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I hadn’t gotten away with felony theft, so my chances of committing murder and not spending the rest of my life behind bars were slim. I grit my teeth and growled like an angry lion.
“Sammie, you need to stop looking at that stupid picture.” My cousin Ebony’s brown eyes flared behind the new designer frames I’d purchased for her.
I looked at my cell phone. The image of Bonita Jones, aka, Benxi on the cover of Billboard with my husband. They were seated, Mekhi in a gigantic, tacky, gold throne and her squatting low between his legs like the raunchy, naked, no-talented heifer she was. The caption: Benxi’s New Album Shatters the Ceiling For R&B Artist Debut Sales. Is Mekhi Johnson the New King?
That title should be music to my ears, but I was too crazy to see it for what it was. All I could see was Benxi down-low in front of my husband. I pushed the button to send the photo to trash. I could download it again if I wanted to feel sorry for myself later. I dropped the phone in my bag. “I hate my life right now.”
Ebony pulled an ugly sweater off the rack she’d been browsing.
I shook my head and she pushed the dud back into the tight mass of clearance items. “You have got to pull yourself out of this depression,” she murmured the words low and sing-songy. I wasn’t even sure if she meant them for me.
Our eyes met. I cocked my head to the side. “And you have to stop wasting your time with the sale rack. All the good stuff is gone before they get to clearance.”
Ebony perched a fist on a hip and I knew she was about to give me the I’m-a-poor-working-class-stiff speech, so I stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m just saying. I’m paying so would you please take advantage of that.”
“I would load up if you just took me to Target.”
I frowned. She knew I didn’t shop at Target. Not anymore. Not since my husband was featured on magazine covers. I pulled a hanger off the rack and raised it high enough for Ebony to see.
She took the blouse out of my hand and pinned me with a serious look. “Don’t change the subject. You’re worse every time I see you.”
She was right. I did need to get out of the slump I was in, but knowing I was less than three weeks away from doing jail time was putting a serious dent in my ability to find a happy place. Shopping, my favorite thing in the world, couldn’t help with this pain. And I would be away for a year. Why was I buying clothes anyway?
Ebony looked at the price tag and turned up her nose. “It’s not my style.”
I took the hanger out of her hand. She’d liked it until she saw the price. I shoved it back on the rack. “I don’t want to do this anymore. There’s no point.”
“You said you needed to get out of the house and stay away from the studio, so you’re doing that.”
I shook my head. “I know what I said, but now, I regret it. I’m not going to buy a thing.” I reached into my bag and removed a credit card. “Get whatever you want and get the kids a gift from Auntie Samaria.”
I wasn’t really an aunt because Ebony and I were cousins, not sisters. I was a first cousin once removed, but Ebony’s brood was as close to nieces and nephews an only child like me would have, so I made sure they called me Auntie while they still didn’t understand the true relationship.
Ebony took the card and turned it over as if she were inspecting it. “I wouldn’t buy my kids a gift from this store.”
“But I would and it’s my gift, so just pick some stuff out.”
Ebony frowned. “Why can’t you go to the children’s department and pick out the gifts yourself?”
“I hate Christmas shopping. You’re here. They’re your kids. You know them better.”
Ebony sighed. “You love shopping any other time of the year, but hate Christmas shopping.” She raised a finger and wagged it at me. “You need to work out your issues.”
I pulled my coat together and fastened the buttons. “I’ll do it. Outside.”
Ebony frowned again. “So, you’re not even going to stay with me? Everything is overpriced. The only reason I’m in here right now is because I’m trying to spend that gift card you gave me for my birthday.”
I reached for Ebony’s neck and gave her a tight hug. “I want you to have some nice things. You and the kids. Please don’t deny me this.” I let her neck go. “I need some fresh air. I’ll be back. If I can’t find you, I’ll call your cell, so listen out for me.”
Ebony pushed the card into her pocked. “Where are you going?”
“Right outside in front,” I replied, spinning away from her as I spoke. I rushed in the direction of the exit. I had to get out of there. I felt like I had a plastic bag over my head.
The blast of icy air took away the sensation. It was uncharacteristically cold for early December in Atlanta, but it had been a wet fall and wet falls usually turned into cold winters. I debated whether to take a walk or have a seat on the bench to my right. Walking could clear my mind, but my feet hurt. I shouldn’t have worn heels to shop. I’d decided on them because well... I knew in a few weeks I would have to say goodbye to all my footwear. I’d be assigned some prison issued size 8’s to match my new wardrobe... an orange jumpsuit.
“Stop it,” I whispered. “I’m not going to prison. It’s the county jail.”
Still, I’d be locked up. I wouldn’t be free. I stuck my hands in my coat pockets and fought the tears that filled my eyes. I wasn’t crying. No crying today. But I was crying. Even if I told myself I wasn’t. I was crying every day for what I’d done to myself.
Regret. I recalled the quote: “In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take.” Who said that? Some liar. I definitely regret the chances I took. I fell onto the bench.
I people watched for a while. I was glad to be able to immerse myself in nothing. I loved the solitude, but just as I thought about it, a hulking body joined me on the bench.
The fifty-something woman looked at me and I took in her appearance. She looked like a street person...raggedy old used-to-be-red-coat, torn gloves, and battered tennis shoes that needed a good wash.
“Good morning,” she said. I was shocked that I wasn’t looking at stained teeth. She flashed the opposite...beautiful pearly whites. I wondered...good genes or new homelessness, because she’d seen a dentist or two in her life.
I realized I’d been staring and hadn’t responded. “Good, afternoon.” I corrected her. It was nearly one o’clock.
“Is it afternoon?” The woman raised her arm and moved a wristwatch in front of her eyes. She squinted hard and then chuckled. “I don’t know why I’m looking at it. It don’t work.”
Okay. I rolled my eyes. She got one more time to say something cray-cray.
“So, why you ain’t in there shopping?” she asked.
It was I who squinted this time. “Excuse me?”
“You came here to buy something.” She cocked a thumb in the direction of the store. “Why you not in there shopping?”
“I said excuse me, not because I didn’t hear you, but because I mean excuse you...for minding my business.”
She rolled her eyes at me this time. “You ain’t got to get nasty about it. I was just asking. I mean why come downtown to this fancy store to sit outside? I’m sure you could do that at your big ‘ole, fancy house.”
I squinted again, but before I could ask the next question of this strange woman, the woman herself spoke. “I know who you are.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You Atlanta famous, baby.” She chuckled again. “Uh huh, just because I’m homeless don’t mean I don’t watch the news. They got a T.V.” She nodded toward the building across the street.
I followed her line of vision. In all the years I’d been coming to this store, I never noticed that a sign over one of the buildings read: Samaritan House.
“I know you a record producer’s wife, a drug dealer, you going to jail soon and you just lost a baby.”
Now she was really getting under my skin. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more, the fact that a homeless woman knew all my business or that the facts coming out of her mouth were my business. Okay, I did know which bothered me more. The latter – definitely the truth hurt more. But I did need to correct her on one thing... “I’m not a drug dealer.”
Disapproving eyes swept my body and she grunted.
“And how do you know about my baby?”
“You was pregnant and you ain’t got no baby. Rich, black people don’t give chuerin’ up for adoption. They hire nannies. If you had a baby, I woulda seen it on the news.”
Pregnant and ain’t got no baby. “Jesus be a keeper,” I muttered the prayer under my breath. That stung. Really cut me across my heart. Didn’t this derelict know that it would?
“I’m sorry about whatever happened with your baby.”
I thought she read my mind. I reached into my bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I offered one to her.
She didn’t accept. “Don’t you know smokin’ cause cancer?”
I looked at her and smirked. “Of course I do. I’m not some teenager you’re educating out here.”
“Don’t act like ‘cause you grown you have to be smart. There’s uneducated grown fools out here, too.”
I could agree with that. At the moment, I was looking like one of them. I stole drugs from my job for someone I didn’t even like or at least that’s how it started. It started with me believing I was stealing for my stupid cousin, June Bug, when in reality my mother was the one using.
“You shouldn’t smoke. Once you go to jail, you’ll smoke more.”
I lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “I can quit. I haven’t even smoked since college.”
“So, why you smokin’ now?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You smokin’ because you don’t know what to do with yourself. You just waiting.”
I didn’t say anything. I just took another drag and fought the nasty desire to blow the smoke in her rude face.
“Waiting to go to jail. Waiting for your heart to heal,” she continued. “If you keep smokin,’ when you get pregnant again you’ll have to break the habit.” She bobbed her head like it was on springs. “It’s a hard habit to break. Being pregnant don’t make it no easier.”
I grunted. “What makes you think I’d get pregnant again?”
“You will or at least you should. You don’t let one loss stop the promise.”
I turned my eyes to look into hers.
“Besides, that man you married to needs a child to pass down his legacy to. He wants children.”
I shook my head. “You don’t know anything about my husband.”
“I know he’s a man and they all like to pass down what they built to their kids. You too young to think he ain’t gonna want another baby.”
I frowned. “What’s your name?”
“Abigail Bush. It’s Abigail, but people call me Abby.”
“Well, Abigail-but-people-call-me-Abby, you have a lot of unsolicited advice for someone who appears to be living on the street.”
“So you think somebody who’s homeless can’t be smart. Everybody on the street isn’t dumb.”
“Isn’t dumb? Did you just use that that way?”
“Are not dumb, aren’t dumb, ain’t dumb. Whatever Ms. Future Jailbird.” She emphasized jail.
I sneered at her. “That was nice of you, but since we’re being rude, tell me how you failed to keep a roof over your head? They give away Food Stamps like nothing and there are food banks if you run out. You can find clothing at the goodwill,” I said, “but I can see they’re fresh out of coats.”
Abby huffed. “You got all the answers for me, but you got the silly cigarette hanging out of your mouth.”
I took one last drag, dropped it on the ground and stomped it out. I reflected on what I’d said about her housing and felt bad. She had been rude to me, but I didn’t have to be rude back. If anyone knew things weren’t always what they seemed, it was me. “That was mean. I’m sorry. I don’t really like this time of year.”
Abby roared with laughter. “I ain’t thinking about you.”
We were silent for a beat and then Abby asked. “What is it about Christmas that you don’t like?”
I shrugged.
“You a Christian ain’t you?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to like Christmas.”
“Yes, it does. So tell me why you don’t like Christmas.”
I started to answer. I figured what the heck. She knew everything else about me. But then it was too painful. I decided to keep the fact that my father left me and my mother at Christmas to myself. I chose instead to respond to the Christians and Christmas part of her comment. “I don’t think this time of year has anything to do with Jesus.”
“That’s why you don’t like it? You think it’s commercialized? You got a lot of nerve thinking that while you shopping in that store.” She cocked a finger in the direction of the entrance.
I was sick of her. “Abby, I know you find me entertaining and obviously either easy to talk to or someone you can take cheap shots at, but I came out here to clear my head, not answer your questions. So if you don’t mind...”
“I don’t mind.” Abby replied in a softer tone. “I just want you to remember that you’re still blessed, no matter what your circumstances.”
I swallowed. “That sounds like a Christian cliché of some kind.”
“It’s not a cliché. It’s a scripture. Spend some more time in that Bible and you won’t be picking up habits like smokin’.” Abby stood and I held my breath anticipating the wind would carry her scent in my direction. “I’ll see you soon.”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. I’m done shopping for a while.”
“Don’t have nothing to do with this store,” she said and she began to walk away.
I resisted the urge to wish her a Merry Christmas because one, Christmas was more than two weeks away and two, I didn’t mean it.
My phone buzzed and I removed it from my bag. It was Ebony asking where I was. I stood, looked in the direction Abigail-but-people-call-me-Abby had gone. She disappeared through the door of a building with an awning identifying it as Samaritan House.
I frowned. I’d been to this store a hundred times over the years and had never noticed that building. It was a small storefront crushed between two other businesses, but still...a word like Samaritan would jump out at me. Maybe it was new. I shrugged and walked back into the store.