Battling Baltimore

When you’re living in Chesapeake, VA, nothing says the level of your suburban street-cred like riding around in your minivan drinking a coconut milk, pumpkin frapuccino while listening to Tupac pregnant with your fourth child. Just thinking about that Fall 2016 moment makes me want to purse my lips and “raise the roof” at the memory. Sure I was going to throw up the frapuccino later and take a much needed baby-making machine nap, but I was determined to enjoy my short-lived, first-world luxury.

But it’s now January 2020, and after bringing baby number five into the world and having the obstetrician tie my very fertile procreating tubes, we find out that the man who put the Indian in our Blindian matrimony has been diagnosed with a rare incurable blood cancer. It's so rare that the closest place for us to get answers is in Baltimore.

With my mom having just recently moved to Vermont, and his parents hundreds of miles away and just recently allowing us back into their graces after disowning us for 12 years because their only child happened to marry me, an African American, we leave once our children are set with my grandmother.

Now we are traveling to our hotel to get ready to see the specialist to tackle our biggest challenge to date…

As a teen Pittsburgh, Harlem, Time Square, actually New York City itself were my playgrounds as I navigated them with my artistic wanderlust heart. The main thing you needed to do to survive was walk straight and fast, like you have a purpose, not smile at strangers or turn your head to cat-calls, and never act like a tourist!

Master those things and you can get away unscathed from location to location when you’re by yourself.

I 100%, and if we need to get technical, I 98.7% guarantee it…

So, once The Man and I got into Baltimore for his appointment my city heart was elated to see that the hotel seemed to have so much life all around it and multiple food places within view of our room. We settled on saw one that we can see across the street that looked like a good place for lunch. He didn’t have the energy to go anywhere so I left on my own to pick it up to eat back at the room.

I was ready to conquer the streets with the same New York-esque attitude that I missed having for survival. It was time for another “don’t mess with me on these streets” performance.

I make my way out and see my first “test”. A man was talking to himself, wearing shades, with enormous hand gestures while turning his face to each pedestrian that passed by him to see who will engage. He had been there since we arrived to the hotel... it’s fine because I was ready. With my eyes focused straight ahead and no smile on my light brown sugar cheeks, I make it past him and end up at the street corner waiting to cross when…

“WHACK!”

I felt a slight pain on my left arm. Breaking “protocol” I turned to see who the perpetrator was and saw a lady who looked to be in her 40’s with her head phones on and all smiles. Her upper body was leaned back and she was looking at me with the, “hey girl, long time no see”, expression on her face. I give her another second to speak and actually say either what her expression spoke or anything at all to give the impression that she thought I was someone she knew before I ignored her.

Y’all didn’t think that I was actually going to engage with someone who just hit me on the streets of Baltimore did you?

Mute “Girlfriend” jubilantly walks away as if it was just another day in the neighborhood without wacking another person on the arm.

At this point my mind goes into search mode. What is it searching for besides why did she hit me? It’s trying to find the “This Is How You Survive On The Streets Of Baltimore” file, but of course it’s not there. I immediately decide to make one up.

The phone that I practically keep in my hand is now placed into my pocket, a deeper scowl appears along my newly threaded eyebrows, and I set my pace to match the others crossing with me.

When I finally get to the Turkish Cafe that had been my destination before leaving the hotel I noticed that no one used pleasantries when ordering food. They were straight and to the point. My nerves are a bit shot but I told my personable self that I can still do this. Just got to pull something off of my old street-smart teenage files. I’ll also use my alto choir voice instead of my perky soprano when ordering so no one thinks that I don’t belong here. That’ll show them not to mess with me.

Wouldn’t you know it. Not only did the “yes please,” “thank you,” little chuckles at the end of my sentences and smile come out with the cashier, but when I couldn’t understand what was being said I chuckled, “so sorry, this is my first time here”.

My inner-self was on its knees, shaking its fist in the air, all while screaming to the heavens self-reprimanding that I gave myself away so naturally.

“AAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!! HOW COULD YOU GIVE US UP SO EASILY AFTER WHAT YOU JUST WENT THROUGH?!” It screamed at me. I didn’t have an answer for it.

Now my mind is in “Threat Level Midnight” mode, and the red alarm is going around in circles as it warns me to be hyper aware. The eyes in the back of my head were engaged. I needed extra sauce for our food and since I couldn’t just show my street smart self now, and come off as someone who may have a screw loose I let another chuckle, and smile come out when I asked if that was all. But it’s fine because my feet were prepared to power walk back to the hotel.

I just need to get back across the street. Oh wait! I forgot I wanted ice. I stepped out and looked at the convenience store two stores down to my right and noticed several people just sitting or standing around the entrance. My heart said to go for it but my brain pulled my feet into the other direction.

Ok Brain, I’ll trust you. Heart, we’ll try again later...when Brain says it’s ok.

What’s there to trust with your brain? That the sky is blue if you’re not color blind? That Christopher Columbus should be celebrated if you don’t really know your history? Because as I followed it and turned right, my arm whacking girlfriend was waiting there for me. What I thought was mental has now manifested itself into an adrenaline pumping heart that was pissed because I didn’t listen to it.

“You dropped this.” Girlfriend was holding up a little black book. And even though she was dancing I could tell that there was no music coming from her headset, which strangely enough was connected to a walkman. I could tell there was no music because she didn’t shout it.

It wasn’t mine, and I was not about to touch it. With the hotel in sight I tried to ignore her and make my way to the next crosswalk to my haven of a hotel room, but she was determined and shouted:

“Hey! Hey! You dropped your book! This is yours!”

I could feel certain fellow pedestrians stare into my eyes as they passed and just one “holla”. Did they all have little black books that they wanted me to agree to as being mine? I was feeling faint as I mustered all of the energy I had to get past this woman without being physically assaulted again. But then I heard it:

“Lola.”

Shocked I turn towards this woman who still did not seem to register in my brain, and yet it was my name that floated out of her mouth with familiarity. She inched closer to my paralyzed frame, held out the little black book and said with more meaning, “You dropped your book.” I don’t remember holding out my hand or even when I first touched it’s leather exterior, but as soon as she felt confident that it was in my possession “Girlfriend” resumed her jubilant dance walk in the opposite direction of my hotel.

As I come to I realize that I had shoved the book into my pocket and my feet were already heading back across the street. I make it into the hotel surprised to see that The Man was there waiting for me in the hotel lobby. It was like he knew I would be in some type of distress. But I knew that the truth was that he decided to wait for me after having a cancer forbidden smoke break.

Supposed to not smoke but the stress of everything and not having a faith to turn to has made his cigarettes his therapeutic go-to. ‘One thing at a time’ is what I tell myself when I want to snatch those sticks away from him.

I wanted to collapse in his arms but maturely decided that that would be a tad bit dramatic, so I resigned myself to just telling him my 10 minute adventure in 8 seconds sans the little black book. Anything longer and I would have to ask him if he was still listening. Mention a black book and who knows if I’ll get to the truth behind it.

As we got back to the room I made sure he was settled with the lunch I brought back and then retreated to the bathroom having cleverly taken the book out of my coat pocket without him noticing.

The room spun as I opened it to find a check for $20,000. $20,000 with my maiden name on it. In the subject line it had a date that took me back to my teenage summers and the words, “Now you owe me” scrawled in blue ink. The date for the check itself was written just two weeks prior…

I owe them? Did they owe me before now? Who are they?! I Google and look on every social media platform for the name that was at the top of the check but no luck. Besides, I think that I had already been in the bathroom long enough without having to fake a complain of a stomach ache.

As non-nonchalantly as I could I walk back into the main living space of the room and take out my portion of the food. On the inside I’m a tightly wound ball of nerves. This trip was supposed to only focus on getting The Man the best cancer treatment available. Now all I want to do is get back to my suburban mom-hood streets. I was safe there. For 13 years I was safe there in my mini van with Tupac, Queen or The Beatles helping my soul as I ran domesticated errands.

But within an hour of arriving on the streets of Baltimore I quickly find out that cancer isn’t the only thing that we would have to battle as it altered our lives. My walkman wearing “girlfriend” saw to that.