Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Devil is in the Details
Some folks make deals with the devil. They make them when they ignore evil and believe that the good bits of a fiend will shine through on their behalf if they cast their praise, vote, or well wishes in their direction.
They say, ‘Well, I don’t like that this demon caused a drought and plagued the land with locusts, but the demon promised to drive out the greedy green wild pigs that keep eating all of our crops, therefore, I will ignore the drought they caused for our neighbors, and the plague they brought upon our brothers and sisters, and focus on how right they’ve been about the fruit coming to us from the big ships. We need these wild green pigs to stop pillaging our crops. It will be worth it…
Instead, more droughts came to more places, and more locusts, too. To make matters worse, there were far less ships arriving with fresh fruit, and the pigs eating the crops multiplied. The people fell to their knees and asked, ‘Why has God forsaken us?’
Because you prayed to a demon, instead of to me…
When has a devil ever told the truth? Only when they’ve gotten what they wanted from their victims and hung them out to dry. They gloat about how much of a fool we as humans have been to place money, status and power above the wellbeing of humanity, and forget the true meaning of love.
One must understand that there are no good bits of a demonic entity, and there’s no bad bits to walking in truth. Deals with the devil never allow us to be on the winning end of things. Our stick will always be short, our hearts shattered, our wells dry, our luck run out, and our weaknesses exposed. A deal with the devil is a treaty for destruction.
Whoever shook Satan’s hand and didn’t get burned?
Roman sat in one of the lobbies of Our Lady of the Lake Regional Medical Center in Baton Rouge. He cradled a hot cup of coffee between his palms, looking down at a dismal, dull off-white hospital floor. The place smelled of antiseptic ointments and sickness. Genesis had been correct—his father was sent there, as it was the closest hospital to Angola State Penitentiary and had the necessary staff and equipment to accommodate him and address his injuries.
Penetrating neck trauma was what the nurse called it. Dad was in surgery. That was all he knew, and the prison posed little assistance—probably more focused on trying to shield themselves from a potential lawsuit than offer helpful information, concern, and comfort. The nurse he’d spoken to upon his and Genesis’ arrival had remarked about how strong Reeves Wilde was. His will to survive overrode the fact that he’d been lying on the prison floor for at least a couple of minutes before the guards was alerted, cupping his own throat to try and keep from bleeding out.
“Mr. Wilde?”
“Yes?” Roman looked up at a dark-haired man with a bit of gray at the temples and a ruddy complexion who stood before him with a tablet in hand. The doctor’s eyes were almost the same color as his own.
“We’ve completed your father’s surgery. Our principal focus was to detect and restore his impaired, damaged blood vessels, and address his injured airway which resulted in an emergency tracheostomy upon his arrival.”
Roman nodded in understanding, then set his coffee down on the nearby table cluttered with home improvement magazines and a copy of the Christian, ‘Daily Word.’
“He’s okay now?”
“Mr. Wilde, your father is still in serious condition, but the emergency surgery was a success, and now he’s conscious, but resting. This is a critical time. We’re watching him closely. His injury was severe, and we won’t know the full extent of the damage until we can see how he progresses over the next forty-eight hours.”
Roman’s eyes clamped shut, keeping the tears of relief at bay. A warm hand and the scent of soap and light perfume surrounded him when his lady ran her consoling touch along his back. He leaned forward, clasped his hands together and rested his forehead against his trembling fists.
“Do you know if Roman will be able to see him soon?” Genesis spoke up for him. Became his voice when he’d lost his own.
“I’m not certain, but as soon as we feel it is safe, I’ll send someone to let you know that you can visit his room,” the doctor responded. “Do you have any other questions?”
Roman slowly looked up. The surgeon’s reflection appeared, glassy and rippled behind his unspent tears.
“When we first got here, a nurse said he was trying to speak. Do you know by chance, what he was saying?” Roman questioned.
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
The two of them looked at one another. Something in the doctor’s face denoted a peculiar understanding—as if he, too, had a father who was on the fringes of society and almost lost his battle with his inner demons, or perhaps, someone he loved dearly was lying in a bed fighting for their life, too. Even though Reeves Wilde was still alive, it felt like a death of sorts, anyway. Like Daddy was some feral tomcat who’d turned in his eighth life and only had one left to spare.
“Thank you.” Genesis stood and shook the doctor’s hand. “We’ll wait for an update.” The two spoke a few seconds longer about where he’d be relocated in the hospital later in the day, and then, he was gone. They were alone. He looked at the back of her, and he felt empty inside. The harsh hospital lights crowned her head of braids that flowed down her back, like a halo with rays of sunshine. She turned slowly in his direction, serenity in her dark, large eyes that beckoned to him. He wanted a little of that. The sound of the wall-mounted television interrupted his thoughts.
The news was on. He looked up at the screen. Information about liberalism versus conservatism, Congress and broken laws, being woke versus being asleep, police, protests, and a call for more or less elections dotted the screen, causing a canvas of visual vomit—a tapestry of blood-drenched divisiveness and political uproar, sewn tight with lies and delusions.
“Who’s pullin’ the puppet strings?” He heard her mutter as she approached him. Genesis sat back down next to him, crossed her legs, adjusted her white sweater that she wore over jeans, and picked up a small cup of water from the table, her eyes glued to the television. They both stared at it, listening to all the things that made many people’s blood boil. It was a distraction from the trauma. A distraction from the big dinosaur roaring in his ear.
“You know how I say random facts and shit that nobody cares about?” she asked with a twisted smile.
“Mmm hmm.” He lay back in his chair and crossed his arms, his attention on her as she turned back towards the television screen.
“All this mess the media is showin’ us. A bunch of bullshit to confuse us. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m right. Somethin’ ain’t right, though.” She shrugged, took a taste of her water then set the cup back down. “I used to not vote in elections. I didn’t see the point. But then, my neighbor convinced me to start voting, so I did.”
“How’d she convince you? I can’t see how that would’ve been easy.”
He heard her laugh. She crossed her legs and locked her hands over her knee. “It wasn’t easy. But, I was willing to listen. Told me it made a difference. Each vote counts. Like each second of the day counts. Each breath we all take counts. Each step we make, each heartbeat, all of it… It’s just one, but it makes up many.”
“I’ve always voted.”
“You’re military.”
“Yeah, I ’spose that plays a part in it.”
“My parents used to be angry with me about me not voting. They’d go over Black history ’nd and the ancestors did this, the ancestors did that. How they lost their lives to vote. None of that changed my mind because to me, Roman, my ancestors fought for the right for me to not participate in rigged contests, too.” She shrugged. “But Ms. Charlie came home one day, proud as she could be, with her little ‘I Voted’ sticker on her pink shirt. I was home, too. Just outside my door pickin’ up some broken pieces of glass that someone dropped. I think it was from a beer bottle. Anyway, she assumed I’d voted as she showed off her sticker to me, and she wanted to talk about the candidates. I told ’er I didn’t vote, and that each political party is the same—both sides lie. I braced myself to hear about the ancestors, Martin Luther King, Jr., and the usual rhetoric.
“Instead, she smiled at me and said, ‘Voting means you get to tell the truth.’ It’s another opportunity to tell folks, be it rigged or not, what you want, and what you do don’t want. It’s a warnin’ to others to let these government folks know what you’ll put up with, and what you won’t. Tells them what you expect. The election ain’t just about the end result. It’s about democracy. Freedom of choice. If you don’t pick a side, a side will be picked for you. It’s about Black folk, White folk, Asian folk, Indian folk, Muslim, Hindu and Christian folk, and everyone else, tellin’ the powers that be, who pretend to be God, that we serve a higher power. However, right here, in these human bodies we move in, we will be heard, Genesis. I was alive, a child here in Texas, when the schools were still segregated. When the water fountains had ‘Colored’ written on ’em.
“I know young folk can’t relate. But we all understand what it’s like to not be heard, disregarded, and unloved. If folks got to rig it, that means they already know the majority in the country see through their malarky. It means they’re afraid. Fear makes folks do wicked things… Like cheat. Lie. Steal. Kill. If we stop voting, it tells them they can tell us our opinions, too. It tells them that they can stop the truth from being told. Once you tell someone a lie, and then another, and another, until everything they believe in and hold dear is nothin’ but one big ass lie, Genesis, you own their mind. Own a mind? The heart and body will follow. We become puppets.’ I wanted to argue with her, Roman, and tell her that it didn’t make no sense. But then, I would’ve been lying, too.
“She went in her apartment as soon as I opened my mouth to try, in some respectful manner, to refute what she said. At least the parts that were still questionable. She returned with a big plate of fried fish, collard greens, cornbread, and yams. She made me take it. She said, ‘You see what I did there? I heard you, and I saw you getting defensive before I walked away. You don’t believe what I believe, but I still think of you as a lovely girl, and I want to show you kindness. You’re not my enemy. No matter what others may want, you and I will NOT be divided. I want to feed your mind and your body, ’cause this life is short. I ain’t gonna waste my time arguing with a woman half my age, who ain’t seen even a fourth of what I’ve seen in life. As my mama used to say, ‘When you’re right, you ain’t got to argue.’ You’re smart as a whip, girl, but you don’t know no better. But when YOU DO KNOW BETTER, Genesis, you must DO BETTER. One day, you’ll know better, and then, you’ll vote. Eat your food. It’s getting’ cold.’
“Roman, by the grace of God, your father, at least for right now, God willin’ of course, has another chance at life. He might be physically in prison, but his mind doesn’t have to stay there. He’s made mistakes—he can’t go back in time, but he can do some things right going forward. Some son of a bitch tried to take his life, but God said, ‘Not today, son.’ Now his son, Roman Wilde, is here waiting for him. Ain’t life ironic?”
“I don’t understand you sometimes, Genesis, and then, after a second or two, I understand you completely.”
She tossed him a sad smile from over her shoulder, then her attention went back to the TV screen.
“I saw you cryin’ in your sleep on the plane, Roman. It broke my heart. You ain’t even know you was crying. You were sound asleep, but the tears poured. I started crying, too, because you were crying. I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed a napkin and wiped your face. And you kept on sleeping. Talkin’ real low, in a whisper, in your dreams… I heard things…”
His heart thumped hard within his chest. What had he said? What guts did he spill? He was afraid to ask her, and he had a strange feeling, she’d never tell him anyway.
“You reached for my hand, in your sleep, baby, and squeezed it. At one point, you said, ‘Daddy, don’t die,’ in a louder voice. The flight attendant heard you. She approached us to make sure everything was alright, then she started cryin’, too. She whispered in my ear, asking if either of us needed anything. I told her we needed her petitions to the angels, and God, and she’d already done her part by helping us be flown as high to heaven as she possibly could so that God could hear our prayers all the better. We were above the clouds, baby… Praise Him.”
Genesis’ voice shook as she raised her arms in the air, swaying them, crying softly as she spoke. “She and I hugged each other. Me and that little White lady with soft blond hair and baby blue eyes. She smelled like roses. When we touched, wasn’t no such thing as race, gender, sexual orientation, inequality, hatred, woke vs. being asleep, Roman. None of that. Wasn’t nothing but love and understanding. One human being speaking to another human being. Empathy and sympathy. It was unexpected. It wasn’t logical, but it felt right. We never know what somebody is going through, Roman, but we have to respect their pain, their pleasure, their process and their growth.”
“…How did God know that I needed you? I didn’t ask for you, but you arrived right on time.”
She turned to him just long enough to kiss his nose. They were quiet a long while.
“My brother is hurting.” She paused, snatched a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “Tony done found out Penny did a lot more financial damage than he initially knew about, all in order to impress her family, to compete with the Joneses. She has a hole in her heart she’s tryna fill, and she’s almost single-handedly destroyed this man’s business because of it. She took out lines of credit in his name, makin’ it virtually impossible for him to open a second coffeehouse now. She’s been giving her sisters, brothers, and mama my brother’s money.
“I’m so disappointed in her. Meanwhile, Tony always offered to buy me a house, a new car and stuff, but I turned him down. I’m not saying that to say I’m better than Penny, ’cause I’m not. I’m saying that money is temporary, Roman. It’s fleeting. Money won’t save your father’s life. It won’t fix my best friend’s relationship with her ex-husband or make him be a better father, and it won’t get my jewelry business further off the ground, unless I put in the work and time, too. We have to respect money, or it will make us respect it, by tearing us apart from the inside out. See, my dislike of Penny was because I saw her true nature. And yet, I felt sorry for her, too. She’s not evil. She’s lost.”
“I don’t think they’re a good fit, but,” he shrugged, “it’s none of my business. I just wanna support my friend, and that’s it.”
“Yeah, I know. See, Penny ain’t never had a man really love her for her, at least not the way my brother did, and she went from not believing she deserved him to taking advantage of that. The lure of money sank its hooks into my daddy, too.”
“How so?” He reached for her now, rubbing her back, giving comfort, the way she’d given it to him.
“My daddy needs to retire, but he won’t, Roman. He’s a workaholic.” Genesis’ father was a meteorologist and worked for the news, as well as several papers and online media sources—something that their family was so very proud about. “My mother is a good woman, but she’s also a hypochondriac. Always thinks she’s at death’s door. I think what upsets her most is that she believes her last good years on this planet will be spent alone ’cause my father won’t slow down and spend time with her. She jokes and says she’s single. He’d rather keep talkin’ about the damn weather, instead of witnessing the seasons change in his own marriage. He’s missed the Spring, Summer, and now the Fall. Winter is here…
“Everybody is fighting demons, Roman, but the blessing is that we get to rise up and enter a brand-new day, a chance to fight them a little bit more.” Nodding in agreement, he scooted so close behind her, he couldn’t resist ushering her long braids off to the side and resting his face against the back of her neck. “Maybe even be more successful than we were yesterday.”
“You ever lost anyone you loved besides your grandfather?”
“Yeah.” She began picking at a piece of lint on her sweater. “I’ve lost friends to gun violence, car accidents, and disease. But I’ve seen new life, too.” He could see her cheeks plump up from behind. A smile was born, too. “I saw my best friend give birth to my goddaughter, Sharmaine. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live. Life and death are different, but in some ways they’re the same, and as long as I still can take another breath, I refuse to ever lose myself to something or someone that isn’t worthy of being lost to—and ain’t nothin’ in this world worth that, Roman.” She turned to him. “It could be a blunder we’ve made that now troubles us. Grow from it. Be open to admitting mistakes. More importantly, be open to makin’ wrongs right when possible, and forgiving yourself for any missteps along the way.”
Genesis stopped talking. Her story, bits of information about her, were woven together specifically for him. There was a message in it that came from somewhere above her. He knew it. He felt it. Perhaps it was because he’d confessed his sins to her while on the airplane. I must’ve. I don’t remember doing it, but I just must’ve! Just a handful of people flying high on that red eye. Maybe he’d treated her like his little notebook that Grandpa had stolen. Used her as a blank page to get it all out? Or maybe, she wasn’t aware of any of his transgressions whatsoever, at least not on the surface, but she felt compelled to say these things to him nevertheless.
Whatever the reason, he took it and deliberated over it now. Choices had to be made. A revelation came to him as they sat there in that lobby. One that let him know that the time to act was NOW…