The Ex Chronicles

Derrick is waking from a nightmare he’s been having with alarming frequency. He’s trying to get to his daughters but he can’t find them. He can hear them crying and calling to him, but he’s lost in a thick fog. When the fog clears, his girls are being led away by someone from Child Protective Services.

He can always tell; CPS investigators all pretty much look the same: stern, middle-aged women who look at him with barely veiled hostility. They assault him with endless questions: How is he going to support his two kids? Does he have a job or a stable home? Wouldn’t it be better if his girls were in a two-parent home? Their voices always drip with disgust when they mention Jasmine: How could he have allowed their mother to become a drug addict? Derrick tries to reach the girls but it’s like his legs are in quicksand; the more he struggles, the more he gets sucked down into it.

Derrick jerks awake, a scream in his throat. He’s drenched in sweat, the sheets of the sofa bed tangled around his legs. Where are the girls? He sits up, looking around frantically. The bedroom door is open but the bed is empty. Where are the girls? His heart is pounding, and his hand grips the edge of the sofa. Then he remembers. Asia and Kenya spent the night with their grandma upstairs. They’re safe. He puts his head into his hands as the dream comes back to him.

He’s doing his best. Jasmine hadn’t been a drug addict when he’d met her. She’d been a beautiful, headstrong girl whose family lived in his building. They’d dated all through high school, and when she got pregnant he gave up going to college and took whatever job he could to support his family.

His mom got them a one-bedroom apartment in the Adam Clayton Powell houses on 135th Street, where he was born and raised. He did whatever he could, first working as a messenger, then doing truck deliveries. After that he drove a cab for a few years. He actually liked being a cabbie; he loved to drive around and see different parts of the city.

He’d even gotten used to getting robbed almost monthly, but the last time he’d been shot, despite giving up all the cash he had. When he woke in Harlem Hospital, his mother told him an angel had been watching over him: The bullet had grazed his ribs, missing his heart by inches.

For Derrick, far worse than the pain of the bullet was the pain of being shot by another young black man. Derrick had made an effort to pick up brothers looking for rides; cabs rarely picked him up, especially if he was going up to Harlem. He’d wanted to help a brother out and it had almost gotten him killed.

He looks at the clock: six-thirty. Normally at this time he has to get the girls up, showered, and bags packed to get them to school at eight for breakfast. This morning he can actually lounge around for a bit. Their grandma will take care of getting them ready; he just has to get them at seven-thirty and take them to school.

Derrick makes the sofa bed, then folds it up into the sofa. As he cleans up, he swears for the millionth time that he’ll get his girls and his mama out of the projects. He hates it here. Though inexpensive by Manhattan standards, the one-bedroom apartment isn’t big enough for three people. The elevators break down at least once a week, and the exterminators are fighting a losing battle with the roaches and the rats in the building.

Derrick also worries about his girls’ safety in the sprawling building complex. He dreams of a big house somewhere in the Bronx or on Long Island, with a yard for the girls to play in and his mama to grow the plants that have overrun her apartment. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do it; he just knows he has to.

As he continues cleaning up, Derrick wonders if he still has a job. Yesterday didn’t go so well. He’d expected the sister to be stuck up when she’d come out of the town house on 88th and Park, and she definitely gave him attitude when she saw he wasn’t her regular driver. But he hadn’t expected her to break down like that. She let him hold her as she cried and seemed pretty together when she went into the building, but you never know with this type of sister. She might not want to see him and be reminded of her moment of weakness. Any minute he expects to get a call telling him not to come in.

An hour later Derrick has downed a bowl of cereal, showered, dressed, and tidied up the small apartment. He hasn’t gotten a call, so he assumes he still has a gig. By the time he’s bounded up the two flights of stairs to the eighth floor he’s feeling slightly better. When the door opens and two squealing girls launch themselves into his arms, he’s feeling fine.

“Daddy!” Asia is usually the first to reach him. At ten she’s three years older than Kenya. By the time Kenya gets to him he has a big smile on his face. “Daddy, Asia didn’t eat all her dinner and Grammy made her sit at the table until she finished everything and she told Grammy she doesn’t like broccoli but she does like broccoli she just didn’t want it because we had it at lunch—”

“Now now, Asia, stop that. You’re the oldest. You have to set an example,” Derrick scolds her stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

By the time Darlene slowly makes her way down the hall to the kitchen, Derrick has a girl up in each arm and is spinning them around, the beads from their braided hair swinging around their heads.

“Good morning, baby. These two have had too much sugar.” She pulls a girl off each arm, kissing them before depositing them on a chair. “I leave the kitchen for my heart medicine and when I come back they’re eating that sugar cereal you sent ’em here with.”

Derrick smiles. “I’m sorry, Mama.” He kisses her on the forehead. “You get a break tomorrow morning. I’ll take them for the night.”

Darlene sucks her teeth. “They’re no problem at all.” She turns to the two little girls, who are barely able to stay in their chairs. “Isn’t that right?” she asks, tickling them. When they dissolve into giggles, she kisses them and hands them two lunch boxes. “Now who’s the Pink Power Ranger?” Asia frantically waves her hand. “And let’s see, I guess that means that Dora the Explorer is for . . . ?”

“Me, me, me, Grammy!” Kenya yells, almost falling off her chair. “Okay ladies, brush your teeth and then get your coats. Daddy’s gonna walk y’all to school.” Darlene’s Alabama drawl sneaks out. As they run past her she swats them on their butts. A moment later Darlene pours her son a cup of coffee, then sits down heavily. “You look tired, baby.”

“Did Jasmine come around?” Darlene takes one of Derrick’s hands in hers. “That girl is nothing but trouble.” She shakes her head. “Used to be so sweet.”

“I’m more worried about making enough money to get you and the girls outta here than God’s plan, Mama.” This was an old argument.

When Derrick gets up and puts his cup in the sink, Darlene changes the topic. “How’s your new job, baby? Denise called in a lot of favors to get you hired. She’s seeing one of the drivers, you know, and so soon after her husband died. . . .” Darlene’s voice trails off. “Anyway, this man she’s seeing, he got her son a job there a month ago and now he’s almost running the office.” Darlene leans in close to Derrick, as though Denise is in the room. “And let’s face it, you’re a lot smarter than Jamal.”

Derrick turns to face Darlene. “I know, Mama. I really appreciate you helping me get this job, but I’m not expecting to get rich driving people around.”

Darlene sniffs, “Well if you expect to get rich then you’re gonna need a job.” She pushes herself out of her chair and starts washing the few dishes in the sink.

“You’re a dreamer, just like your daddy. Opportunity isn’t just going to fall into your lap; you gotta work hard for it, every day.”

“I work hard, Mama, but I wanna be happy. I wanna live my dream too. Why can’t I make money doing what I love? That’s what Daddy wanted.”

“To follow his dream, Mama. He wanted to work as a musician, and he was starting to make money. He woulda come back . . . if you’d let him.”

When Darlene is quiet, Derrick continues. “I can understand why he did what he did, Mama. Why can’t you?” Darlene leans heavily against the sink. “Why can’t I understand it? Because I don’t have the luxury of understanding it. All I have is the responsibility to make sure my son and now my grandkids have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.”

“I know, Mama; I don’t know what me and the girls would do without you. Daddy didn’t want to stay away but he couldn’t play music at home. You wouldn’t let him. He was always working or looking for work. He just wanted to follow his dreams.”

A tear slides down Darlene’s cheek. “You don’t think I had dreams too? You think my dream is to work in a nursing home? I had dreams too. But there was no room for my dreams. My family had to come first.”

“Grammy, why are you crying?” Asia asks. She and Kenya are standing in the doorway, holding their lunch boxes and coats. Darlene wipes her eyes with a tissue from the pocket of her robe. “It’s okay, baby girl. Sometimes people get sad and cry.”

At eight-thirty, Derrick drives up to Hope’s town house. Her coffee and papers are waiting in the backseat. Derrick flips down the mirror and checks his tie. Then he checks his watch; he’s right on time. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and then fiddles with the radio. He’s so engrossed in the radio stations that he doesn’t even notice that Hope is walking down the steps to the car. When she slips into the backseat, he is at a loss for words. The slamming of the door brings him back to himself.

A terse “morning” is Hope’s response. He tunes the radio to the news channel he was told she prefers, then he takes a breath and slips smoothly into traffic. Derrick doesn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all, so he keeps quiet. He sneaks peeks in the rearview mirror at Hope. He can barely make her out in her dark glasses and a cap pulled low over her face as she drinks her coffee and reads the papers.

Fifteen minutes later Derrick pulls up in front of the Shades offices. He hops out of the front seat and walks over to the rear passenger door. Pulling it open, he offers Hope his hand. After a slight hesitation she takes it and gets out of the car. When she stands in front of him, she slips her hand out of his and takes off her sunglasses. She looks at him for seconds but it feels to Derrick like hours, then she puts her hand on his arm, leans in close to him, and whispers, “Thank you.”

Then she turns and walks into the building, quickly getting swallowed up by the bustling crowd. Derrick stands at the car, the place where her hand touched him warm and tingling. He knows her thank-you wasn’t for today. He whispers, “You’re welcome.”