Hero (4 page)

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 Nurses 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 hands, 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.

Tonya turned and walked back to her car.

Chapter Eight

Natsinet had stood by the living room window, watching through the curtains as Tonya got into her car and drove away.

She surveyed the neighborhood below her quickly, frowning as she did so. What a hellhole. To have accomplished so much in life—setting aside this woman’s criminal past—and to live in such squalor! Natsinet did not understand why somebody of Adelle’s supposed stature would want to live here. It was people like her that made the whole so-called Civil Rights thing a farce. They complained about being mistreated a hundred and forty years after slavery ended, whined about not getting the jobs they felt they deserved, yet they remained in these crime-infested hovels and preyed on each other. If Adelle Smith had really spent so much time helping inner-city youth, not to mention inspiring other Black people to do the same, why was there still so much rampant crime in the older sections of major cities like Philadelphia? Why didn’t these people get off their asses and do something with their lives instead of whining and complaining about not being treated fairly?

Thinking about it, knowing she had to spend the next five days caring for this old, worthless woman was not a good thing.

It was infuriating. These were the same people she’d had to deal with everyday in the ER. They were the same people who’d…

Natsinet stormed away from the windows and paced the living room. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the sofa and easy chair, the TV, the end table with framed photographs and what looked like a trophy. Natsinet picked up the trophy and read the inscription.
For significant contributions toward the Civil Rights Movement.
 The NAACP award.

A police siren warbled from outside, soon joined by another. Probably another homicide. So many goddamn animals in the inner-city, they were like rats crammed in a cage. And when too many rats were in a cage together, they fought and eliminated the weaker. Survival of the fittest.

Good riddance
, Natsinet thought as she headed to the master bedroom.

*      *      *

Adelle had been coming to a slow sense of wakefulness the past few minutes and now she opened her eyes. She knew she was in her bedroom, knew Tonya wasn’t here. The last thing Adelle remembered was her conversation with Tonya at the hospital when her daughter told her that she would try to hang around the apartment until she woke up, that she would try to drop in later in the week.

“They’ve got me at these board meetings every day this week and Gerald is teaching class in the evenings,” she’d told her. “I’ll try to bring Tess over some night, but I know the earliest I can get away will probably be Friday.”

Today was, what? Monday? Adelle and Tonya had had that conversation this morning, a nurse had given her something to help her sleep, and the next thing she remembered was Tonya telling her that she would follow the ambulance on the ride to the apartment.

And now she was home.

Somebody was here though, and Adelle tried turning her head to see who it was. Her left side felt completely numb, and it took considerable strain to lift her right arm into a more comfortable position across her abdomen. She was able to shift her head slightly on the pillow and for a minute her vision swam as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the room. A light-skinned Black woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform entered the room and approached her bedside. The home care nurse.

The nurse wouldn’t look at her as she checked her pulse and heartbeat and made notations in a chart. “You had a nice nap?” the nurse asked. “How do you feel?”

Adelle struggled to speak. “…’kay…”

The nurse continued writing in her chart. “Good. I’ll be preparing your dinner in about an hour. Chicken Soup.”

“Pay….per…” Adelle managed to say. The nurse looked at her and Adelle motioned to a notepad and a pen lying on the bureau. “Pen.”

The nurse retrieved the pen and paper and set them on Adelle’s stomach. Adelle gripped the pen and began to write. “I’m sorry my speech is limited. What’s your name?”

“My name is Natsinet Zenawi,” the nurse said.

Adelle smiled. Or tried to, at least. “What a beautiful name,” she wrote. “Let me guess…Ethiopian?”

There was the faintest hint of a frown on the nurse’s face. “No. I am Eritrean. Two separate countries.”

Now it was Adelle’s turn to frown. She wrote again. “I’m sorry. My mistake. So much tragedy has occurred in that country…so many changes—”

“Actually, it doesn’t matter to me where I come from,” the nurse said, overriding Adelle’s train of thought. “I’m here to care for you for the next five days. Is there anything you need?”

Adelle thought about it, trying not to let her dismay show. This woman had a curt edge to her she found disconcerting. She flipped a page up to a new sheet, then wrote, “When does my physical therapy start?”

There was no mistaking that frown now. “Uh uh,” Natsinet said, shaking her head. Her irritation turned swiftly to anger that seemed to come from nowhere. “No, I’m not doing that. It’s not what I signed up for.”

Adelle gave a startled gasp. The doctors and nurses at the hospital told her she would have in-home nursing and physical rehabilitation. Tonya had brought in a combined nurse and physical therapist from Hospice Nursing in Philadelphia—the best in the state. She didn’t understand. “I thought —” She started writing.

“You thought nothing,” Natsinet said, and there was no mistaking the venom in that voice now. “If you’d had an original thought in your wrinkled head, you would have moved out of this hell-hole years ago. I am
not
 providing you with physical therapy. Fuck that and fuck you!”

Adelle gasped again. She couldn’t believe this woman had cursed her. Quickly gaining her composure, she scribbled on the paper. “Fine. Please bring me the phone. I need to make a phone call.”

“And report me? Fuck you again.” And with that Natsinet leaned over the bed, grabbed Adelle beneath her armpits and hauled her out of bed. Adelle gave a mangled yell; her right arm flopped uselessly as she tried to maneuver it to strike at the younger woman, but she was too weak.

“You want physical therapy?” And before she knew it, Natsinet dragged her out of the bed and threw her to the floor. She hit the hardwood floor hard, coming down on her right forearm, hip, and shoulder. A flare of agony stabbed into her right side, and as she tried to struggle into a position to hoist herself up she flopped over on her stomach in a truly helpless position.
Help me,
 she thought, not even aware of the pain that wracked her right side and her wrist.

“There you go.” Natsinet said above her. “Now climb back into bed yourself! How’s that for physical therapy?”

Adelle was certain she blacked out at that point. Her next memory was lying in bed—how she got there she had no recollection of, but Natsinet had obviously gotten her back in somehow. The nurse was standing beside her, a smirk on her face.

Please
, Adelle thought.

Natsinet leaned over her. “You are
not
 going to spread false rumors about me…correct?”

Adelle could only look at the nurse, her eyes growing wide with terror. There was no sense of compassion in the younger woman’s face. No sense that she’d done anything wrong.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

Trembling, Adelle moved her head slightly. A nod. Yes.

“Good. Nobody will believe you anyway. The medication you are on has a possible side effect of hallucinations.”

For the first time Adelle realized her pad of paper and pen were gone. Tears of frustration and rage welled from her eyes. She felt trapped in this body that was now broken and useless. Her right side and wrist ached with a dull throb.

“You are going to lie here and do nothing,” Natsinet continued. “You will eat when I feed you, urinate and shit when I take you to the bathroom, and sleep when I tell you to. And that’s about all you are going to get from me. If I can find a way to avoid touching you at all I will. Furthermore, when my five days are up you will say nothing to nobody. Remember, you will be so doped up that nobody will believe you. And I’m only off for two days so I’ll be back and I’ll know if you’ve been talking.”

They’ll believe me alright you hateful woman!
 Adelle thought.

“Remember…you’re under my care now.” Natsinet’s face was pure evil. “You can complain all you want, but this time complaining and bitching won’t do shit for you.”

What the hell is she trying to say
? Adelle thought.

Natsinet continued her rant, as if she knew what Adelle was thinking. “Oh yes, I know all about you. Big Civil Rights leader. Bitch and complain about how the White man is holding you down, the White man won’t let you po’ Black folks get ahead!” Natsinet’s voice adopted a mocking ghetto-speak. “Well guess what, sister? That’s your damn fault! You had all the chances in the world and here you are still stuck in the ghetto with the animals. And they’re still animals. Out there killing each other every night. Rutting like pigs and creating more little bastards for the welfare system. This is what your little Civil Rights movement left behind. You took away all of their excuses and they still haven’t done shit with their lives. All people like you ever did was cry and moan and complain about equality and yet you never assimilated into society. You still live and act like savages. And don’t tell me about how you haven’t had the same opportunities or how the legacy of slavery destroyed the Black man’s sense of identity and self-worth or destroyed the Black family structure. You fools did this to yourselves! You stayed in these slums and fed off your own people. Your men killed each other, sold their women. Black men didn’t protect their women during slavery. They let the White man rape and abuse them. They didn’t protect their children, and they don’t now. They—”

Adelle was so angry at the nurse’s rant that she lashed out. Her right arm flew out and she grasped Natsinet’s left wrist. If she’d had the ability for speech she would have let loose with a hearty, “Fuckin’ bitch, I’m gonna kick your ass!” What came out instead was a muffled “Fffff—”

Natsinet jerked her wrist away. “What the fuck? You think you can hit me?” And then before she knew what was happening Natsinet punched her in the face with her bony fist, driving her head down into the pillows.

If it hadn’t been for the stroke Adelle was sure she would have felt greater pain from the blow, but she didn’t. She was more surprised by the ferocity of the blow, by the fact she’d been punched in the face by her home care nurse at all. Barely aware of the thin trickle of blood leaking from her nose, Adelle glared at Natsinet, who loomed over her, fists clenched. “I oughta beat the fuck out of you, old bitch!”

Adelle glared at her defiantly.
Go on. Hit an old disabled woman. I dare you!

Something in Natsinet’s features changed. Her look of fierce anger once again changed to cunning evil. She grinned. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking you’re gonna wait out the five days I’m here with you and then you’re gonna complain to somebody and I’ll be dealt with. That ain’t gonna happen. I’m not gonna give you that chance even if I have to keep you drugged out of your mind the entire time.”

She leaned closer to Adelle. She reminded Adelle of a deadly snake about to devour its prey. “I’m the only person you’re going to see until the other nurse comes to relieve me in five days. You are entirely dependent on me now, to eat, to go to the bathroom, to get your medications, to wash your stinking Black ass. Your life depends on me. You piss me off and by tomorrow you’re gonna wish I was dead. By the end of the week, you’re gonna wish
you
 were dead.”

Oh my goodness, she’s going to torture me!
 Adelle thought. She couldn’t help herself. Pure panic flooded her system. She felt her bladder give way. She was too terrified to even be embarrassed.

Adelle noticed the growing stain of urine on the bedsheets. Her upper lip turned up in a snarl of disgust.

“You’re just going to have to lie in it. I’ll be damned if I’m changing those sheets. You people are like a bunch of animals!”

You people? Obviously the woman has not looked in the mirror lately,
 Adelle thought.

Despite her “high yella” complexion and her green eyes, her lips and nose were unmistakably Black as was her thick wooly hair. The woman had some serious self-hatred going on and she was going to take it all out on Adelle.

Why is she doing this to me?

Adelle remembered something she’d heard one of the Pastors at her church say before one of the many marches she’d attended in her youth.

“Everyone is the hero of their own story. No one is just evil. Even the most hateful, most racist redneck in the South believes in his heart that he is doing what is right. You have to find out why he believes that way before you can change his mind.”

Back then Adelle had no desire to understand racist rednecks. She hadn’t believed in desegregation. She tended to side with the Black Nationalists of the era who believed the White man to be a devil whose sole purpose was to oppress and ultimately destroy the Black race. She was wiser now. Now she knew that old preacher had been right. Everyone thinks their opinion is the right one. Their actions justified. But for the life of her she could not figure out what justification this woman could possibly have for striking an old paralyzed woman. It made no sense to her. Her mind kept going back to the simple solution:
she’s just evil.
 But that thinking left nothing to appeal to. It left no hope at all. If Natsinet was just evil or crazy, then Adelle was a dead woman.

Maybe her Black daddy walked out on her when she was a child or her mother left him for someone her own color? Maybe her mother was Black and her daddy was some rich White guy out for a one night stand who won’t have anything to do with his illegitimate Black baby? Whatever her issues, it doesn’t excuse her behavior. She’s going to pay for this.

Then Adelle had another thought that halted her breath and chilled the blood in her veins:
Unless she kills me before I can tell anyone. Who would know if she made it look like an accident or natural causes?