“You remember back in the old days, when it was just you and me against the world? We made it through some rough times, kiddo. But we kept each other going. I was there for you, and you were there for me. You’re my whole life, Dre. So just you remember that. A little old kidney ain’t nothing.”
“I don’t wanna die,” Dre whispers.
“You’re not gonna die. You’re gonna live. Hear me? Don’t let me hear that word again.”
“Okay,” Dre whispers.
“Let me hear you say it. You’re gonna live.”
“Gonna live,” Dre says. He can barely get the words out.
Dr. Wendell shows up a few minutes later along with a couple of nurses. I’m so grateful to see him. He feels like the only friend I’ve got.
“Things are worse than we realized,” he says.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I got Dre’s results back, but I didn’t have a chance to call you yet. Both of Dre’s kidneys are having problems. He needs dialysis right away. They’re going to take him down now and put in a shunt. That’s like a needle that never comes out. After that you can sit with him if you want. The treatment takes a while.”
I start to follow them out of the room. But Dr. Wendell puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Wait,” he says. “I need to talk to you a minute.”
“What is it?” I ask. I watch Dre’s bed disappear down the hall.
“It’s about the future,” he says. “I’m afraid the dialysis is only a temporary fix.”
“What do you mean?”
“My tests showed that both his kidneys are malfunctioning. Dre is going to need a transplant as soon as possible,” says Dr. Wendell.
I stare at him. “You mean…a whole new kidney?”
“That’s right,” he says.
For a moment I feel like I’m going to faint. First I wonder how Dre is going to deal with this news. And then all I can think of is how much this is going to cost. I barely afford to pay the phone bill.
But then I remember not to worry about that kind of stuff. The important thing is Dre. Money is temporary. Love is forever.
“Wow,” I say. “This is just—”
“Overwhelming,” says the doctor. “I know.”
“So how do we get a new kidney?” I ask.
“Basically, we have to wait for a donor,” says the doctor. “There’s a waiting list. You’re already on it.”
“You mean we have to wait for someone to die so Dre can have his kidney,” I say.
I don’t even want to ask how long that can take. It feels like the wrong question. Our family’s happiness depends on some other family’s misery. It seems cruel and unfair. What kind of a world is this anyway? Sometimes I don’t want any part of it.
“There’s another way. Someone could donate a kidney,” says Dr. Wendell.
I have the solution before I’ve finished drawing my next breath. I’ll give Dre one of my own kidneys. Hell, I would give him my life if I had to. But Dr. Wendell can tell what I’m thinking.
“We can’t use one of yours,” he says. “You can’t be a donor for Dre.”
“What? Why not?”
“Dre has a very rare blood type,” he explains. “It’s AB negative.”
“I remember,” I say. They told me that when he was a baby. I thought it was strange he wasn’t the same blood type as his mama, but they said that happens all the time. “So what?”
“It would be best if the kidney came from someone with the same blood type,” says Dr. Wendell. “And it would be best of all if that person was a relative. That way, the kidney stands the best chance of being accepted by Dre’s body. If it works, he could have a long, healthy life.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“I don’t want to sugarcoat it for you, Linda, so I’m going to tell you straight up,” says Dr. Wendell. “If Dre’s body rejects the kidney, he’ll stay very sick, and he’ll probably get sicker. We’ll have to do another transplant, which will be hard on him. His immune system is already weak. I’m sorry to tell you this, but you need all the facts. There’s a chance he could die.”
I reach out for the wall. I need something to hold me up.
“So the question I have to ask you is this,” says Dr. Wendell. “What relatives does Dre have who have the same blood type and who might be willing to give him a kidney?”
CHAPTER FOUR
The search for the answer to that question takes me somewhere I never thought I would go: prison.
When I was young and stupid, I used to run with whoever made my mama maddest. In those days, that meant a young black boy who was always in trouble with the cops. His name was Terrell. He was lean and handsome, and he always did whatever he wanted. I thought he was a hero, because nobody could tell him what to do. My mama said to watch out, because I couldn’t rely on him. She predicted he would end up in prison. If he got me pregnant, she warned me, I wouldn’t be able to depend on him. I didn’t pay any attention to her. I thought it would be Terrell and me forever.
Guess what? Terrell knocked me up. He was the first boy I was ever with. Ten minutes of fun for sixteen years of consequences. When I told him there was a baby coming, he dumped me. Then he started spending more time in prison than out. I was a teenager with a baby and no high school diploma. If it wasn’t for my mama, we would have been on the street. And Terrell wouldn’t even have cared.
That’s why I never visit Terrell. He and I have nothing to do with each other. But that’s not my choice, it’s his. He’s still Dre’s father. He could at least send Dre a birthday card if he wanted to. But he doesn’t even bother. I don’t think he would know Dre if he passed him on the street, even though they both have the same sloping shoulders, the same easy smile.
So if Terrell won’t give Dre the time of day, why am I crazy enough to think he’s going to give him a kidney?
Because I have no other choice.
* * *
Visiting hours at the prison is the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen. There are lots of families that remind me of myself when I was younger. Young women with small children, sometimes two or three, visiting their men in the big house. What kind of memories will these kids have when they’re grown? How long before they’re slinging drugs on a corner or sitting behind bars themselves?
I sit at the table, waiting for the guard to call Terrell’s name. Finally the door opens and in he comes. He’s changed a lot. He used to be cool and slick. Now he just looks like a shifty con. He’s the kind of guy you cross the street to get away from. The kind of guy who thinks prison is a career. I can’t believe I ever slept with someone like that. For the millionth time, I wish I could have a do-over. But then I wouldn’t have Dre.
Terrell looks around. I can tell he wasn’t expecting a visitor. He’s surprised anyone wants to see him at all. I wonder when was the last time that someone came. He spots me, and the look on his face changes to shock. Then he recovers his sense of cool. He comes shuffling over and sits down.
“Hey, baby,” he says. “How you doing?”
Just once, why couldn’t I get called baby by someone I want to hear it from?
“Hey, Terrell,” I say. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah, no doubt,” he says. “Damn, girl, your face takes me back. You miss me or somethin’?”
“Not hardly,” I say.
“What are you doing here? I ain’t seen you in years.”
“It’s about Dre,” I say. “Our son.”
Terrell looks confused for a moment. Like he doesn’t even remember Dre exists. Then he nods.
“You got any cigarettes?” he asks.
I was ready for this. I remembered a friend of mine telling me that in prison cigarettes are like cash. She had a brother in the slammer, and he was always bugging her for smokes. So I brought Terrell a couple of packs. I didn’t think it was a great idea to put that poison in his body if he was going to give my son a kidney, but then I figured he’d been smoking right alo
ng anyway. A couple more packs wasn’t going to change anything.
I give Terrell the cigarettes. He nods in appreciation and lights one up.
“Dre in trouble?”
“You could say that.”
“Just like his old man.”
“No, he ain’t.” I say that a little too fast. I don’t want to make him mad. But old hurts die hard.
“What’s up?”
I don’t beat around the bush. I tell him straight out. Terrell listens without changing his expression. Then he’s quiet for a minute while he thinks.
“I got this rare blood type?” he asks.
“Yeah, you do,” I say. “I remember these things.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
I’m so amazed I nearly fall off my seat.
“Just like that?” I say. “No bargaining? No excuses? No trying to get out of it?”
“Hell, no. I ain’t like that no more,” says Terrell. “This my boy we’re talking about. Right?”
“Well, it’s about time you thought of him as your son,” I say.
“Besides,” Terrell goes on, “I heard about something like this. This one dude, he gave his brother a kidney. It got him out of the joint early. You score a lotta points with the parole board for somethin’ like that.”
“You mean—?”
“I got another ten years in here,” says Terrell. “I’m buggin’. I can’t deal with it. My whole life is passin’ me by. Next month we all have to quit smoking. I’d give someone my head if it would get me out early. You tell my boy he can have my kidney. He can have both kidneys and my liver too. Just as long as it gets my ass outta here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
After my visit to Terrell, I feel two different ways. I’m happy Dre is going to get a kidney. But I can’t believe Terrell’s main concern is for himself. He really feels nothing for his own son. How can that be?
I guess it must be different for men. Dre didn’t come out of his body. And he didn’t watch him grow up. If he did, he would see him as a person. Not just a way of getting out of prison early.
I decide to call the parole board and ask if it’s really true he can get out early for donating a kidney. They tell me there are no guarantees, but it would help Terrell’s case a lot. It would show he’s ready to start giving back to the world, instead of stealing from it. The way Terrell’s mind works has me spinning. He had this whole angle figured in two seconds. Dre is just a means to an end.
It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we will owe him anything. We’ll both be getting something out of the deal.
So I decide not to think about it anymore. And I also decide I’m not going to say anything to Dre about Terrell’s real reason for wanting to help. He doesn’t need to know. Let him think he has a father who cares. Let him feel for once like the world isn’t a completely cold and hard place.
Dr. Wendell warned me that donating a kidney was complicated. Once we found a potential donor, he would have to do more tests to make sure it really was a good match. So I don’t tell Dre yet that we might have a kidney for him. He doesn’t even know I went to see his father. I let the doctor’s office know Terrell said yes. They say they will start the process, whatever that means. We have to sit tight and wait. It shouldn’t take too long.
In the meantime I take Dre every other day for dialysis. It helps him feel a lot better. There’s no way he can go to school, so I get his homework for him. Last thing I want is for him to fall behind.
We have a lot of time to sit and talk while he’s getting his treatments.
“You still thinking about college?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“You keep those grades up, maybe you’ll get a scholarship,” I say.
“Yeah, well, we both know that’s the only way I’m getting an education,” he says.
“There’s always the community college. You could start there. Learn some kind of a trade. Then move on up the ladder. Nothing wrong with that.”
But Dre shakes his head. His dreadlocks whip back and forth.
“University,” he says. “That’s where I belong.”
Dre sees himself as a professor. I don’t know where he gets this from. I never liked school much. I certainly never thought about getting a higher education. I was happy just to finally get my GED when I was twenty-six, after almost ten years of being a single mom.
That was also the year I met Ernest and we got married. For a while, things were looking up. Ernest had a good job managing an electronics store. We lived in my little house. Soon Marco came along. We were a real family.
But Ernest had a little problem staying faithful. I don’t know for sure how long his affair with that salesgirl was going on. I know one thing: I couldn’t ever trust him again, not after she started calling our house. He swore up and down it would never happen again, but by then it was too late.
I can be a very understanding person… sometimes. If you break your promise to have your pizza at my house in thirty minutes or less, I’ll give you a second chance. But if you break your marriage vows to me, you’re out the door.
“I’m proud of you,” I say to Dre.
“Why?”
“For going to university.”
“Mama,” he says, “what are you talking about? I haven’t even finished high school yet.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “I’m just proud of you for even wanting to do it. You don’t know how much that means to me. All a mother wants is for her kids to do well. And you will.”
“If I make it through this, you mean,” he says, nodding at the machine.
“You will,” I say again. “I just know it.”
Then the bad news comes. A few days later, I get a message on my cell to call Dr. Wendell’s office.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” he says. “Terrell can’t be a donor. There’s no way.”
My heart falls into my feet. I should have known this would happen.
“Why not?” I ask.
“We ask our potentials a list of questions,” he says. “And one of those questions is, Have you ever done intravenous drugs?”
“Let me guess,” I say. “He answered yes.”
“I suppose we should be grateful he told the truth,” says Dr. Wendell. “If he had any diseases, we would have caught them in the screening. But maybe something else would have popped up down the line, after it was too late. We can’t take that chance.”
“Does Terrell know?” I ask. I wonder how upset he is, now that he’s not getting out of prison early.
“He knows. The nurse stopped the interview right there.”
I go quiet. I’m just thinking.
“Linda,” says Dr. Wendell. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“I realize this isn’t good news. But there’s another possibility. Terrell told me he has another son.”
I can hardly believe my ears. But I don’t know why I’m surprised either. Terrell probably has a whole tribe of kids out there, all from different mothers.
“And this person is listed as a potential donor for Terrell in case he ever needs blood,” Dr. Wendell goes on.
“So he’s the same blood type?”
“Yes. AB negative. And he’d be a close enough relative of Dre’s. It could work.”
“How do I find this person?”
“Terrell doesn’t know where he is. I gather he hasn’t had much contact with him. But he told me the name of his mother. She would know.”
“Did he give you a phone number?”
“He doesn’t have it,” says Dr. Wendell. “It sounds like she’s moved around a lot. And she and Terrell are not exactly on good terms.”
I can certainly understand that.
“Well, how am I going to find her then?” I say, disappointed.
“Her last known address was here in the city,” says Dr. Wendell. “And these days
, with the Internet, you can find almost anyone pretty quickly.”
“So if I get ahold of this woman, she could tell me where Terrell’s other son is?”
“Possibly. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER SIX
I have exactly two facts to go on: Terrell’s other son is named LeVon, and his mother’s name is Angelique Johnson. That’s it. Armed with this tiny bit of information, I go to the library to use one of their computers. I don’t have one of my own yet. That’s top of the list of things to buy, if and when I ever get a full-time job.
Bringing up Google is easy. But then I’m stuck. Is it really just as simple as typing in their names? I try that, but nothing comes up that makes any sense. I take away LeVon’s name and just use Angelique Johnson. Again, a whole bunch of returns. But I’m getting closer. Some of them are directory listings. A lot of phone numbers and addresses. I just have to find the right one.
Then I realize I know more than I think I did. I know roughly how old she is. And I know she lives here in the city. Using this information, I get a directory listing. It turns out there is only one person named Angelique Johnson in this whole city. That doesn’t mean it’s her for sure. But it will be easy to find out.
I decide to go visit her in person. It would be too easy for her to hang up on me. I want to talk mother to mother. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I haven’t got any kind of speech planned. I’m hoping it will just come out somehow.
Angelique Johnson lives not far from me, in the same part of the city. The poor part. The east side. She even lives in a house instead of an apartment.
But I can tell she doesn’t own it. Her place is a lot more run-down than mine. There’s trash in the yard. The weeds are taking over. The place needs a paint job. Empty bottles on the porch. I even see broken crack pipes in the street outside. This does not bode well. Angelique Johnson is the kind of person who gives the rest of us poor people a bad name.
It’s about three o’clock in the afternoon. I knock on the door. It’s locked tight, although around here that doesn’t mean a person is away. People barricade themselves against crackheads and stray bullets.