Afraid to Love

Afraid to Love

Copyright 2013 Leona Jackson

Chapter 1: Cynthia

It was my first day at the hospital and it seemed even here I was going to be surrounded by white people. The type of white people that my father had warned me about. The type that only want to keep you down. It's something that I had instantly noticed when I moved here two weeks ago. Faces of color seemed to be few and far between. I found myself searching every street and every crowd to see if I was truly alone, and at the moment it seemed I was. I had hoped that the hospital would be different. After all, there had been two women of color on the interview board. Their presence had given me false hope.

Other morning workers were gathered around cars, talking and laughing, but I didn't want to join them. I wasn't one of them and because of my skin color I knew I'd never have the opportunity to be one of them. I had been told to network once I moved, because it wasn't what you knew, but who you know that made the difference. I didn't care. I wasn't going to pretend to be someone I wasn't. I was going to succeed on my own merits and the rest of the world could kiss my black ass. I wasn't here to socialize and make friends. I was here to earn a living and help people. I took a deep breath and headed to the nurses' station.

“Hi, you must be Cynthia,” an older white woman greeted me.

“Yea, that would be me,” I said.

I tried to fake a smile, but my expression turned into a grimace. I've never been a good liar. What you see is what you get and today I wasn't liking what I was seeing.

“It's nice to meet you,” she smiled and held out her hand, “I'm Heather.”

“It's nice to meet you, too,” I said and shook her hand

“I'll show you around,” she said standing up, “I know they took you on a tour, but so many new nurses forget because they're nervous.”

I was silent as she showed me all the places that would be important to my new life here. I hadn't forgotten what I had seen on the tour, but I didn't tell her that.

By lunch time, I was wondering what the hell I was thinking when I decided to go into nursing. So far, my first day was going quickly to hell without even stopping for the hand basket. A bratty five-year-old named Sammy had kicked me in the shin as a thank you for giving him his school boosters, an older woman blamed me for the blood pressure cuff being too tight for her obese arm, and I spent much of the day being almost completely ignored by my coworkers. When Heather told me to take lunch I nearly ran to the break room. I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a deep breath.

“They'll all try to keep you down, baby girl,” my father's voice said in the back of my mind, “You gotta face 'em every day, but you don't have to let them stand on you.”

“I won't let them,” I answered the phantom voice silently.

I wasn't hungry, so I skipped lunch and hung around the break room, hoping for a chance to socialize with a few of the other nurses. A gorgeous brother who looked strong enough to carry me over the threshold entered the break room. I had to bite my cheek so I didn't swoon.

“Hey,” he said with a smile and poured himself a cup of coffee.

When he turned to face me, I glanced at his name tag. “Derek,” it read, and then I glanced at his left hand. Even though I wasn't really looking for a relationship, it was a habit Sasha, my best friend in college, had instilled in me. Always check the brothers for wedding bands. Sure enough, a shiny gold band was on his left ring finger. I almost frowned, but didn't because I wasn't some desperate ho fresh out of the ghetto. Besides, everyone knows that all of the good black men are married.

“How's your first day going?” he asked.

“Not great,” I admitted.

“It gets easier,” Derek said and then asked, “Do you have kids?”

I shook my head, thinking it was a weird question to ask when you just met someone.

“If you did, you'd understand why Sammy kicked you,” he said with a laugh. “They get turned into a pin cushion at his age. They seemed to have a shot for everything. He's afraid of needles, too, so that doesn't help, either.”

“Do you have kids?” I asked him.

“Yeah, three little girls,” he said pulling his wallet out of his pocket and showing me a photo, “Lyssa, Natalie, and Shani, three, six and eight respectively.”

His daughters were mixed. Why did the good black men always marry white women? I shook my head and didn't say anything else.

After lunch, I walked back to the nurses’ station.

“Having a rough first day?” Heather asked me, startling me out of my thoughts.

I nodded in response and clocked back in.

“I heard that Sammy kicked you. He's been like that since he learned to walk. He hates needles, but his dad was the same way when he was a little boy. Nurses take a lot of abuse, it's true, but don't be too mad at them.”

I nodded, grabbed the next chart and left. I seriously doubted that she would have taken it with a smile.

The rest of the day passed without any more incidents, but I was still ready to throw my shit back into my car and head home. On the drive home, I spotted a coffee shop that looked like it served sandwiches, too. Since I hadn't eaten lunch, I was starving. I parked my car and walked to the shop. The cashier was a high school student who was distracted by a pretty group of young white girls sitting across the room.

“Excuse me, Justin,” I said after reading his name tag.

“Sorry,” he said, but his tone didn't match his words, “what can I get for you today?”

People never realize that their tone gives away their thoughts and emotions, even the ones they believed weren't for polite society, feelings that endangered relationships, friendships, and in this case, this young man's employment.

“I'll have the turkey and cheddar, with mayo, but no mustard,” I told him, “and a cherry cola.”

“Twelve sixty-two,” he said.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Almost thirteen dollars for a sandwich and a pop? I sighed and slid over my debit card.

“You can sit down and we'll bring it out,” the cashier said.

“Thanks,” I said and headed to a table in the corner of the room that faced the wall.

I pulled out my cellphone and fiddled around with it. I hated being alone in a restaurant and looking bored. I glanced around the room and noticed a black couple, but everyone else was white.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I knew someone was staring at me. I looked around without trying to hide it. My eyes settled on a man a few tables away. He didn't look much older than my twenty-five years and his blue eyes reminded me of the lake we had visited once or twice when I was a child. He was sitting down, but if we stood side by side he would tower over my five-foot-five frame. He grinned at me, but I looked away and turned back to face the wall. I didn't know what blue eyes was thinking, but he would have to keep his thoughts to himself because I wasn't in the mood for pickup lines. His lean muscular build and goofy smile made him attractive, but I wasn't about to get involved with some white man. It would never work out. Our races wouldn't allow it and my father sure in the hell wouldn't have allowed it. I was old enough to make my own decisions, but knew he had been right on this one.

When the waiter finally brought my sandwich out, I had to force myself to eat slowly. My stomach was growling, but I didn't want to look like someone who had been raised in a barn. I might have grown up poor, but I had manners.

While I ate, dark clouds began to form in the clear blue sky. The weather hadn't mentioned rain, but it seemed that Mother Nature planned on downpours, not caring if she made the weather man into a liar. I ate quicker, trying to beat the storm that was moving in quickly. Lightning lit up the sky and a few seconds later thunder crashed. I jumped in my chair and nearly knocked over my drink. Fuming at myself for acting so childish, I ate the last bit of my sandwich and stood up. As I turned towards the door, I heard the rain moving across the pavement and onto the roof. I sighed and looked at the ceiling. I’d parked four blocks away in the parking garage. I was going to be soaked by the time I made it to my car.

“I'll walk you to your car if you like,” the man who had been watching me a few minutes ago offered, holding up an umbrella.

For a moment I considered taking him up on his offer, but decided against it. I didn't want to be indebted to anyone. I certainly didn't want to be indebted to the white man who had been checking me out.

“I'll be fine,” I said and turned towards the door.

“Here,” he said, quickly covering the space between us and held out his umbrella, “I don't need it.”

“It’s okay. I'll be fine,” I said again.

He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I insist.”

“Fine, if you wanna get caught in the rain without it, be my guest,” I said and took the umbrella.

“Thank you,” he said and disappeared back to his table.

What in the hell was he thanking me for? He had just given up his umbrella and he thanked me?

I glanced back at him to see if he was still watching me, but he was scribbling away in his notebook. Shrugging, I headed out and opened the umbrella. The howling wind blew the rain in all directions and made me grateful that I had swallowed my pride and taken the damn umbrella.

A pang of guilt hit me in the gut. That guy's notebook would never survive the gusts of wind and downpours. I was a block from the parking garage when I turned back around. I wasn't raised to be a completely ungrateful bitch. I quickened my pace hoping to catch the man before he left the coffee shop. I'd let him walk me to my car and then return his umbrella so that he wouldn't get soaked.

When I arrived back at the coffee shop, I didn't see him. I looked around the street, but he wasn't anywhere in sight. I went back in and asked Justin when he had left.

“Dunno,” he shrugged, “I don't keep track of customers.”

“Are you talking about the writer?” one of the waitresses asked.

“You mean the guy scribbling in the notebook?”

“Yeah, he left not too long after you did. I think he hailed a taxi,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said and walked out.

While I was fighting against the wind to open the umbrella, a car full of teenagers sped by me. Water that had been pooling on the side of the street splashed high, soaking my hair and scrubs. I flipped my attackers a bird, but they just laughed.

Hot angry tears fell down my cheeks, making me thankful for the rain. The wind pelted raindrops against my face and they mingled with my tears. I closed the umbrella and let the rain pour down upon me. There was no use in trying to stay dry now. I was soaked in muddy water.  My wet socks squeaked against the soles of my shoes with every step I took and I would have to get up extra early in the morning to ensure my weave didn't look like a bird's nest.

I pushed the button on my key chain and heard the familiar beep that told me my car door was unlocked. I slid into the driver's seat and sighed. I was shivering as I stripped off my socks and shoes. As I drove home barefoot, my feet rubbed against the pedals and the little sting under my big toe informed me a blister was forming. I was grateful when I pulled into the driveway.

I sat shivering in my car and looked up at the two story house before me. I would be paying it off for the next thirty years or more, but eventually it would be mine and mine alone. That's what I had been working my ass off for. To have a place to call my own.

Once inside, I stripped naked of my wet clothes and threw my clothes into the washing machine before the muddy water had time to set in and leave behind stains. After starting the washing machine, I settled in on the sofa and wrapped my favorite fleece blanket around my shoulders because I was too tired to climb the stairs yet.

I stared up at the ceiling and sighed. The longer I lay there, the angrier I became. I was angry at the patients I encountered, the people I worked with, and the kids who had drenched me. I was angry because I had never felt as alone in my life as I did laying on the sofa of this big empty house. I finally climbed the stairs, still wrapped in my fleece blanket, and crawled into my bed. I was just dozing off when I realized I needed to set my alarm at least half an hour earlier to give me time to repair my hair.

When sleep finally claimed me, my dreams only served as a reminder of my bad day. It began innocently enough, I was standing on the dock at the lake looking down at my tiny childhood feet. My toenails were painted a bright shade of magenta and I was about to cannon ball into the water. I looked over my shoulder at my parents and my dad gave me a smile of encouragement. I grinned back and held my nose. I closed my eyes and tensed, my body to jump. My feet left the dock and I soared through the air. From my childish perspective, I was flying higher than some birds dared. I began my descent and waited to be consumed by the cool lake water, but it never came. Instead, I landed on my feet on a crowded city street. I look down at my now adult feet and frowned at my chipped toenail polish and white bathing suit that made me stand out in the crowd of busy business people.