The Other Side of Goodness

For which cause also I have been much hindered from coming to you.

Deidra was waiting at the door when Lawrence entered the house.

“Where is she?” Lawrence asked his wife of his youngest daughter.

Lawrence went up to Imani’s room. She was lying facedown on her bed. He went over, sat down, and placed his hand on her back. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Imani said, not bothering to turn toward him.

“Well, we know something is going on. Your mother called me a bit frantic. She’s worried about you. Are you feeling okay? Is something hurting? Do we need to take you to the doctor? Come on, talk to me.” Lawrence tried to pull her to an upright position, but she resisted.

“I’m fine. Mom shouldn’t have bothered you. You can go on back and do whatever you were doing before she called.”

“Listen, Courtney—”

Imani popped up and looked hard at her father. “It’s Imani! My name is Imani! And I wish you’d stop calling me Courtney and call me by my name.”

Lawrence rested his hand on her shoulder. “I am calling you by your name.”

“No. You’re calling me by what you and your stupid campaign folks have decided you’ll call me.” Imani tucked strands of her hair that dangled in her face securely behind her ear.

“Courtney”—Lawrence caught himself—“Imani, we’ve talked about this. I told you that I’m in a really difficult reelection this time around. I’m being forced to do some things differently to ensure that I retain my seat. The entire family has had to make sacrifices, me included. Do you really think that I want to be a Republican? All we’re doing, when it comes to you, is using your first name—the name you were given at birth and that’s on your birth certificate: Courtney.” Lawrence tilted his head.

“Whatever, Dad. In the end, you always get everything your way. It doesn’t matter what any of the rest of us want. We don’t matter. It has to be your way. Fine.”

Lawrence gently placed his hand on her arm. “I know it might feel that way sometimes, but that’s not actually true. I love you, Imani. And I want you to have things I never did. Things like this house we live in, the cars we drive. I mean look at your room.” He made a show of scanning her bedroom. “You have practically anything anybody could ever want or imagine, just here in your room alone. There’s a top-of-the-line computer, a forty-inch high-definition television on the wall, iPhone, iPod, iPad, stereo system, the bedroom suite that you picked out. And this year, when you turn sixteen, we’re buying you a brand-new car. Not used, new. Imani, there are so many children who wish they were you . . . wish they could trade places with you.”

“It’s just stuff, Dad. Stuff breaks. Stuff stops working. Stuff tears up. Stuff gets old and outdated. I don’t care that much about stuff.” Imani looked hard into her father’s eyes. “Tell me: Why can’t I go and see her? Huh? I want to know. I just want to see her. I want to see for myself that she’s doing okay.”

Lawrence nodded. They were back to this again. “Imani, I know this has been hard on you these past few months. I understand; I promise you that I do.”

“You paraded us out there before everybody, talking about how important it was for us to be an example and do what we could to help. You were acting like you really cared about her and what might happen to her.”

“I did care. And I’m honestly thankful a match was found. But her part of the process involved a lot more than the donor, not that I’m diminishing the donor’s part in the least. Your contribution as a donor was major. I dare say that you’re the reason she’s still alive. But that little girl, most likely, is not supposed to have a lot of visitors. And specifically not strangers traipsing in and out, carrying all kinds of germs, as she builds back her system. We don’t want to do anything to harm her now, do we?”

“But I want to see her, Dad. I want to meet her. I want to ask her myself how she’s doing,” Imani emphasized again.

“And one day, you will. I’ll see if I can arrange it. But for now, we don’t need to add to her mother’s worry.” Lawrence took his hand and gently lifted Imani’s chin. “Please say you understand. I hate it when you’re sad like this.”

Imani moved her chin out of his hand. “I understand that all of this was likely exactly what Paris said it was: a political stunt to get you publicity. Well, it worked, Dad. It . . . worked. People think you’re absolutely wonderful for having led the charge in heightening the awareness of something most folks knew nothing about. You came off as someone who cared. Congratulations! Mission accomplished!” Imani stood up.

“But you don’t care anything about her.” Imani went to her desk and sat in her chair. “The only thing you care about is getting reelected. You could care less that I don’t want to be referred to as Courtney in your political mailings or when we’re out with you as though Imani doesn’t exist. Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to be teased by the kids at school because my father appears to have disowned me?”

Lawrence stood, went over, and hugged her. “Honey, you know that’s not the case at all. I’ve explained this.”

Imani turned on her computer. “Yeah. You explained it. The name Imani is ‘too ethnic sounding’ for some of the people you’re trying to reach. Courtney is much more ‘mainstream.’ Well, Dad, I think you should get your folks to do a poll since they love polling, and you’ll find out just how many black girls, and guys for that matter, are named Courtney.”

“I don’t need a poll. I happen to know that lots of black folks are named Courtney.” Lawrence started to chuckle, hoping to break up some of the tension. “I happen to love the name, that’s why I wanted you to be named that.”

“Yeah. And Mom wanted to name me Imani. But because you wanted to name me Courtney, once again, your desire won out. I guess I need to just get used to it and stop trying to fight it. Things will always be what you want and how.”

Lawrence grabbed her chair and turned her to face him. “I promise, Imani. If by the end of the year you still want to see her, we’ll see what we can do to make it happen.”

“Yeah. You mean after the November election so it won’t get in your way.”

Lawrence smiled. “I’m not trying to time it for after any election.”

“Sure, Dad. Okay.” Imani got up out of her chair, went back over to her bed, flopped down on it, and crossed her arms. “Fine. You say I can’t see her until you say so, then fine. I just wonder what you’re afraid of. Why are we going to such great lengths now to keep everything a secret when you didn’t have any problems with going public about us all participating in the bone marrow drive? Why is that?”

Lawrence sat down beside Imani. “Imani, the rules of volunteering to be a possible donor normally only allow those between the ages of eighteen and sixty to even test. You were fifteen, well below the minimum age. That’s why I had to sign to allow you to be able to do it.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want anybody to know that we broke some rule? Is that what you’re trying to say now?” Imani stared at him as she awaited his answer.

“I’m saying that I don’t want people bothering you.” He touched her arm.

She uncrossed her arms. “Yeah, that’s right. You don’t have a problem parading us in front of the cameras to get you publicity for possibly doing a noble thing. But when your youngest daughter ends up being a perfect match for the person we were obviously pretending to be helping, you don’t want anybody to know it.” She crossed her arms again. “Makes a lot of sense to me. Well, I’d like to meet the girl my stem cells happened to save. I want to see for myself that she’s getting better.”

Lawrence smiled. “Okay. Okay, I hear you loud and clear. So let me see what I can do. We’ll put in a call to her mother to see if we can’t arrange something soon. But if her mother says no or not right now, will you let it go until she says other wise?”

“If you come back and tell me that her mother said no, it will make me wonder why she said no or if she really said no. Because I can’t imagine a mother whose child was dying and is reportedly doing better, now that she’s received the transplant she needed, would say she doesn’t want to meet the person who donated her marrow if that person wanted to meet them.” Imani uncrossed her arms and looked squarely at her father. “So, Dad, if you come back and tell me that she doesn’t want to meet me, then I’ll just figure it’s you coming up with an excuse to keep us apart. For what reason, I don’t know.”

Lawrence swallowed hard, then nodded as he turned up his mouth a bit. “I love you, Imani. I really do.” He stood up, leaned down, and kissed her on the top of her head. He then put his hand on her head softly. “I really do.”