her right arm and leg, and she can turn her head slightly.”

  Natsinet frowned.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  She ignored her and continued reading from Adelle Smith’s medical records.

  “And her speech? She’s lost it, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Natsinet seemed to consider this as she read through the medical records. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. “What kind of physical rehabilitation have you decided on?”

  Tonya was confused. “I thought…well, I thought Hospice Nursing was to provide in-home care and rehabilitation.”

  “Ahh.” Natsinet nodded, eyes still on the medical record. The tone of her voice and the slight change in body language spoke volumes to Tonya. In her world—the one of the professional corporation—that tone of voice while saying “ahhh” meant nobody told me jack shit I was going to be involved in providing twenty-four hour care nursing and physical rehabilitation.

  “Is there a problem?” Tonya asked, keeping her voice neutral, friendly.

  “No, no problem,” Natsinet replied. She looked at Tonya and smiled. “Many times there is miscommunication between the nursing facilities and the providers.”

  “So, you’re only here to provide nursing care? You aren’t providing physical therapy as well?”

  “No no no,” Natsinet said, her voice soothing. “I can do all that. I’m a board certified physical therapist as well as a Registered Nurse. Hospice Nursing gave me the impression that you’d hired your own physical therapist.”

  “Oh.” How could that be possible? Tonya was very specific in her wishes when talking to Hospice Nursing. Despite that, she supposed it was possible that her instructions could have been misinterpreted. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

  “Not at all.” Natsinet’s voice was warm, friendly, and she seemed more relaxed now, more in control. “Everything will be fine. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Tonya provided Natsinet with her cell, office, and home phone number, gave her a card that contained her home email address and told her to call her immediately if she was needed. As she picked up her purse and headed to the front door, she felt a slight pang of guilt; in a perfect world she’d be staying home with momma to nurse her back to heath, but she couldn’t afford it. Thank God for the generous donations provided by the NAACP. Leaving momma behind in her apartment, in the old neighborhood, wasn’t the ideal situation, but if being home helped momma emotionally perhaps that would help speed up her physical recovery. “I’m only a forty minute drive away,” she said, pausing at the front door. “I can stop in Friday after work.”

  “That will be good,” Natsinet said.

  “Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  Tonya closed the door behind her and paused for a moment on the front stoop of the apartment, which overlooked the street below. Everything’s going to be okay, she thought. Then, taking a deep breath, she headed down the stairs to her car.

  Chapter Seven

  She was lucky enough to find a parking space in front of the rowhouse Mike Simmons and his buddies were hanging out in front of, and as Tonya turned the car off she felt the heavy glares of dozens of eyes light on her. Appraising her.

  She got out of the car, not in the least bit scared. Any other woman who hadn’t grown up in the neighborhood would have felt very nervous at this point and probably would not have even ventured out of the car. Not so with Tonya. Her current home might be in a middle-class suburb surrounded by White neighbors, but she still felt right at home in the old neighborhood.

  ‘Big’ Mike Simmons called out to her. “Hey Tonya, what’s good wit’ you, girl?”

  “Big Mike!”

  Tonya smiled as she approached the worn concrete steps of the row house. Mike was standing up, already heading down the stairs with a smile on his face. His homeboys took his lead and eased up on their menacing bad ass postures. A couple of them recognized Tonya and nodded to her, said, “”Sup, Tonya? You lookin’ fine as ever.”

  “Yeah, girl. That suburban life is treatin’ you well.”

  “What’s your fine ass doin’ ‘round here?”

  “You best not be down here tryin’ to buy no rocks!” Big Mike asked.

  She acknowledged the others, then turned to Mike, grinning. “Hell, no! My momma would kill me. Besides, you know I got better sense then that. I’m looking for you!” she chuckled.

  Mike laughed and they embraced. “You lookin’ for me huh? So, how you doin? I heard you was livin’ lavish up in the suburbs wit’ all ‘dem White folks?” Mike asked.

  “I’m doin’ okay.”

  “Looks like you doin’ more than okay to me. I bet I make just as much bank as that bourgie nigga you got. If I moved up to the suburbs you think I’d have a chance wit’ you?”

  “Pleeease. See, now why wasn’t you comin’ at me like that when I was livin’ down here? Back then all you wanted was them triflin’ ass hoochies.” Tonya surprised herself by how easy it was to slip back into her neighborhood dialect. Momma had taught her long ago that Black people had to live in two worlds: the business world, the world of proper diction and proper clothes, the world of White people; and the streets, the world where Big Mike and his buddies and all the people she’d grown up with, including Tonya herself, were from. Her mother had told her never to talk above her own people. “Talkin’ ain’t good for nothing but communicatin’. What good are a bunch of fancy words that nobody can’t understand? I didn’t send you off to college so you can come back talkin’ like you better than everybody else. When you with your people, you talk like your people.”

  Tonya never forgot that.

  “I must’ve been crazy if I wasn’t checkin’ for you back then. I must have been blind too.”

  “Well, it’s too late now. I got a good man.”

  “That right? He treat you good too? He keepin’ you satisfied? You know I’m sayin’?”

  Tonya smiled and looked down at her feet bashfully, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Mike could see the way she lit up just thinking about her husband. Even a hardened thug like him couldn’t help but be touched by it.

  “Yeah, he does.”

  “Damn, that nigga must be doin’ somethin’ right ‘cause he got you completely sprung on his ass!” Mike laughed and it was such a warm friendly sound that it was hard to imagine that this man was responsible for every drug deal in the neighborhood and nearly every drug-related murder as well.

  “Come on, don’t make me blush.”

  “It’s good to see you though, Tonya. I’m glad to hear you’re happy. But, seriously though, what brings you ‘round here?”

  She grasped his ha
nds, looking up at him. Big Mike had been a handsome boy and he hadn’t lost those good looks. Unfortunately, his years on the streets and the hard living had etched their way into his face, creating age lines that made him look easily ten years older than his thirty-one years despite a body armored in prison muscle and a wardrobe and platinum jewelry straight out of a hip-hop video. “You heard about Momma, right?”

  “Yeah, I did,” Mike said. Despite his intimidating size and his reputation on the streets, his tenderness, when it came out, was sincere. “I’m real sorry to hear about it. We all were. Your moms is a good woman. How she doin’?”

  Tonya glanced at his gathered crew; a few faces were recognizable, others weren’t. Some of them nodded at her and uttered words of encouragement. She nodded back at them and turned back to Mike. “Not too good, but she’s goin’ to be alright. I got a big favor to ask you, though. It would really mean a lot to me.”

  “What’s that, baby girl? You know I got your back.”

  “Will you guys keep an eye on my momma’s place for me?”

  “No thang. You ain’t even have to ask that. Wouldn’t nobody mess with her no way. Everybody around here got mad respect for your moms.”

  “I know that. I know, and I appreciate that, but she’s gonna have in-home nursing care. She ain’t movin’ around so good after the stroke. There’s a nurse there now, light-skinned sista named Natsinet. I don’t know who else the nursing home will send, but—”

  “Nobody will touch ‘em,” Mike said, “That’s my word.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No thang. Give your moms my love.”

  “I will. You take care of yourself, Mike. I hope to see you up in the suburbs pretty soon.”

  Mike laughed. “You might just.”

  Tonya gave him a big hug and almost found herself choking up. She was pretty sure that the next time she saw Big Mike was more likely to be at his funeral than at a neighborhood association meeting. She hated what this neighborhood did to people. She thanked her mother everyday for making sure she escaped it. Tonya only wished she had been as successful at getting her mother out of here as well. For some reason the old woman just refused to leave, along with all the other old folks in the neighborhood. Almost everyone her mom had gone to high school with, gone to college with, attended Civil Rights marches and protests with, got arrested with, were all still right there in the same houses they’d grown up in. Tonya didn’t understand it. As many fond childhood memories as she had growing up in North Philly, she’d sooner move to the Deep South than back to that drug-infested war zone.