Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine
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At home, wading through life.
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BACK SUPPORT
THE WOMEN IN THE OFFICE HAD RIPPED THROUGH PAPERWORK PREPARED BY THE STATES ATTORNEY like it was toilet paper unrolling from the stall in the bathroom. Simply reading the name on the docket told them their rights were to free the hispanic man on the downside of the divorce ordered child support. The woman supported by the docket was black. She was black as far as they were concerned. And those women seated in the lobby near her... bearing hispanic last names waiting for alimony or child support final draft, were just as bad. They were after something that should not be ordered to pocket money ethnicly allocated for Latina women. The Latina office assistants were highly opinionated, but seemingly secure in their privileged role of processing child support orders from incoming divorce dockets. Other women in line were of varied complexion, caucasian and also seeking conclusion to their newly accomplished marital freedom. That freedom plunged them all into the same unstable world of court ordered income from a mate who demonstratedly negated continued love and compassion already. The State's Attorney and his assistant were nowhere to be found during the full extent of the day's appointed closures for child support. To their pleasure, the office assisting Latina's had full control over the other women's outcome. "Next..." The heavy hispanic accent emitted by the head chica in charge of the group of temporary office assistants beckoned another woman to the next cubicle for help. Unashamedly blurting out for all to hear, "How do we fill thees ...blanca el negra files in two days?" The two laughed before concluding the plan, "Es our hombres... es our dinero!" "Write et es Muareta, Muareta Florez." They stamped both women's paperwork and etched on a new dat of orientation for funds to begin before ushering them back out the door. Then, "Next!" Months later a check came directed through Department of Family services for $25. An explanation accompanied it saying, "Monthly payments will be routed through public welfare for any duration of time for which the custodial parent is enrolled in the public welfare system." Luckily, the "negra" was employed with a department of government for the state she lived in. Many months after that first check for $25 payments were recorded as altered for the fact that the respondent was resideing WITH THE DEFENDANT as his wife. They were being recorded as paid but to his girlfriend who was now claimed as his wife... stepmother of the children. He and she now had an apartment out of the townhouse where she and his children from that first marriage lived for two years.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Families
GOING BACK IN
PROFESSIONALISM RUINED, I HAD TO DO SOMETHING. I was GOING BACK IN. I love an income... an income that produces a MEANS FOR LIVING what I call life. Retirement is the most boring session in life so far. In it I am advised to try a number of things that include traveling to desired destinations... many of which I have never had the desire. Work life was cut short after accomplishing the basics for becoming a fledgling land developer or working an integral role within a land development corporation. I accomplished the basics for being that woman on a land surveying team and in their civil engineering corporation. I could work for any one of the many major corporations in their real estate department. I could continue working in the "cushy community" where I was initially hired to work as a simple licensed real estate agent after passing course studies and professional exams. In any path persued, I could finally earn a living to carry myself and my family... my son and daughter by my own honest effort from an honest wage earned. Beautiful.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Writers
RUNNING FROM THE GAME
THE CALL CAME OVER THE PHONE during my weekend "floor time" at the office. I had just settled down with my one cup of coffee for the morning's run through cold calls, FSBO's (we say that as "fiz bo s") and updates to scheduled appointments for the other agents. "Hi... I think I need to... I want to list our home. I need to do something soon, can you come out this weekend... maybe write us up by Monday?" There had obviously been a recent crisis in someone's family. He wanted to list his home as urgently as the next business day. I responded with, "Sure. I can come out on Sunday or later today if you like. Would 2pm work for you or... I can probably work out an earlier 1pm if that's better." He accepted the earlier appointment and I hung up the phone. He was calling from the Hebrew correct community not far from my home in Southfield. Their's was a "walk about" community that bade them walk to service and assemblies on holy days. Their's was a seemingly tight knit community that stretched out to fund each other's needs and marry into and out of one another's family. Their's was all that, seen on my daily drives in and out of our community where I lived amid determination to draw independent subsistence by committing solutions to problems of other individuals. It was my job, my profession to be enhanced upon, that would help them climb their desired social status reflected by a comely residential appeal. I worked the property market supported by my office... the high three hundred thousands well into the multi million dollar homestead. It was a dream career and I was there to pull it through. Six months of working diligently on six client files was set to bring a net commission of well over two hundred ten thousand dollars. Other than expanding into land development of industrial real estate, I was reaching my "aurora." I did not have familiars of name, face nor locale but was determined to do what was necessary short of the "any means" touted by so many others in their aim to reach a goal. My job was to make my clients happy. That meant simply to find their best image to present their social status. Oakland County was my file source to fish out of and in to... that and a luxury resort develpment in the heart of Texas... Horse Shoe Bay, Texas.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Confessions
ABABA
She and her brother's name did not ring a bell until much later. Nearly one week after cleaning out my bank account to buy a used car, I looked at the signature on the back of the title before sending it through protocol and read "Salassie." The guy selling me the vehicke had gone back to where he was staying to get a signature put to the document for transferral into my name, and this was what he brought me. Gabrie-Salassie signed to the seller's line. It was a name I had not heard for decades. Daniel Salassie and his sister, Belainesh, were here in town with an aunt, the person who signed the car title. It was enough to cause recall of days long gone. The days of my childhood where a black community fantacized of black kings and kingdoms. They chastised others who "acted like they were the Queen of Sheba" or "thought they were high and mighty" when all they need do was pay attention to what was evolving around them.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in History
TEETERING
He was one of the last freed from the facility. The last of those qualified to test for beginning a "normal" life. Billy Dobb had been released into his setup ten days ahead of the project set into motion. Those remaining in the facility were being set for expanded expeiences counted under the activities portion of the Unit Director's paraprofessional's duty book with results and observed behaviors to be recorded for each participant. Each participant would then be grafted further into expansion programs outside the facility limits and eventually into awaiting arms of caregivers in sister Cities of alternate nations if possible. The second flight trip was being arranged when the call came in to the director's office. "Mamm... we've got a problem. A problem that can't be let off grounds just yet. Remember that Billy Bobb fella... Billy Dob orrrr whatever... he's missin." The news caught the director at a chuckle that reasponded with, "No.. Billy Dob is history. Him and his flighty excitment and Haldol needs... he's gone. Not my problem! Hahaha..." The voice at the other end coughed out the next lines as if he were choking on words tumbling through his mind, :he was rostered on our plane mamm... on our plane that went down. He was found "stowed away" in the luggage area and the note made of his attendance. When the plane went down from that commotion in the storm it had him there counted. Now they van't find him in the wreck. Some made it thru there and the few not dead don't include him. They all lined up on that hill out there but he ain't in the bunch. Where's he at?" The director went quiet while the voice on the other end went on talking. "You know that Billy... he was a problem in everthing.. anything moving. He didn't like being... felin pent up in nothing he couldn't get outta. You don't suppose they put him by a winduh where he could look out and feel trapped? ...or mhbe he was too close to the front hatch... bothered them pilots? But where's he at? He always makes the commotion in the vans and cars to and from doctor visits... but they always on the ground. That plane got confused in the rain storm and took down to Louisiana and back up to Tennesse when they had to get gas to compensate for gettin lost in the storm. They was at Tennessee tryin to make that turn they missed to get on the tarmack in South Illinois... that Carbondale trip... he's scared of water ya know. That plane was over lots of water at Louisiana.. new Orleans. He didn't like that kinda thing in the Chicago Pier trip... wrecked that van fulll of folks on that outing. And now he ain't found on or around the plane? It went down out there in New York... well Around New York City... the Statue area. I'm thinkin he got jumpy from seeing the water there after the water ride of New Orleans. He couldn't get off there cause he needed to be back at that apartment house where they left him in the normalization program. He had to stay with that group til they made it home again. It's them folks that called lookin for him. He's jumpy on most any travel trips. That was why he's out of the facility... but he snuck back in. Probably lookin for that girl he liked so much. She was on the trip but she laying out there with the fatalities and he ain't noplace to be found. There's a few staff and one of them pilots left out there counting the dead and injured waiting for the final roster. We can keep hold on the line if you want to... Till they find Billy... oh right, he's not our problem. Just all them dead bodied folks that took the trip he jumped onto. Hold on, the light's flashin on that line." The caller on the other end went silent leaving a deathful eeriness where his endless prattle had caused the air in the small offce to shimmer like an ill struck first grader's triangle from brashness of his news. Someone thinks they found Billy Dobb... there's someone at the edge of a ravine out there they gonna check it for you." The Director turned towad the dimming evening light ofthe close of the day's workload. She had stayed late to catch the phone call for details of the over nighter that was supposed to have been the highlight of this trip. The hotel and a recount of participants to validate secure measures being taken for safety of clients taken away from local state facilities. They were to have returned to Midway Airport and driven by bus back to the facility. It was an easy outing. Simple. No complications. Nothing complicating. A ride out and ride back. An experience in something other than a van trip to a medical appointment. And now this. They were all dead... There was an undertow of verbage and a rise in her blood pressure from anger at whoever had caused the mishap. They were going to be scrutinized for the misjudgement of the patients set for travel. Patient's families would have to be individually addressed and individual recounts made for finalarrangements. If that Billy Bobb Dobb guy ahd really caused the ... She slammed the glass window pane in front of her causing it the break and send blood running down her fist and arm. She could kill his ass. They were supposed to have been rid of him... safely. "Damn him... damn him...He" The phone rang again flashing the extension used by the recent call. She pressed thelit button and waited. The other end of the phone filled once more with prattle... words running seamlessly, "It was Billy Dobb... he's dead with a hole in his head... shot dead all right. He's at the bottom of that ridge... that man standing that they saw.. well Billy Dobb musta fallen after he shot him with that flare gun. He dead as anything... and the police is out there now. We have to wait for the police report and details of what happened on the flight from the facility to Carbondale for that overnight flight trip. You got that message? Director... Director" She said nothing and he left the line open for her to recover. It was a lot to hear. Billy Dobb was dead ... the flight patients mostly dead and the three living people one blowed Billy away and down into the creek below. The Director said nothing, but hung up the phone. The police would be calling the facility soon.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Criminal
The Dark
TWO RED SPIRALS BLINKED BACK AT ME from the dark corner of the lesser used bedroom in my home. No one went into that room anymore. It merely served as the passageway to the back balcony. It had been out of use and the door latched to keep the younger of four grandchildren out of the room and more importantly, off the second story balcony. The stairs had been removed as much as four years before the birth of the youngest child to prevent intrusions by unknowns who were sen loitering on the lewer section of steps or prying their way into the back room. For other reasons, the room was left empty except for the full mattress and a desk in the corner. The closet shelving had been disassembled and the closet light dismantled. There had been curious complaints by one of the older boys that voices in the night disturbed him as he studied his college books, and that there was some strange glow that bounced around the walls when he turned out the ceiling light for the night's rest. He kept his mother's dog in the room with him for that reason. Apollo was a comforter. It eased his nerves to hug the dog when the voices began their chatter and gave reason for added covers to avoid seeing the red glow that trailed around the walls near the balcony door. He moved out less than one year after begging in and being begged into the possibility of staying in one of the bedrooms and choosing that one particularly because it had the balcony. Now, it stayed empty except for the intermittent access for storing an odd peice of furniture or accessing the balcony on a cool summer night.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Horror
Royelien Green
"ROYELIEN GREEN and soilent things cast to mid the histrydien... haught the way and tarry the blew"... I took of the green laid before me and toted them to the waiting chasm set on an outer table near the watch desk. The largest of those keeping watch over our review nodded as I set the muddle into the bucket waiting for another to lift it to its next destination. It was planned to cause the deletion of the sitting administration. It was being taken to the other side of the pond and would be spread across the seats of those assembling in the tomorrow's gathering. It would be their last. This was going to humiliate and diminish the respect for them and their works for the past year.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Fiction
CHOKING BACK
IT WAS ALWAYS THE LAST PLACE THAT WOULD EVER TAKE HOLD, and so I ran. I ran after first running the opposite direction. I ran toward what seemed like a justly resolve that could somehow bring back what was lost. I ran across town, through darkening streets and past the multi-housing community that lay between my apartment and the "resolve." They could pay my way, cover the transportation to the death site. I ran as far as the desk that held the last, late to leave employee still sipping her coffee cup of browned liquid that spilled from the corner of her mouth as she spoke to me, "We don't do that." She caught the dribble with one finger knuckle then spoke again, "We do not provide travel to an anticipated wreckage site. If your family member is in the wreck of anything, we don't cover a travel trip until they are announced dead and ready for burial," I stared at the SALVATION ARMY representative long and hard before saying anything. Then I spoke, "Then why am I donating my money to your company? You don't really have the purpose you claimed, do you. You don't do anything." I glanced around the room used as an office for the facility, noticing the posterboards and knick knacks on shelves... the videos that were attestation to the "good deeds done" which sat beneath a stand and television. That view and a thought about the fancy late model car in the parking lot I had just run through, bought my repeated comment, "You don't do anything." I turned to leave, not looking back to see nor hear the mumbled line of jargon cast at me from behind my back. It was something to the effect of "good night... good... something " but I did not hear the full intention of her words. I was already gone.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Confessions
CATEGORICALLY HOMELESS
THE TONE OF THE WORD "HOMELESS" and any implication that one may become so wrangles at the insides to a point of cringing fear and dread. It imlies extreme loss of possessions and the security of a roof overhead. It references a new beginning in life as a drifter.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine2 years ago in Confessions
STILL AMONG US
THE CALL CAME IN SAYING SHE HAS TAKEN A TURN FOR THE WORSE ...but there was never an order for a funeral herse ...there was never viewing, nor repass nor clinical summary designating "cause of death", inherent illness or sudden occurence.
By Carmen JimersonCross-Safieddine3 years ago in Poets
