I Left My Back Door Open (12 page)

“We were happier with sugar water than they are with gourmet ice cream,” Sharon declared.

“Let's face it,” I said. “We're baby boomers. We had an authentic childhood. Today childhood has all but disappeared.”

“You're right,” Sharon agreed. Then her face grew troubled. “I'm afraid that Tyeesha is going to do something stupid to get back at me. I don't want her to drop a bundle on me. I swear to God I don't.”

“I'll talk to T again.” I sighed. “See if I can reach her.”

“I'm glad your godmother duties are kicking in. I don't want to have to go for what I know. I don't want to have to whup her ass at fifteen.”

“Now, now, you were never big on corporal punishment.”

“Yeah, I spared the rod for the most part. I did the time-outs and I talked and talked and talked. But I feel like I'm losing her. And I don't know what else to do.”

“You've got to communicate,” I said automatically. But I knew it was easy to say and hard to do.

“They don't feel they have to answer to anybody. The nurse can't give them a Midol at school, but they can get an abortion without your knowing it. Everybody is telling these kids that they're grown,” Sharon ranted. “The music industry, the schools, the courts, their friends. They're dealing with shit we didn't have to deal with. T knows girls who have two babies, who've had abortions, kids who are teenage alcoholics and drug addicts. We're not just talking about a little bit of weed. I'm talking about crack, cocaine and heroin. Kids of all races, too, here and on the West Coast. But you spank a child today and they wanna put you in jail. On the other hand, if you're beatin' the hell out of your kid, they keep giving him back to you till you kill him.”

“You have to pray, to make it today,” I said quietly.

“I can't deal with just wanting her to make it. I used to have dreams for this girl.” Sharon sniffled.

“Don't you still have dreams for her?”

“Yeah, but they used to be bigger. When I looked at her the day she was born, I didn't think, ‘I just don't want her to fuck up, that's all.' No, when I looked in my baby girl's eyes I saw an Olympic gold medalist or a Supreme Court judge or even the first black female president of the United States.”

“Damn,” I said. “Remember, we had our fun. Don't forget that.”

“Yeah, but we were older, we didn't really cut loose until we were outta high school. Now, they're doing everything we did and then some at a much younger age.”

“Yeah, but these are different times,” I pointed out. “Young people could still go to house parties in the seventies and not have to be worried about being sprayed with bullets,” I added nostalgically.

“That's true, they were more innocent times,” Sharon agreed. “We just wanted to do a little dance, make a little love and get down tonight.”

“Yeah, but we were grown. So what if we drank beer and wine and smoked a little weed? You and I pretty much stayed away from the hard stuff. We had a few one-night stands. We made our mistakes. But we didn't have to pay for them with our lives. That's the difference.”

“That's a big difference.” Sharon sighed. “If I'd known those really were the good times, I would've enjoyed them more.”

nine

Jade was in mediation with Bill, and she said it was going okay. I didn't pump her for information about Skylar. I still hadn't seen or heard from him, and it had been over two weeks since he'd asked for my card. Jade would've mentioned it if Skylar's fingers were broken and he couldn't dial a phone. Anyway, I was fantasizing about him less and less. I had a life.

Right now, my mind was on belly dance. I was surprised to learn that so many belly dance movements originated in the spine. When we made snake arms, Jade instructed us to pretend that we had a beach ball underneath each arm. But our arm movements as well as our hip and shoulder movements originated from the base of the spine. I found this fascinating, especially since when most people thought of belly dancing they focused on an exposed belly. In fact, the spine is the backbone of belly.

Jade says you can make the same movements in a temple as in a strip joint. And the former can be spiritual and the latter can be sleazy. It's not the building that is the determining factor, but one's intentions. A dancer's intentions are the very essence of her expression. The belly dancer is an opener of doors. She can take you inside your own soul, or she can wallow with you in the gutter. It's not what's in her movements that make the difference, but what's in her intentions and your own. When Jade used the word “intentions,” it reminded me of my mediation conversation with Skylar. But after a few seconds, I was able to concentrate on the belly dance class again.

“Do you realize how tenuous all this is?” Jade asked over Chai tea at a coffeehouse after class.

“What?” I asked.

“Everything. I have to act within bounds. It's like a ball in a game that's not supposed to go out of bounds. That's the way my marriage is. I'm required to hit the ball within the bounds.”

“I'm glad that you don't feel like you
are
the ball. That would be a lot worse,” I said, between sips of tea.

Jade paused thoughtfully. “I know what would drive Yoshi away.”

“What?”

“Just being myself for starters. But I was groomed not to be myself.”

“How so?”

“I watched my mother as a little girl,” Jade said, licking the back of her spoon. “And it was clear to me that she had to choose between being a wife and mother and being herself.” Jade's dark eyes narrowed. “Being loved and being herself. Being loved and loving herself.” She took a big swallow of tea.

“I want to love a man and be loved by a man and also love myself. That's what I want,” I said, inhaling the steam from my tea.

“If I really expressed myself, everything would go, just like that,” Jade predicted.

“Not if you have a good lawyer.”

“I mean the marriage would go,” Jade answered solemnly. “I visited a psychic once and she told me that I was really a man.”

I was confused, as Jade was quite feminine in appearance. “I hope you didn't pay her.”

“That's one of the reasons I went into belly dance.”

“Because you were a man?” I asked skeptically. “Your flier says belly dance is the ultimate in feminine fitness.”

“The psychic said that I was a man in my most recent past life,” Jade explained. “And I was having difficulty in adjusting to being a woman in this life, because the transition had just been too abrupt. I died suddenly.”

“Oh. I'm having a little trouble following you, because I don't think I believe in reincarnation,” I confessed.

“The psychic said I was a great leader,” Jade said, dreamily.

“Wasn't anyone just a peasant in their past life?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“I'm sure. But anyway, it all made sense. I've always rebelled against the submissive role that my culture tried to saddle me with, at least inwardly. I've always been in conflict.”

“Maybe you just didn't want to be a doormat. That doesn't mean you were a man.”

“We all have a male and female side. A yin and a yang. I'm talking about energy.”

“I know that.”

“Anyway, I got into belly dance because it allows me to express my femininity and still feel powerful,” Jade said.

“That's a nice combination,” I breathed.

I was early for a staff meeting at the radio station the next day, so I hung out for a bit with Freddy. I'd just barely gotten in ahead of the rain.

“We got some falling weather out there,” I said against the backdrop of thunder. “It's really coming down now.”

Freddy rubbed his shiny bald head. “Rain's good for the grass and it helps keep the crime rate down. If it keeps up like this, many a nigga'll be runnin' for shelter tonight. So, you oughta be okay walking around with that diamond in your ear. But you better not let the sun catch you,” he warned.

I fingered the stud in the second hole in my left ear. “This isn't a real diamond. This is nothing but glass,” I confided.

“Well, you still better be careful walking around with it,” Freddy insisted. “Everybody ain't no diamond expert,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You don't wanna cause some nigga to grab yo' ear for nothin'.”

“Freddy, should I just resign myself to the fact that you've become a bigot in your middle age?”

“Maybe I'm just a liberal who's been mugged, as they say.”

“Well, they've pumped drugs into our communities.” I shook my head. “It's a shame. Drugs and the lack of jobs are what's driving most of this crime. And warehousing folks is not the answer.”

“Nobody can make you take a drug,” Freddy countered. “Y'all got too many weak-minded individuals,
that's
what's driving this crime. And these crim'nals don't care nothin' 'bout me
or
you if they think we got somethin' they want. A lot of 'em
need
to be warehoused.” He sighed. “Everybody's lookin' for a 'scape. They had ten problems and now they only got one problem, a drug problem. You put something bad out there, yo' people will knock each other down tryin' to get to it. You put something positive out there, they don't want no parts of it.”

“We don't have enough positive role models,” I argued.

Freddy folded his arms and shook his head. “Y'all the only race of people who gotta have role models. Be your own damn role model,” he insisted, swatting my arm playfully with the rolled-up sports section

I shrugged. “You know, there was a time, no matter what color you were, if you couldn't use your brain, you could use your brawn, remember?”

Freddy nodded begrudgingly. He couldn't deny his age and he hadn't completely lost his memory.

“My uncle was a steelworker,” I added. “I still have a picture in my mind of him in his gray work clothes, carrying his yellow hard hat and metal lunch pail. When we were little and rode past Bethlehem Steel on the bus,” I continued, “we used to point and sing, ‘This is Leon's work, this is Leon's work,' so loudly that Mama had to tell us to hush.”

Freddy smiled nostalgically.

I sighed. “U.S. Steel has been silent and rusted for years now. We've lost a ton of blue-collar jobs. A lot of people feel useless. The message they get is, they're in the way.” I tapped my foot against the floor. “It's dangerous when people don't feel needed. You shouldn't have to be a rocket scientist to be able to raise a family on one income.”

“There's nothing wrong with working on more than one job,” Freddy protested. “I work on two jobs and I only have a high-school diploma. A lot of people just don't wanna work,” he insisted.

“Because the jobs they qualify for don't pay anything,” I shot back.

“They shoulda went to school.”

“People need affordable child care and transportation. You can't raise a family on minimum wage,” I argued.

“These immigrants do.”

“They stick together,” I explained. “And their self-esteem is more intact.”

“
And
, they get up early in the morning, and bust their cans,” Freddy said, nodding his head. “You know how long my wife had to wait outside the beauty-supply store for them to open one time?” he asked.

I hunched my shoulders.

“Almost a hour,” Freddy answered. “They came dragging in there whenever they got ready.”

“Well, did they have an explanation?”

Freddy groaned. “The clerks said they forgot that the time had changed.”

“Well, I can see how that could happen.”

Freddy folded his arms and shook his head, “That's the difference between yo' people,” he said, pointing to me with the rolled-up newspaper, “and my people,” he said, pointing to his chest. “My people, white folks, would've made it
their business
to remember that time had changed. They'd have been there at 8:30.” Freddy paused for effect. “Koreans would've been there at dawn.”

Just then, two white women breezed through the lobby wearing raincoats and carrying briefcases. Freddy rushed to open the door for them.

The women passed through it without a word of thanks. “You're welcome,” Freddy said sarcastically, but not loudly enough to put his job in jeopardy.

“They're not paying you any attention,” I said. “They don't even see you, Freddy. They couldn't pick you out in a lineup. I don't know why you call them
your
people.”

“Those two were strictly corporate,” Freddy pointed out. “It wasn't about color.”

“Maybe not. But still, as far as they're concerned, you're just old black Sam.”

“Well, next time, I'm gonna let them get their own damn door,” Freddy grumbled. “Old black Sam has left the building.”

But he had a lost look in his eyes.

We celebrated Rob's turning the big Four-O at the staff meeting with cake and champagne. I indulged somewhat and was feeling pretty amicable when Bill asked me if we could talk. He'd heard that I wasn't interested in mediation, and that was fine. He said he just wanted to touch bases with me for some closure. I said that would be cool with me, partly because it was cutting up outside and I'd forgotten my umbrella. Plus, I didn't have to be at my other job for a couple of hours and I had time to kill downtown. Besides, Jade had rushed to a teeth-cleaning appointment after the staff meeting. So she wasn't around to judge me.

“I guess it's okay for us to talk, since we're not in mediation,” I said cautiously after the room had cleared. “But you and Jade are still in it, right?”

Bill adjusted his glasses. He reminded me of the picture of Jack Sprat in the nursery rhyme book.

“Yes, we're in the middle of it. But we can keep that separate.”