Blue Collar Blues (40 page)

The tears dried on her face as she snapped shut the last of her bags and set them by the back door. She knew she was doing the right thing. And for some reason she sighed in relief.

She went into the foyer and stopped, went back in their bedroom, and retrieved their scrapbook. Flipping through the pages, she stopped at their graduation pictures. Cy looked so handsome. And she didn’t look bad either. The picture of them eating at McDonald’s on their honeymoon and, later when they could afford it, a trip to Rome. And once again she reviewed the pictures of them together in Niagara Falls. She snapped the book shut. Warm tears slipped from her trembling lips. They’d been so happy. She opened her suitcase and slipped the book inside.

Khan. Khan. I should have listened to you.

Thyme finished packing her bags into the trunk of her car just as Cy pulled into the garage.

“What the hell are you doing?” Cy was as close to hysterical as she had ever seen him. “We can talk about this, Thyme. We’ve been together too long. Give me a chance.”

Thyme slammed her trunk. “You know, Cyrus, I loved your white ass up until this happened. But you’ve got to remember something.” She fought back the tears and exhaled. “When you lied about the bonus you got, I forgave you. When I found out you lied about the Mexican operations, I still forgave you. But you must know, my white brother, I cannot forgive another bitch, especially a bitch with two kids of your blood confronting me in my own home.”

Cy fell down on his knees with tears streaming like water out of his eyes, begging Thyme to give him another chance, but she wasn’t moved by his actions. For the first time she could see Cy for the low-down cheating dog he truly was. The only hurt she felt was for the time and dedication she’d wasted. And now she didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him.

“Thyme—”

“No.” Tears formed in her eyes and she willed them back. “Sydney was right when she told you that you should have married a white woman. Maybe she would have accepted her man having a mistress and children and kids outside the home. But not me, Cy. Not me.”

“Baby,” Cy pleaded, getting up off his knees, trying to touch her.

Thyme pulled away. “You know what? Sydney did me a favor. I’m tired of looking at white folks and feeling inferior. I’m tired of feeling that I’m not good-looking enough, not skilled enough. I’ve had to put up with your lies, your cheating. Hell, Cy, you’re not good enough for me.”

“Thyme?”

“No, it’s time that you knew how I felt all these years. I’m sick of the racism. I’m sick of black people talking about me behind my back. And I’m fed up with white people talking about me behind my back.”

“It’s not like that. . . .” Cy reached out to touch her and Thyme pulled back again.

“And I’m tired of trying to prove myself good enough for folks like Sydney to accept me, when I’m ninety-nine percent better than them anyway.”

“You don’t have to go, baby. Let me take your bags back inside. We can talk about this in the morning.”

“Oh no.
Hell
no. If there’s one thing we can’t talk about, it’s my black skin. Sure you love to feel it. You love to fuck it. But when it came time to respect and honor it, you turned your back.”

Cy couldn’t speak.

“Now I see that I’ve been acting white for over twenty years when my skin is as black as tar. I’m proud of who I am, Cy. And I’m ashamed that it took this fucking long for me to see it.”

Cy was speechless.

“You’ve only seen me cry that one time, and you won’t see me cry again.” Her smile felt so fine to her now. It was like she held a special secret. “Did you know that fish are the only backboned animals with two-chambered hearts?”

Still he was silent, his moist eyes pleading forgiveness.

“One day you’ll understand.” Thyme got in her car and backed out of the garage. Then and only then did she let the tears fall. It would be the last time she’d cry over Cy. When she stopped at the gate, she pressed the code and watched the bar lift. And she knew then that she would never live behind closed gates again.

Two hours later, Thyme parked outside Khan’s condo. She’d heard that her friend had been hurt in the rioting, but she also knew Khan would not welcome a visit from her. Now, though, she felt it was time to try to bridge the gap between them.

When she knocked at the door, Khan opened it, her face showing surprise. Her left shoulder was fitted with a cumbersome cast, and there was a bruised welt the size of an apple on her forehead. She held a copy of
Solidarity News
, a colorful thirty-page periodical, in her right hand.

“Can we please talk for a few minutes?” Thyme tried again. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Thyme thought maybe part of Khan’s surprise had to do with Thyme’s ghetto look.

“Sure. Have a seat.”

Thyme didn’t know where to start. There was so much to say, so many things that needed explaining. Finally she started by reiterating that she’d had no idea about Troy Trim being closed. She explained that she knew, like Ron had suspected, that jobs were being moved to Mexico, but not the full extent of Champion’s plan. “Believe me or not, it’s the truth. I didn’t want to believe that Cy had been lying to me all along. Now I have no choice but to face facts.” Then Thyme admitted that she should have known and that it was stupid of her not to follow up and check with her sources about Mexico. Instead, she’d put her energies into trying to get new business at the plant. Now she knew why she couldn’t get any new business: Champion hadn’t wanted her to develop new business. “Please understand. If I had known, I would have tried to do something—anything.”

Khan looked at Thyme flatly and said, “Okay, but that doesn’t solve our problems completely. What about the layoffs? The violence? For God’s sake, Thyme, someone was killed because of all the tension and stress at the plant!”

“I know, I know. I wish more than anyone that I could have done more about the overtime issue. But please, Khan, I am only one person and the problems at Troy Trim were caused by many people. Not just me. You’ve got to understand that.”

Khan nodded her head slowly.

Thyme was as still as a glass cat. Even her forced smile froze on her face. “The real reason I stopped by is more personal, Khan. I’ve found out that Cy has a mistress and two children in Mexico. In fact, Sydney brought the Mexican woman into my house with her two kids.”

Khan slammed her magazine on her lap. “What? You’ve got to be joking! I’ll be damned. I knew it. I was willing to bet that if that ol’ boy wasn’t servicing you regularly, he had to be taking care of somebody else.” Sensing that she was out of line, Khan softened her words. “I’m sorry, Thyme. I know you must be hurting now. What are you planning to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I’m still dealing with the fact that I’ve been living a lie.”

“Hmm.”

“I was saying that Cy lied to me—”

“So what, Thyme? So what? You’re not the first woman this has happened to and you certainly won’t be the last. You would have known to expect shit like this if you had any common sense. I know that sounds harsh, but I think the sooner you get to the baseline truth the better off you’ll be. Cy was not the man you thought you married. Your best friend should be your husband, and he turned his back on you. Now you’ve got to go to yourself. You’ve got a healthy bankbook and a lot of
you.
”

“Still and all, Khan, I’m trying to persevere. I’ve sent out résumés hoping I’ll get hired somewhere. Anywhere but Champion Motors.”

“But honey child, I read in the papers about your lawsuit. You were already rich. Now you’re richer, bitch. It appears the last thing you need right now is a job. A friend would be more beneficial. You should try and find a friend like yourself, Thyme. Somebody who thinks white. Maybe they’ll sympathize with you. I don’t have much sympathy left for people like you. I’m struggling just to make ends meet. You have no idea what that’s like. But what’s sad is that you are still struggling with which side to take, white or black, new collar or blue collar. Until you make a decision where your loyalty lies, you won’t know what you are really about.”

“I know I’m black, Khan. I have always known what color I am. I just gave my love to a dog and he hurt me. You’ve helped me to see that clearer than anyone.”

“No, I think you’re confused. Real black people don’t act like you do. They stick together. Especially during tough times. When Valentino was accused of murder, you could have shown your support to his wife and family. You didn’t even call Ron, did you?” She threw her hands in the air and brought them back down, then slapped her thighs in frustration. “All you did was show up at the festivities—make a grand appearance.”

“You’re right,” Thyme said in a low voice. “Lately my life has been about as organized as goat shit.”

“Black folks like you have Grey Poupon holders in the backseat of their car”—Khan cut her a snide smile—“and live up in the Bloomies with those white folks, behind big gates to keep out the undesirables. If you weren’t married to that white man they wouldn’t have never let your black ass get up in there. Sure, it’s a gorgeous house. Remember how I couldn’t get over how pretty the birds sounded the first time I went to your house? I hadn’t heard a bird sing like that since I left Mama Pearl’s house.”

Thyme couldn’t help but smile.

“Still, I like how the birds sound where I live—the pigeons and crows.”

Thyme couldn’t come back with a decent rebuttal. Momentarily, there seemed to be a slight chill in the room. Thyme hugged herself and still said nothing. It seemed like an eternity until she finally spoke. “I can’t offer any more excuses. I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I only know that you are a true friend.” Thyme leaned over and kissed Khan’s cheek, holding her close. “I love you, Khan.”

We say things with our mouths when our hearts feel something different. Thyme could still feel Khan’s loving arms around her long after the door had closed behind her.

__________

Nothing was the same for Khan after the riot. She’d been hospitalized for almost a week, during which time her uncle told her that after the second round of negotiations, the union members finally agreed to go back to work. Khan’s shoulder had healed, and the bump on her forehead from the horse kicking her was barely visible now. But with the union gaining so little ground, the wound penetrated into her heart, the source of her courage.

One fight the union had managed to win was for the mounted police to be outlawed during union strikes. Eighty-three people had been injured in the scab fight. Five people had been hospitalized, primarily suffering from injuries caused by the policemen’s horses.

She missed Thyme. Where had she gone? No one knew. Cy wouldn’t return any calls and had not been seen since Thyme had left.

Thyme seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Maybe Khan had been too hard on her. After all, they’d been friends for years. Khan felt she was to blame. No one had been as hurtful to her as she had.

The silver lining surrounding the strike nightmare was how much closer she and Buddy had become. They were now inseparable.

Ordinarily, Sunday was the day Khan rested. In spite of her promise to Mama Pearl, she had never attended church. One night after they’d left the movies, Khan asked Buddy his thoughts about going to church.

“I don’t go every Sunday. But I try to make it at least twice a month. On those Sundays I don’t attend I send in an offering.”

“Maybe I’d feel less guilty if I did that,” Khan muttered. “Working five and six days a week, I use Sunday as a day to rest.”

“Wait, let me rephrase that. What church does for people is this: It teaches people to learn more about the spirit of God that’s inside all of us. The church teaches us to become better husbands, wives, and children. We’ll work and get along better with other people, be more straight-up businesspeople, interested more in people than in profits. But I don’t think this requires going to church
every
Sunday.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Khan said. She was in awe of this man’s maturity. How had he achieved such wisdom at such a young age?

The following weekend, Buddy asked her out for a “special time,” as he put it. “It won’t be a traditional date.” Buddy hesitated. “Anyway, it’s special to me, Khan. I hope you can understand.”

Khan was certainly surprised when they pulled into William Beaumont Hospital. With little conversation or preamble, Buddy took her hand and led Khan to the third floor, where his aunt Viola was recovering from surgery.

“Aunt Viola,” Buddy said. “Do you remember Khan?”

Aunt Viola looked up at Khan through rheumy eyes. Khan could see that the medication may have taken away the old woman’s immediate pain but not all of her suffering.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Aunt Viola, your nephew has told me so many wonderful things about you. You mean so much to him,” Khan said, barely able to contain her emotion.

“He was a good boy, and now a good man.”

“Yes, he is,” Khan said, looking at Buddy with pride.

“He knows how to treat his people. I think he’s a godsend.”

After they left the hospital, Khan couldn’t help thinking about Mama Pearl. She vowed to send her a plane ticket as soon as she was able.

The weekend was a blur. Buddy ran back and forth to the hospital, and they snatched moments to be together. By Sunday night they found time to talk. They discussed his aunt’s declining health and talked about their childhoods and how it felt growing up without the benefit of parents. There was no self-pity, just gratefulness that another person came along to love them just as much. Khan couldn’t remember having such a personal conversation with R.C. Buddy was filling more and more of her heart. He wasn’t pushy. Their relationship wasn’t sexual. They hadn’t even exchanged more than a kiss. But what a kiss.

And Buddy seemed to understand how important her job was. Because R.C. was so wealthy, he had always considered Khan’s job a joke. Buddy, struggling to make his family business work, knew better. He also seemed to understand that for Khan, her job wasn’t just about money, and he implicitly respected her need for independence. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t love a man who supported her independence? The simplicity of that fact was completely seductive. And her emotions grew.