doing something important. Funny thing is, if I remember correctly, she was the one who wanted to speak to me. I didn’t reply, though. I just opened the screen door and walked into the living room.
“Damn, James, you gettin’ fat,” she spat as I walked past her.
I turned to see her staring at me with a less-than-desirous look on her face. I immediately sucked in my gut with a frown. Her smart-ass comment had not just hurt my ego, but my feelings as well. Yeah, I’d gained a few pounds since I’d seen her last—probably closer to ten or fifteen—but it wasn’t as if I was totally out of shape. In retaliation, I eyed her from head to toe, lashing out in a calm yet condescending demeanor. “Thanks, Michelle. You’re lookin’ good too. I see you did your hair just for me…. Oh, and is that a new outfit? ’Cause that gray in your sweatshirt matches your black rollers perfectly.”
She touched her rollers self-consciously, obviously embarrassed by my remark, but that didn’t last long. “Was that supposed to be funny, James?”
I smirked, but again I didn’t reply. Michelle rolled her eyes, then plopped down on the sofa with an attitude. “Well, tell me if you think this is funny.” She lifted a piece of paper from the coffee table and handed it to me. I looked at it and shrugged. All it had was some math problems scribbled on it.
“What’s this?”
“That is seventeen percent of the average UPS driver’s monthly salary, multiplied by thirty-six months. That’s what my social worker says I’ll get in back child support if I take your ass to court.”
“Thirty thousand dollars? Are you insane?” I shouted. I looked down at the paper again as I eased myself into the love seat.
“Children are expensive,” she replied nonchalantly. “Now, if you don’t like it, he’s in the bedroom taking a nap. You can take him home to your wife and you ain’t got to give me shit.”
My stomach began to tighten up and beads of sweat started to roll down my forehead. I glared across the room at Michelle, whose smug grin was forming into a full-fledged smile. She was enjoying herself. She was enjoying herself a great deal, and my next thought was that I should get up out of my seat and knock that smile right off her face. Fortunately for her, I didn’t hit women, but I was starting to understand why some guys did.
“Michelle, I don’t have thirty thousand dollars, and if I did…”
She cut me off with a wave of her hand and an exaggerated snap of her fingers. “Relax, James. I don’t want you to give me thirty thousand dollars.” I let out a thankful sigh that was halted by her next comment. “But I do want eight hundred a month, plus child care.”
She didn’t know it, or then again maybe she did, but the reality of the situation was that she might as well have been asking for the thirty thousand, ’cause there was no way I was giving her eight hundred a month. Shit, my ceiling was two hundred and fifty, and I was going to suggest two hundred until I could get a blood test. Once again, I could hear that little voice in the back of my head asking me why the hell I ever fucked with her in the first place, especially without a condom. I still didn’t have an answer, and once again I contemplated getting out of my seat and smacking the shit outta her.
“I can’t give you eight hundred a month. I’m living paycheck-to-paycheck as it is.” I sat up defiantly. “Besides, I don’t even know if I’m the father of your son.”
There, I’d said it, but now I wished I hadn’t, as Michelle’s honey complexion turned a crimson red. She looked like she was about two seconds from blowing a fuse.
“First of all, his name is Marcus! And he’s not my son, he’s our son.”
“So you say,” I replied, reaching over to the end table next to me and picking up a framed picture of a child I assumed was Marcus. He had the same chocolate-brown complexion as me, but other than that, I couldn’t see any resemblance.
“Momma’s baby, Poppa’s maybe…is that what you trying to say?” She was rolling her head as she spoke, but I had gone there now, so I wasn’t about to back down.
“Yeah, that about covers it.” I placed the picture back down on the end table. “He don’t look nothin’ like me.”
“Are you crazy?” She stood up and pointed a finger. “That boy looks like you chewed him up and spit him out.”
“That boy is not my son, Michelle. At least, not until we have a blood test.”
Now she looked like she wanted to smack the shit out of me. “So, what you tryin’ to say, that you don’t plan on helping me until you have a paternity test?”
I nodded and she walked to the door, her face twisted in aggravation. I don’t know why she was so mad. She had to know I was going to ask her for a paternity test.
“You know, I was hoping you were going to be reasonable about this, but that’s all right. I’ll see you in court, James. You can get a paternity test there for free. Oh, and you can believe I’m going for my thirty thousand dollars now. You still live at 214 Dunlop Avenue in Hollis, don’t you? I’ll make sure to have them send the paperwork to your house as soon as possible.”
I stood up and we locked eyes. I’m sure we were thinking the same thing, but while Michelle seemed to be finding pleasure in her threat, it filled me with fear. The thought of Cathy waiting for me one evening at the door, holding child-support papers demanding thirty thousand dollars, turned my stomach again. “Why you doin’ this, Michelle?”
“Because I don’t know what else to do, James.” Her eyes started to tear. “I’m a single mother with no man, a job working as a home health-care worker, and a baby to raise. I tried, but I can’t do this by myself. Now, you may not know he’s your son, but I do, and you’re going to help me whether you want to or not. So, I’ll see you in court.”
She stood defiantly, staring at me with her arms folded and tears running down her face. For the first time since I’d arrived, I felt sorry not just for myself but for both of us.
“Are you sure he’s my son?” I asked tentatively.
She stared directly into my eyes and without blinking said, “Yes, James, he’s your son.”
“Look, maybe we can work something out. I can try to stretch my route out longer and get a couple hours overtime each day.” She gave me this so-now-you-wanna-work-things-out look. “It’s gonna be tight, but I can probably scratch up the eight hundred if you let me give you two hundred a week. But I don’t know about the child care. You can’t get blood out of a turnip.”
She gave me a skeptical look but finally nodded her head. “I can work with that for now, but when I need a babysitter, I’m calling you, then I’m calling your wife.”
5
Sonny
I was in the middle of an interview with the director of human resources for UPS’s Queens, New York, hub. The interview was supposed to be just a formality for me to get the job as a driver, but I wasn’t so sure about that anymore. I’d had a bad feeling about the balding, overweight white man sitting in front of me from the second I walked in the room. He just had that look—you know, the look that said, I’m interviewing your black ass because I have to, but I really can’t stand niggers, so don’t even think you’re getting a job out of me. Oh, he was too politically correct or just plain afraid of the lawsuit I’d slap on UPS to say something like that to my face, but he was thinking it, that I was sure of. I’d been on too many job interviews with too many racist corporate motherfuckers the past three months not to know that look. So, unless I could pull a rabbit out of my hat and convince him that I was one of those good, helpful niggers like James, my chance of finally getting a job were slim to none.
“Well, Mr. Harrison, I must admit you have a very impressive resume. A bachelor’s in computer science from Virginia State University, three years IT with Sherman, and before that, ten years with Henry