A Wanted Woman Part 3

At least, I didn't.

Where I worked, your pink slip was a bullet to the brain, pink mist in the air.

Old Man Reaper.

My father.

The day I was born.

The day he left, I didn't remember.

The day he came back, I'd never forget.

I thought about Memphis. I thought about the first time I had met Old Man Reaper.

THREE.

I inherited my cynicism from my father, my insecurities from my mother's malicious and bigoted tongue, and my skin tone from a cruel joke by G.o.d. He knew I wanted to be Pam Grier and betrayed me.

Old Man Reaper showed up in South Memphis at my elementary school one hot afternoon. I had no idea who he was because I hadn't seen my father since I had been yanked from my mother's womb.

I had been pulled from the playground, told to get all my things, and sent to the office, but wasn't told why, just ordered to go. The public school system had always been short on tact and sensitivity. Back then my hair was long. I pulled my Hitchc.o.c.k-blond hair back from my face, half of it in a ponytail, and took my time. They had told me to hurry, but I did the opposite. To p.i.s.s them off. I entered the counselor's office sweaty, with my head down. I had scratches and sc.r.a.pes, a fading black eye.

The counselor looked up from her desk and said, "Your father came to get you, Goldie."

I looked at the suited dark-skinned man sitting in the chair facing her.

I said, "I don't have a father. My mother told me that and I'm sure she's not a liar."

He stood up and nodded, said, "I'm your father."

It looked like Terry Crews and Billy Blanks and the Rock had had a baby, then G.o.d had painted him Wesley-Snipes black and given him Philip Michael Thomas hair and gray eyes that changed their color depending on the lighting and maybe his mood. The counselor smiled at him, smiled at him a lot.

In a soft voice, the Southern belle asked, "Will y'all be this way long, Mr. Reaper?"

"Not long, Mrs. Smith. We'll take care of family business and move on soon."

"It's Miss, not Mrs. You make me sound old. I'm only twenty-two and a half."

"I stand corrected, Miss Smith."

"Love your accent. Where are you from?"

"Barbados."

"So you're Jamaican."

"No. I'm Bajan."

"So, you're from Africa."

"No. I'm Bajan."

"We've never seen you around the school, Mr. Reaper."

"Was out of the country for a while."

"For how long?"

"Twelve years."

"Where were you?"

"Was living in the Bahamas for a while. That's not in Africa either. Nor is it in Jamaica."

"Understood."

"Then I was in England, Germany, France, Cte d'Ivoire, and Belgium."

"World traveler."

"I've seen a few places where the black man was his own king and the white man was the visitor, and I've seen places where it seemed like the black man no longer existed."

"Bet you have a few stories to tell."

"We all have stories to tell."

"I find this situation fascinating. Her mother was from Minneapolis."

"Sabina had St. Lucian roots. That's not in Africa either."

"Well, Miss Sabina never talked much."

"She was a private person."

"She always had a mean face."

"Had it rough as a child. It was her defense mechanism."

"Tall woman."

"Was teased about her height half of her life."

"And, again, she was from where?"

"St. Lucia. Castries. That's near Barbados, and neither is near Africa."

Then the woman looked at me.

She looked at Old Man Reaper again. "How did your daughter . . . I mean . . . how?"

"If you look real close she looks like her mother."

"To be honest, I would need a magnifying gla.s.s to find the resemblance."

"Her mother was what I would call a willowy G.o.ddess robbed of her self-a.s.surance, then turned to drink, then turned to a house of worship, and learned to praise another man's G.o.d. This side of Memphis is all churches and liquor stores and when she was depressed, she embraced both. I tried to save her from most of that. She could have been Miss St. Lucia Universe. When she came here to America, it wasn't how she thought it would be. It wasn't the way I thought it would be, so we had that hardship in common. Both of us were foreigners being called horrible names we thought reserved for the black man who was born here on this soil. It wasn't the kind America she saw in movies. The black man here has been taught to hate the black man. Cruel, racist words had did her in, murdered her self-esteem."

"Is that why you and she split?"

"That's none of your concern. Have I answered enough questions to satisfy your curiosity? I want to make sure that when I walk out that door with my daughter I won't have any issue with the police."

"Why would you have an issue with the police?"

"Every black man in America has an issue with the police simply because he was born."

"I apologize. It's just that, well . . . your daughter . . . her mother . . . your daughter have a condition?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"We have all wondered that since your child has come here. Since the first day she came here with her mother for registration. We thought the mother was her nanny. Is this a medical condition?"

"G.o.d does what G.o.d wants to do, and this is what G.o.d wanted to do. So, ask your G.o.d."

"You sure she's yours?"

"She's mine. That piece of paper has my name on it, says she's mine, so she's mine."

"And you've been gone for twelve years. Sounds like you left when she was born."

"Not going down that road, not with you. If we are good, I'll take my daughter and be on my way."

"Wait, Mr. Reaper."

"Did I fail to pa.s.s some part of this exam?"

"You were impressive."

"Then what is the issue?"

"Okay. This may seem forward, and it may be inappropriate considering the circ.u.mstances, but at some point I would love to hear about your travels, if you found the time to share them over dinner."

"Dinner? For more questions?"

"What I'm asking here is what the school wanted me to ask. At dinner, no questions."

"Won't be here long. We have to go . . . go see her mother. Take care of other business."

"A man has to eat sometime, no matter how much business he has to handle."

"A man does. His child will need to eat as well."

"She will."

"A man's child should eat before he does. She should get the big piece of chicken."

"Is there someone here in Memphis to make you and your daughter a home-cooked meal?"

"Not at the moment, but there is a KFC on Parkway. We'll eat there today."

"My chicken is better. Falls off the bone. My mashed potatoes and biscuits are better too."

"I'll keep that in mind. If you want to feed my daughter tomorrow, after we have dealt with the things we have to deal with, if we are in the mood for home-cooked food, that would be nice of you."

"Well, if you need anything later, and I do mean anything, feel free to contact me."

She wrote down a phone number and slipped it into his strong hand.

She said, "I'm usually awake until midnight. I become restless at night. Very restless."

"Why is that?"

"A woman feels the loneliest around midnight. G.o.d made us that way."

"Nighttime is hard on all of us."

"I have no problems with it being hard on me tonight."

"Understood."

"Where are you staying?"

"Holiday Inn off the Mississippi River. Near town and where they killed MLK Jr."

"Oh. Riverside Drive? If I had a car I would stop by there and check on you."

"Where do you live?"

"South Memphis. Blair Hunt Drive, the end by Shady Grove Missionary Baptist Church. If you found time to get away and wanted to talk after midnight, that would be fine by me, Mr. Reaper."

"Leave the porch light on."

"I'll do that. Tap three times. After that you can tap until you can't tap no more."