The Assigned (6 page)

Nearly an hour later, still no word on Christina. A steady stream of medical personnel comes and goes, but none can give specifics on what’s happening. My leg stiffens as I frantically pace up and down the recently waxed floor. Alicia begs me to sit but I won’t hear of it. The creaking sound of Christina’s door being opened catches my attention. Dr. Amali quietly steps out.

“Doc, what’s going?” I say rushing to his side. “Tell me something. Is she—”

“Mr. Myers I’m going to get straight to the point. Right now, Christina is in a medically induced coma. We couldn’t revive her heart without the aid of a life support system. If we take her off the machine … she will die. I’m sorry, but we have to get your permission to reverse the coma.”

His words barely make sense to me. I feel light headed. The room closes in. I haven’t felt like this since …

I have to focus. “You said the support system has her heart running, right? You can leave her on that until she gets better—”

“You don’t understand, Mr. Myers. Your daughter is—”

“That’s right. My daughter! SHE’S MY DAUGHTER!”

“I know Mr. Myers, and I’m sorry. But she is not going to get any better. She’s unable to hear, talk, even breathe on her own. I’m sorry, but for all intents and purposes, it’s over.”

Those words incense me as I grab the doctor by his collar. This can’t be happening
again
. I won’t let it. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that!”

He pushes away. “I’ll give you some time with your daughter. I’m afraid we’ve done all we can do.”

As Dr. Amali proceeds to the elevator, I lean over, my hands on my knees—it’s too much to process. The hurt engulfs me. I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do. My daughter is—WHY ME?!?!

Alicia sobs as she embraces me. My eyes look up to catch a glimpse of the doctor right before he enters the elevator. It looks as if—no, can’t be …

It looks as if a black, smoke-like haze of some sort is radiating over his entire body. As the doors shut, the swaying mist lingers outside the elevator shaft. My eyes are so glossed over with tears, there’s no telling what I really saw.

-----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

More than an hour has passed since I promised my brother a ride, yet my location still remains Round One. Martin will understand. Besides, this isn’t your typical hunny down the way.
Low-cut yellow top
is pre-med.

My phone flashes. Six missed calls. Conviction tries its best to override temptation. It’s a tough battle to say the least, especially with temptation being aided by strong drinks and a college sweetie.

I try to leave … again … for real this time.

“Look, I’ll be back in 20, 30 minutes, tops.”

Low-cut yellow top
grazes the side of my neck with her face. “Don’t go,” she whispers. “We’re just getting started.”

“I know, I know,” I whisper back, her ginger-themed perfume further adding to my intoxication. Reaching for her hand, I’m met with a peculiar tattoo resting under her palm. Two identical shapes inverted, with a dot placed directly in between. “What’s this babe? The new sign for Gemini?” I laugh.

“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll tell you about it one day,” she smiles back.

“Well in that case, why don’t we continue this party at my place?”

“Hmmm, I’m listening?” she smiles.

“I’ll go scoop my brother right quick, drop him off, and then we’ll meet at my place. Just me and you …”

“But I didn’t—”

“—I’ll call you a taxi and text you the address. All you have to do is say … Yes.”

“YES”

“Now
that’s
what TNT likes to hear.”

Although I can’t think of her name—besides the mental nickname I’ve given her—we kiss. Several more minutes pass before I finally leave. Martin knows how we roll. Besides, what’s a few more minutes?

-----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

When we reenter the room, Christina looks as if she’s already gone. Her skin is cool to the touch. I collapse beside the bed. It can’t end like this. It just can’t. We’ve been through too much.

“Come on, Zeek. We have to be strong,” Alicia whispers. “We have to.”

I caress my daughter’s tiny hand, but she doesn’t squeeze back this time. Eyes bloodshot red, my body has no more tears to produce. Alicia is silent. Guess even she’s run out of encouraging words.

“There’s gotta be something they can do!” I wail. “There’s gotta be someone!”

“There is,” speaks a voice from behind.

I turn as quickly as my body allows, but my anticipation leaves just as hastily as it arrives.

“There is someone,” repeats Chaplain Bryant. My initial urge is to pound in the man’s cranium, but there’s no fight left in me. Just about hopeless, I rest my head on the stony bed.

“Mr. Myers, are you a man of faith?” he asks me. I sit quietly. In addition to tears and my fight, I have no words left in me either but this man is determined not to leave us in peace.

“I ask that question because some say it helps to talk to her. Give her a reason to live.”

Something in his statement causes me to slightly lift my head. I turn, briefly facing the chaplain, now Alicia. She nods, agreeing. I face little Chrissy, her skin paling by the minute. The machine keeping her alive hums loudly in the still room. Even though my mouth hasn’t any words left, my heart has a few.

“Baby … sweetie … Chrissy,” I begin. “Daddy loves you more than anything in this world. I don’t care what those doctors say. I believe in you. Daddy BELIEVES in you, baby. When you’re ready to open your eyes, you just open them and Daddy will be right here. I promise. Okay baby?” Firmly clinching her hand, Christina still doesn’t move.

“Some would say that makes no sense,” says the chaplain. His comment draws a stern glare from even Alicia. “Some would say that’s crazy,” he continues. “… that she can’t hear you, she doesn’t understand. For all intents and purposes she doesn’t—”

I’ve heard enough. “Look, they don’t know! How can they prove she doesn’t hear me?!”

A confident grin stretches from the chaplain’s mouth. “You know Mr. Myers, that’s the same thing I say when people question the existence of God. I have faith your daughter can get out of that bed—I really do. The question is … do you?”

I offer no answer, disregarding his sly tactics. He shrugs his shoulders as he smiles at Alicia. The two share a slight embrace before he exits the room. Exhausted, my head drops forward, resting between my hands.

-----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

Arnie gives me a good drilling on the way back to the news station. He goes on and on about my unprofessionalism, my complete disregard for protocol—blah, blah, blah. Funny, the topic of nearly being scared out of his pants never comes up when he speaks about unprofessionalism. No matter, I take it all in stride. What’s he gonna do—fire me? Then who’d be his indentured servant?

Too tired to retrieve my bag from the church, I opt to head straight home to bed. Lord knows I need it. Hope A’ma is asleep. I really don’t have the patience to deal with her tonight.

Coming down the hall, I reach for my key until I notice that our door seems slightly ajar. Voices now emit through the paper thin walls. Someone is in there with A’ma. Who could it be at this time of night? It’s not like she has friends, and no one comes to visit me at our apartment. Slowly, I approach the doorway.

It’s a man’s voice—Deacon Nichols? He must have come to drop off my bag—God, no. A’ma’s probably giving him a piece of her mind. My first thought is to run straight in, but something about the way they converse persuades me snoop instead. It almost sounds as if they are familiar with one another. But—but, they hardly know each other?

“My God, Gabriela,” says the Deacon. Concern seems to fill his voice. “Gloria said you’d gotten worse but—what—what can I do?”

“What can you do? I don’t need your pity!” yells A’ma. “You and ya bunch. Nothin’ but phonies and crooks! I didn’t need it then, I don’t need it now!”

I peek through the cracked door. Using her walker, A’ma turns away. She proceeds to a bookshelf in the corner of the room and picks up a pack of cigarettes. Where she got them from, I have no idea, seeing as I threw the last pack I found in the trash.

“Pity?” continues the Deacon. “What are you talking about Gabriela? I never pitied you. YOU were the one—”

Deacon Nichols stops. Their voices have risen quite a bit. He looks around before speaking again. “When Gloria gets back, just tell her I came by to drop off her bag. She left it at the church. Goodbye, Gabriela.”

He turns and heads for the door. Quickly, I duck out the doorway, the floor squeaking as I move into the shadows. It would always let us know when people where out front. Faintly I hear A’ma say, “Running off like you always do, hunh Nichols?”

Like a hook, the question abruptly drags him back into our tiny apartment. Did A’ma see me? I know this woman like no other and everything she does is calculated. Still not sure, I inch back towards the doorway to get a better listen.

“I never ran!” the Deacon shouts. “It was you! It was always you! You were the one embarrassed by your background. Not me! YOU thought you weren’t good enough, but I loved—”

He stops as he notices the direction of A’ma’s eyes. A malicious smile sets across her face. Slowly, Deacon Nichols turns to face me. I can’t take being outside for another moment—figuratively or literally—I have to know what’s going on.

“Gl—Gl—Gloria,” he stutters. “Hi, your mother said you weren’t home.”

“I wasn’t,” I mumble.

“Right, of course. You’re just getting here. Great. Well, guess I’ll—”

“What were you two talking about?” I ask, my voice shaky.

“I … I … just came to drop your bag off, see?” he says, holding up my bag as some sort of evidence. “See? You left it.”

“Stop it!” I shout. “I heard you two. Now tell me what’s going on.”

He looks at A’ma. The vindictive woman takes a seat on the worn-down front room couch, her left hand clutching a half burned cigarette.

“Somebody’s gonna tell me something. Well? Deacon? A’ma?”

The Deacon clears his throat. “Okay, okay Gloria. Me and your mother … we knew each other before you were born—we dated alright? I was a theology student at the university. Your mother worked in the cafeteria. I became very fond of her, even thought about marriage, but we just weren’t on the same page. She always expressed a desire to have children but I wasn’t ready. So instead of compromising or just giving it some time, your mother went out and got pregnant by another man. I was devastated. She moved, changed her phone number, I didn’t hear from her for years. Then out of the blue, you show up at the church I’ve been assigned too. Your mother made sure I knew who you were. But Gloria, even though you weren’t mine, I made sure I took you under my wing.”

I can’t believe it. To think my mother has manipulated my whole religious experience, just as she has everything else in my life. My stomach tightens as disgust fills my bowels. I turn to my—my
mother
. She’s done some deceitful things before, but this is the worst.

“A’ma, how could you? Why would you parade me around Deacon Nichols like that, hunh? Just because my father left doesn’t give you the right to try and force another man to fill his shoes.”

A’ma reaches for a pint of vodka underneath the sofa cushion. She’s right. No need to hide anything now. As I watch this pitiful excuse of a human being—I don’t even have to take it as far as being my mother—a loathing spirit overwhelms me. My voice rises as my audible strike intensifies. “It’s no wonder my father left you! Look at you!” Tears mixed with anger, I shout these words at the top of my lungs. “You make me sick!”

“Calm down, Gloria,” says Deacon Nichols. “It’s okay.”

But it’s not okay. All these years I’ve wasted, taking care of a woman who does nothing but lie and manipulate. A woman who has the nerve to force me in her first love’s life, but refuses to tell me of my own father’s whereabouts!

I grab the bag that started this whole episode as I head to the door. “I’m sorry Deacon, I’ve got to get out of—”

“I wouldn’t force another man to fill your father’s shoes, Gloria.”

“What?”

Emotionless, A’ma stares straight at the darkened television screen. She slowly repeats the vague words. “I wouldn’t force another man to fill your father’s shoes, Gloria. He’s quite capable of doing that himself.”

“Wha—What are you talking about?”

“Good story, Nichols,” says A’ma, pulling a drag from the half disintegrated burning stick. “Now, are you ready to tell her the truth?”

“The truth?” frowns the Deacon. “I’m sorry Gabriela, I don’t follow—”

“—Nichols is right. We dated. In fact, we were in love, but he was ashamed of me. Guess I wasn’t
American
enough—not a good Irish-Catholic church going woman, hunh NICHOLS?!”

I look towards the Deacon, but he says nothing. A’ma takes a swig from her generic bottle before carrying on. “But as those hypocritical zealots love to do, he left out one major part of the story. I didn’t leave him because I got pregnant with another man’s child.” A’ma pauses. She looks me straight in the eye. “
He
left because I got pregnant with
his
child … you, Mija.”

I—I—hunh? Can this be true? I look back and forth at these two people in the room I hardly know now and I can’t get a read on either. Both look away, their faces blank.

“That’s right Gloria. Wonder why there’s no pictures up anywhere, why I never talk about your father? You wanna know why I made sure you went to that good fa’ nothin’ church? Because I wanted him to see you. See what he abandoned—he abandoned us, Gloria! He found out I was pregnant and … HE … LEFT!”

I look to the Deacon for answers, but his silence makes no case for denial. Guess I have my answer. “And … and so all this time, you were just being nice to me to make up for being such a horrible father?”

I stare at the very
thing
that drove my mom over the edge, though David Nichols dare not look me in the eye. It seems likes minutes pass before I can muster up the strength to move. In reality, only seconds go by before I brush past the stranger and into the night.