Patina Page 13

  “Hey, Bev,” he said, opening the passenger door.

  “Hey, Toon,” Ma said, looking up at him. She reached up, took a chunk of his arm between her fingers, and pinched.

  “Ouch!” Uncle Tony yelped.

  “That was for taking so long to call me yesterday!” Ma growled. “And by the way, you look terrible in the morning.”

  “You don’t look so great yourself.” He gave it right back, smirking.

  “Yeah, but I got dirty blood. What’s your excuse?” Ma grinned like—won! She has the best smile.

  “My wife is in the hospital,” Uncle Tony deadpanned. His face changed, and Ma knew that even though she was trying to lighten the situation, the joke was over.

  “Sorry, Tony. I don’t . . . I don’t mean to be insensitive. I’m so sorry this had to happen to Emily, of all people.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s just a concussion and a broken arm. But it could’ve been worse.” Uncle Tony glanced at Maddy. Ma did too.

  We had to go. No time for jokes, and no time for tears, because Ma had to get to dialysis, and we had to make sure we got to the hospital before Momly went into surgery.

  First we had to get Ma in the SUV, and when I say we, I really mean Uncle Tony.

  “Come on, let’s get you up here,” he said, lifting her from the chair like a baby. He set her in the seat the same way my dad used to do me. I gotta admit it was weird seeing Ma be lifted up. Be held like that. And he lifted her out of the SUV just as carefully when we got to the hospital. I’d already pulled her chair from the back and unfolded it, ready to roll.

  “First stop, Emily’s room,” Ma commanded. But we made a pit stop in the dialysis unit first. It was a room with a bunch of people sitting around hooked up to machines. Some were missing a foot, or a leg, just like Ma. Others looked pretty regular. It was like a blood-cleaning club, complete with magazines and newspapers, but most people were looking up at a TV screen showing one of those early morning shows like Good Morning America. They had some lady on there demonstrating how to cut a pineapple into the shape of an owl.

  “Shoot, by the time I do all that, I could’ve just ate the doggone fruit!” a woman wearing a blue hat was saying as we came farther into the room. Her silver hair was stuffed under it, wisps sticking out the sides like she was hiding an old cat up there. She noticed my mother. “Hey, Bev.”

  “Hey, Theresa.” Then Ma spoke to everyone else in the room. “Hey, y’all. These my babies, Patty and Maddy.”

  Everyone did that weird whiny thing grown-ups do when they meet kids they’ve been hearing about. I’m surprised one of them didn’t ask me how track was going. I knew they knew I ran. Both my mothers talk too much.

  “And this my brother-in-law, Tony. Emily’s husband.” I learned then that the whiny thing isn’t just for kids, but also for adults that adults had been hearing about. “Y’all know Emily’s in here? She’s upstairs. Got in a car accident yesterday.”

  “No,” Theresa moaned, in shock.

  “She’s okay, she’s okay,” Uncle Tony said, doing the calm down hands. He gave my mother the really? face. That’s the face you give people when you wanna say, You really just gon’ air my business out in the streets like that? Um . . . this is Beverly Jones. The queen of the air-out.

  “She’s okay, but she needs y’all’s prayers anyway,” Momly said. They all nodded, except for one old man who had nodded off. “Anyway, I’m gonna go up and see her right quick, and then I’ll be back. Save my seat.” The lady, Theresa, nodded and patted the seat next to hers.

  When we got upstairs to Momly’s room, Uncle Tony went in first.

  “Good morning,” he said softly.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Momly was sitting up, spooning clumps of oatmeal from a bowl. Uncle Tony gave her a smooch. “Who you got with you?” Maddy crept in. And me. “Oh, hey, sweeties.” Then her voice quickly zipped from sweet to sour. “Tony, why aren’t they in school?”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll make it there. Even if I gotta roll ’em there myself,” Ma said, rolling into the room, purposely making an entrance. Beverly Jones. The queen of entrances. She planned the whole thing in the elevator on the way up.

  Momly laughed. “Hey, Bev.” Ma wheeled up next to her bed. Grabbed her hand. The one connected to the unbroken arm.

  “How you feeling, Em?”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  “You ain’t that fine if my knucklehead brother-in-law had to pick me up.” Then she leaned in and said just loud enough for all of us to hear. “His SUV is filthy.”

  Momly closed-mouth laughed. “I know.”

  “Hey!” Uncle Tony squawked. “I mean . . . it got you here, didn’t it?”

  “Yep, it sure did get me here. It also got me a two-year-old stale french fry stuck to my butt.” At this, Momly couldn’t contain herself and let out a belly laugh. It was so loud that it caught me off guard. I don’t know if I’d ever seen her laugh like that. She also seemed super rested. Just, like, chillin’ in the hospital.

  “Sounds like the morning is starting off on the right foot.” Another man’s voice came from the door. It was Dr. Lancaster. He came into the room, shook Uncle Tony’s hand.

  “Dr. Lancaster, this is Beverly Jones.” Ma turned her chair, shook the doctor’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones.” Then he stood by the head of the bed.

  “And how are you today, young lady?” he said to Momly.

  “Hangin’ in there. My head feels a little better, that’s for sure.”

  The doctor nodded. “And you all?” he addressed me and Maddy.

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  “Great.” He put his hands together. “So, Emily, I’m going to give you the rundown of what’s going to happen. In a few minutes a young man named Terrence will arrive to transport you to the operating room. I will be there waiting along with two others, Dr. Morris and Dr. Fisk. Nice folks, talented surgeons. There will also be an anesthesiologist there, named Patricia.” The doctor paused and pointed at me. “Patty, right?” I nodded. “Short for Patricia?”

  “Patina.” I was used to people doing that.

  “Ah. Patina. That’s a pretty name. Different.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Dr. Lancaster, can we make sure Patricia knocks me completely out?” Momly asked. “I don’t want to feel anything.”

  Dr. Lancaster laughed. “That’s the plan. And once you’re out cold, which will take all of seven seconds, we’ll get in there and fix you right up.”

  “And then she can come home?” Maddy asked, eager.

  Dr. Lancaster squatted. “Not quite. We need to watch her overnight to make sure there’s no funny business. But I don’t see why she can’t go home tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

  Maddy nodded.

  “Well, I’ll be here to get you as soon as we get word,” Uncle Tony said to Momly.

  “Me too,” I said.

  Momly shot me down fast. “Oh no you won’t. Because you have to run.”

  “I don’t have—”

  “You do,” Momly insisted. “You’re going to your track meet, where you should be. There’s no use in you coming back up here worrying about me.”

  I looked at Ma for a bailout. But all she said was, “Don’t look at me. You heard her.”

  “Track, huh?” Dr. Lancaster asked.

  “Yeah, she’s a fast one. Got them legs from me.” Ma shined.

  “Absolutely,” Momly double-teamed.

  “That’s terrific,” the doctor said. “My grandson is a runner. I’ve never seen him race, and honestly, he doesn’t strike me as fast, but he tells me he runs, so . . .” Dr. Lancaster shrugged. Checked his watch. “Terrence should be here,” he muttered, just as we heard a knock at the door. “And there he is.” Dr. Lancaster grinned. “The kid is like clockwork.”

  Terrence, who I just need to say was fifty times better than any boy on the Defenders team or at Barnaby Middle, or . . . ever, let Mo
mly know it was time for me, Maddy, Uncle Tony, and Ma to say good-bye.

  “Send us all a text when you make it out of surgery,” I said, ironing the wrinkles out of my khaki skirt with my palms.

  “A smiley face, just a little something,” Ma suggested, followed by hugs, kisses, and of course, a prayer. (Ma told Terrence he’d better bow his head.) And then we were on our way back to the elevator, but to different floors: Momly to the operating room, and us to the dialysis unit—Uncle Tony would come back for Ma in three hours—and me and Maddy were back in Uncle Tony’s dirt-mobile, headed to school.

  At Chester, Uncle Tony walked us to the office to get our lateness excused, and then I wandered down the empty hall toward locker 172. I had already missed most of first period but grabbed my English book anyway. By the time I got to Mr. Winston’s class, he was wrapping up his usual theatrics and a weeklong lesson, explaining the final stanza of the poem.

  “When can their glory fade?

  O the wild charge they made!

  All the world wonder’d.

  Honour the charge they made,

  Honour the Light Brigade,

  “Noble six hundred,” he recited, his voice breathy like he was having the most poetic asthma attack of all time. “Is that not beautiful?” Everyone just kinda stared at Mr. Winston, which to most folks would mean, Leave us alone. But not to teachers. To teachers, when no one looks interested, that means ask more questions. “Can anyone tell me what they think this means?” asked Mr. Winston now.

  The whole class became mannequins, which is the standard move for please don’t call on me. But for some reason, even though I was late to class, I was feeling bold. Funny thing is, even though I thought Mr. Winston was a weirdo, I actually kinda got this poem, mainly because of church. See, it was that one Bible verse—which is actually like reading one long poem—that Pastor Carter said all the time . . . alllll the time, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” It was his go-to, and whenever he said it, the whole church bugged out. And this Light Brigade poem started the same way—charging into the valley of death. So . . . yeah, I got it. Got it so much I even raised my hand.

  “Patina,” Mr. Winston called on me, surprised. I put my pen top in my mouth, chewed on it for a second, then answered.

  “It’s basically saying that their bravery should be honored. That they did what they had to do, and they did it together, even though it seemed almost impossible to win.”

  The bell rang.

  “Exactly,” Mr. Winston said over the clatter of chairs scraping the floor and backpacks zipping. “Now, onward to enjoy your weekends, my noble six hundred!”

  In math I spent the entire time thinking about how Momly’s arm was probably at an obtuse angle when it broke. Maybe 230 degrees. That’s if it snapped backward, which made the most sense to me. I also thought about the 180-degree turn I was going to make as soon as I saw T-N-T. Let them know that I ain’t gonna be buffing the floor by myself anymore. That I ain’t no junk. The floor being the Frida assignment, of course. Maybe math actually was good for something. Somehow convincing yourself to stand up to hair flippers (and fake flippers), understanding bone-breaking angles, and estimating how long it would take to eat three (hundred) tacos.

  Lunchtime. Friday’s menu: tacos. Pick your meat. Chicken, beef, or shrimp. Pick your shell. Hard or soft. Cheese, shredded or liquid. Lettuce, tomato, sour cream, salsa. Three tacos, $4.25. Everybody’s favorite.

  I didn’t do no lunchroom laps today. Instead I just got my food and headed to the table where Becca and Macy and Sasha and the others were sitting. The table I’d been sitting at two days in a row, well, except for yesterday. I slipped in next to Sasha, lifted one of my tacos, and bit it in half.

  “So what did I miss yesterday, Becca?” I asked. I was prepping to deliver the blow, that I, Patina Jones, was done being the Frida Leader. I was sick of it, and I didn’t put up with this on my track team, so I was definitely not putting up with it at this school. TO DO: put T-N-T on notice that the Frida Freebies were a wrap. Dunzo. Becca, who was holding her taco like it was a grenade about to explode hot sauce and lettuce, widened her eyes.

  “Oh, I was about to tell you. Ms. Lanford changed the rules,” she said. Sauce was dribbling out of the end of the taco and onto her hand. Newbie!

  “Changed the rules?”

  “Yeah. She’s not grading us all together anymore. We all are responsible for different parts of the project. That way it’s fair, y’know?” Becca explained. She put down her taco and dabbed a napkin to her hand. “I think it’s better this way.” Then she flashed a sneaky grin. Um . . . me too, Becca. Me too, I thought. But there was something about that look on her face that made me want to thank her. Made me think she had something to do with it. Anyway, this was great news. And it made Friday even better, and I don’t know if it was the combination of it all, or what, but I was suddenly feeling . . . I don’t know. Like I had some kind of magical thing happening in me. This must be how Maddy felt all the time. Strong in a special way.

  Once I got to history class, guess who spoke to me first. Guess. You get two chances, and one clue. They got almost the same name.

  “Hi, Patty,” Taylor said as I came into the room. Caught me off guard.

  “Hey, Taylor.” I didn’t put no funk in it. Not even when TeeTee spoke. No need to be mean to them. Plus, I understood what it felt like to want to fit in. Or at least to feel like you “fit out.” I don’t know if I would’ve been fronting like them, but I get it.

  “Welcome back, Miss Jones,” Ms. Lanford said as I sat down. “I’m sure your group members will be happy to see you, especially since I’ve adjusted the rules.”

  “Becca told me.” I tried to keep from grinning.

  “Good. You will still have to give a group presentation, but now each of you will have to cover a specific part of the life of your subject. I got word that not everyone has been pulling their weight, so I wanted to make sure I’m giving fair grades.”

  I was psyched, I’m talking totally gassed about this. But once we got into our groups, I discovered the other girls had already chosen which parts they wanted. TeeTee chose Frida’s love affair with Diego, no surprise there, though judging by Taylor’s face, there had been some drama over that choice. Taylor, I guess because her first choice was taken, decided to go with Frida’s death. Becca was going to talk about the art, which I would’ve loved to talk about since I was the one who had been doing so much research on it. But it was okay. Becca was . . . she was cool. So that left me to talk about Frida’s childhood, which to be honest, I was fine with because I already knew so much about it, including the newest thing I’d learned the night before, that after Frida was diagnosed with polio, which messed up her right leg, giving her a limp, her father encouraged her to play sports—soccer, even wrestling—even though girls didn’t really do that back then. He thought it would be good for her leg, but turned out what it was really good for was her confidence. And I kept thinking about that, not just in class, but for the rest of the day—that that’s kinda what running was to me. A way to shut people up. A way to . . . I guess, sometimes even shut myself up. Just turn it all off. Leave everything, all the hurting stuff, the unregular stuff that seemed so regular to me, in the dust.

  TO DO: The family thing (beads, bedtime stories, and . . . back to turkey wings, of course)

  MOMLY TEXTED ME a smiley face at almost the exact same time me and Maddy climbed into Uncle Tony’s SUV after school. I knew she had planned it that way—Momly plans everything—to make sure I wouldn’t be checking my phone in class when I heard the ding. I showed it to Maddy, and she smiled big-time.

  “Hold that pose,” I told her, and snapped a photo of her—head cocked, big gappy-mouthed cheese—and texted the photo back to Momly.

  “Are we going to go see her tonight?” I asked Uncle Tony. “Especially since I don’t have practice.”

  “Actually, I think it’d be better if
you girls waited until tomorrow,” Uncle Tony said, turning his blinker on so he could pull out into the street. He looked to the right and to the left, to the right and to the left again, being extra careful, waiting for the coast to be clear. “She’s pretty spacey right now since she’s on heavy-duty pain meds since it’s the first day. When I spoke to her earlier, she was talking about putting beads on her fingernails.”

  “On her fingernails?” Maddy cried out.

  “See what I mean? Painkillers can be a zonk; sometimes it’s just best to give people a rest day.”

  “So tomorrow then?” Maddy pushed.

  “Hmmm. I’m pretty sure she’s going to come home tomorrow,” he explained, finally turning.

  “Can we go pick her up with you?” Maddy followed up, the thump, thump of her feet in my back.

  “Well.” Uncle Tony gave me a look. “Skunk’s gonna do me a favor and take y’all to the track. Patty has to run.” He looked at me to make sure that was okay, and I nodded to let him know that it was.

  “But I don’t.” Maddy made her point clear.

  “Don’t you wanna see Patty race?” Uncle Tony asked.

  “Yeah, but maybe we can pick Momly up first,” Maddy pushed more. I reached back and gave her knee a squeeze.

  “Maybe,” Uncle Tony said. “The thing is, Patty’s meet starts in the morning, and Momly’s told me a million times that usually hospital discharge stuff takes a while, so people aren’t usually released until early afternoon. That’s the way it normally goes. Doctors drag their feet and take their sweet time.” Maddy pouted in the back, while Uncle Tony took his sweet time driving us home.

  That night I called my mother and asked her to help me make turkey wings. Yes . . . turkey wings. Uncle Tony had been married to Momly for forever and never knew how to cook much of nothing, which was ridiculous to me. He would’ve ordered takeout, but I just felt like we needed to have a real meal. Have something regular. A reminder that we were fine. Plus, I wanted to make sure I was ready to really help Momly when she came home, even though Uncle Tony kept saying he had it covered. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the driving thing was all him, and lifting Ma up, and all that, but I was just doing my part. Teamwork. Ha! I almost said, Team wing, which I guess works too.