The Other Side Of the Game (13 page)

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Authors: Anita Doreen Diggs

BOOK: The Other Side Of the Game
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I sank deeper and deeper into depression and I couldn't seem to shake it. To make matters worse, Randy's sister kept calling, threatening to kill me.
Saundra said I was a fool for not calling the police but my guilt prevented me from lifting so much as a finger in my own defense. As if I wasn't suffering enough already, Velma sent me a copy of his love letter to me. It was dated the morning he died.
I thought about how pleased he was with his little family on Thanksgiving and how proud his mother's eyes looked whenever her son uttered but a mere sound at the dinner table. Now, because of me, there would be no more cherished moments like those; and the images of an empty seat at their old wooden table made my heart heavy and my eyes water.
When I returned to work, I was flooded with condolence cards, flowers, stale chocolates and lunch invitations, but it was Saundra who snapped me out of my doldrums.
I invited her over for dinner and bought some appetizers from her favorite restaurant to go along with the meal.
She arrived at my house about six-thirty and when she saw the trademark transparent bag from Zen Palate on the kitchen table, she gave me the warmest hug she could muster. Saundra is truly an amazing person; she appreciates the littlest things people do for her as if they were so much more.
“Are you feeling better at all, Asha?” she asked as she flopped down on the couch with a spring roll.
“A little, I guess; every day it gets a lot easier. I would be even better if Velma would stop bugging me,” I said, chopping onions in the kitchen.
“You shouldn't have spent so much time alone.”
“Nick wanted to fly in but I just wasn't in the mood to entertain someone. Besides, Velma still calls from time to time. Nick would have wanted to know what all the ruckus is about.”
“I don't understand why you're doing this to yourself. You should call the police and have them put a stop to this nonsense before it goes too far.”
“Velma is not really going to hurt me. She's just trying to make me feel bad and she's doing a damn good job of it.”
“You should stop beating yourself up over this now. True, you have made some horrible mistakes, but maybe he just had a bad heart and didn't know it.”
“He would be alive if he hadn't met me,” I said, tossing the onions into the hot skillet.
“I don't believe that, per se. Only God knows why He called Nick home.”
Maybe Saundra's visit was just what the doctor ordered.
“Thanks, Saundra, I really needed to hear that,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“It's true. Now will you try to cheer up?” she asked with her mouth half full.
And just like that, I was all better. Randy was a thing of the past. However, I kept my sad expression in place so Saundra wouldn't call me callous again. “I'll try.”
“That's all I ask,” she said, putting her plate in the sink.
 
For the next couple of hours we had a ball watching Saundra's favorite kung-fu movies with terrible voice-overs and no plots. I hadn't watched them since I was a child and it bought back many wonderful memories of Mama, who'd enjoyed them, too.
Afterwards we played “dress up” like little girls and fell out on each other as we exchanged clothes.
At about eleven o'clock we decided to wind things down and played some of Mom's favorite music from the seventies. Curtis Mayfield chilled things out perfectly with his silky voice and soft pulse. It had been a long time since I had a fun Saturday.
“I'm so happy you came over Saundra; you've really cheered me up,” I said, folding out the couch bed.
“I'm glad to hear that, after you avoided me like the plague,” she said, laughing.
“I'm sorry about that, but I just had so much on my mind and I really needed to be alone and sort some things out,” I explained.
“I understand that but the least you could've done is told me that, not just drop off the face of the earth,” she said, looking at me seriously.
“Sorry about that,” I said again.
“Oh, well, it's over and done with. Can I use your phone?” she asked, walking towards my little white cell.
I began to laugh out loud and she looked at me as if I was crazy.
“And what is so funny?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.
“You gotta check up, huh?” I said with the grin still spread across my face.
She laughed and waved her hand at me. “How do you know I'm going to call Yero?”
“Yero? I didn't say nothin' about no Yero; I meant your father.”
“I'm not paying you any mind,” she said, turning her back to dial.
I got up and went to the bathroom and noticed Saundra's duffle bag was filled with huge sanitary napkins, the size of pillows. I laughed and grabbed one up and marched back out with it swaying freely in my hand. With a smirk on my face I walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. Her head was tilted as she listened to the person on the other end and she scrunched up her nose at my intrusion. I held up the oversize maxi and we both exploded with laughter. After apologizing and cooing “I love you” to Yero she hit me playfully on the arm and hung up.
“Why did you do that?” She smiled.
“No, the question is, why do you have these big-ass pads?” I snickered, going to the bathroom to return it.
“The bigger they are, the better protection I have and I don't care if they look ugly.”
“No wonder you always look like you're spawning a dick every month”.
“Shut up!” She giggled.
“Are you okay? You don't have any cramps do you? Cause I have some really good pills to help,” I shouted from behind the door.
“I don't have menstrual cramps most of the time and when I do, I drink herbal tea and I'm fine.”
I rolled my eyes at her response because I get cramps that sometimes make it hard to walk. At that moment the most horrific thought entered my mind and I came rushing out into the room.
“What's the matter, Asha?” she said, coming to me.
The room began to spin and she helped me sit down on the edge of the bed.
“Come on, girl, speak to me!” she said, shaking me lightly on both shoulders.
“I . . . I . . . don't remember getting my . . .” I said, feeling my stomach tensing up.
Saundra's face was frozen and her thin eyebrows hung high in the air.
“What? Wait a minute. You're not saying what I think you're gonna say,” she said, getting up, walking towards the window with her hand plastered to her forehead.
“I haven't gotten my period since November,” I said, choking back the tears.
“Nah, this can't be happening. Was it before or after you were intimate with Nick?”
“After,” I whispered in despair at the thought of being pregnant with Randy's baby.
“Oh, my God, Asha, you don't think . . . I mean, were you with anyone else besides Randy after Nick?” she asked with hope.
“No.” I sighed and lay down on the bed in fetal position.
“Oh, man, this is way too much,” she said, pacing across the floor with her head in her hands.
I listened to the creaking sound her feet made across the wooden floor and her heavy sighs, and I wanted to scream. I felt as if I was trapped in the
Twilight Zone
and there was nowhere to run. How could I possibly be pregnant when Randy and I always used a condom? The odds of that happening were a million to one and I had the unwelcome honor of becoming that one percent statistic. I wished that I wasn't allergic to birth control pills because I would've taken them by the handful. I jumped up from the bed like lightning and ran into the kitchen.
“Don't do anything stupid!” Saundra yelled behind me.
I picked up the fifth of rum and poured myself a teacup full and downed my shot like I was in a Western.
“Shit!” I screamed as loud as I could and slammed down the cup.
Chapter 27
SAUNDRA
T
oday Asha is supposed to go see a doctor during her lunch hour. I can't imagine what it must feel like to be pregnant with a deceased lover's baby, or even worse, for that child to grow up knowing its father had a heart attack because its mother was a bitch.
I still can't believe Randy died and I regret not staying on the phone a couple of more hours when he had called me, but I guess there is nothing I could have done to ease his pain. If that's not distressing enough, his sister is making Asha's life a living hell. Although I know things happen for a reason and there are no “accidents,” I still wish that I could make things easier for Asha.
In a way I feel kind of bad that I kept calling her a “karma time bomb” because that's exactly what she turned out to be and, boy, did it explode. I think it's a shame when pregnancies are unplanned because I believe it has negative effects on the mother. No matter how much love is between them, the mother will always subconsciously know she didn't mean for it to happen.
I also don't understand why a woman would sleep with a man if he's not fit enough to father a child because every time you have sex pregnancy is a possibility, regardless of contraceptive devices.
Another one headed for bad karma is my dear father, Phillip. I have reasons to suspect that he is being unfaithful to Evelyn. He's been coming home late from work, chuckles all night on the phone like an adolescent and shops a lot more.
What is especially strange is that of all the bags he brings home, I never see the contents of any of them. It seems like after he buys whatever it is, it just disappears without a trace. Although I'm dying of curiosity, I wouldn't dare invade his privacy. Sometimes I think I'm just
too
good.
Yero doesn't think he's cheating on Evelyn but he did say my father might be purchasing some kinky sex toys. I laughed with repulsion at the notion and rejected it immediately. My father is a cop for crying out loud. He
busts
perverts like that.
Yero smiled in that “you never know” way and I turned my back on him.
It feels
sooo
good to finally be on vacation after last month's hectic schedule. The month's Black Heroes celebration at the community center was a disaster. Someone had broken into the center the night before and stolen everything in sight, including the children's artwork.
The children were disappointed because they had worked so hard to raise money for the celebration by selling raffle tickets and candy. Everyone's heart sank when we saw the cold empty space that once housed beautiful decorations and a warm cedarwood kinara. As the howling children were comforted by the counselors, I wondered who could be so low as to steal from the kids.
Yero and I had planned a wonderful program filled with arts and crafts, plays, folk tales and a fashion show. Yero decided that we shouldn't let the situation ruin our holiday so he decided to have everybody over at his house. There was no point in staying at the community center because it would've been too depressing for the children and counselors alike. Since we called his mother at the last minute, we didn't have all of the trimmings but it turned out to be a joyous celebration just the same. We told the children that their heroes are in their hearts and maybe that was a better lesson for them to learn anyhow.
When I saw Yero with all of those children, doing face painting, I couldn't help but smile. I remembered his behavior when he heard that Khari was going to make him an uncle and knew he had just lashed out in fear. He loved kids and would be a great father to our many many children.
He never talks about Khari and Joanne's situation anymore.
Joanne comes from a strict Haitian family which threw her out when she got pregnant. Not only do they not like Khari because he's American, they won't accept a sexually active unmarried daughter.
Her parents told her they want nothing to do with her even though she isn't expecting anymore. They had high hopes for her to be a lawyer, marry a Haitian man from a good family and live happily ever after. She said that the only way matters could be worse is if Khari was Jamaican.
While Yero told me all of this, I shook my head repeatedly with disgust and disbelief. What the hell difference does it make where we're from when we have other battles to confront? I remember the girls in high school fighting over the same “Island Wars” and it seemed stupid then and it still is. My father always taught me that we are all black people who may have come on different ships but are still in the same boat. I wish all black people could wake up and see that.
Right now the primary focus should be on Joanne's mental health not nationality.
I swear I will never understand parents like Jo's; how can you kick your child out like that? I could see if she was on drugs, stealing, or something like that, but I can't picture putting your pregnant daughter out. They don't even know what kind of environment she's going to be in and they never saw Khari's mother a day in their lives. Luckily for her, Denise treats her son's girlfriends like family or Jo would really be knee deep.
Sometimes other people's problems can be exhausting to listen to.
Sitting in front of my bedroom window I watched the sun descend into the horizon, causing an array of colors to blend across the fading blue palette that was day. The bright fuchsia-colored clouds quickly swept towards the west, pushed hastily by the brisk January air. During a brief moment of drifting between thoughts, I remembered what I realized on the train to school this morning.
A homeless man came into the first car carrying a cardboard sign expressing his misfortune, a soiled old coffee cup and an unbearable stench. I just happened to be looking around at the people's reaction to him and they were all different. Some turned their heads in the other direction, some closed their eyes and pretended not to see him, some got angry that he was there, some looked at other people for someone else to share their disgust and some threw a few coins in his cup; but
none
of them actually looked the man in the eyes. The reason why I found this so interesting is because the way the people responded to the homeless man is the same way most people respond to the truth.
They just don't want to see it.

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