Take My Hand(12)

I hadn’t thought my idea through that far.

“Listen, child, the best thing you can do is make sure the girls don’t get pregnant. Think of how they live, and try to keep them from bringing a baby into that.”

“Don’t you think I know that? But surely we can do more. I can’t just walk in there and pretend like I don’t see folks suffering.”

“Civil,” she said, “people got to reckon with the hand God dealt them.”

We finished up the room. We were the only two left so we began turning out the lights and closing down the clinic. I waited for Val at the door with my purse on my shoulder. As she came out she handed me a file.

“Take a look at this one.”

I opened it. Gertie Sims. Age: 14. Three-month old baby. Father: Unknown. Mother: Daisy Sims, 37. Full hysterectomy 11 years ago. Possible alcohol abuse. Siblings: Carolyn Sims, 17, three children, ages 18 months, 3, 4.

“We doing important work, hear? You might not be able to change folks’ house of cards. Only God can do that. But what you can do is make sure babies don’t have babies. You understand me?”

She was right. I was focused on the wrong thing. I tried to picture an infant in that one-room shanty with all of those folks, and the thought made my head hurt. Erica wouldn’t know what to do with a child, and their grandmother already had more than she could handle. My job was to give the shot and that was all.



* * *



? ? ?

I TRIED TO take Val’s advice and shake off my idea of moving the family. Since my last visit, I’d learned that frequent bleeding while on the shot was common. It surprised me that no one had talked to Erica about this. Or to me. One day I dropped by the Williamses’ house without an appointment. When I drove up, the girls were outside playing in the dirt.

“Hey, what y’all doing?”

“Nothing.”

I squatted down and showed Erica the inside of a brown paper sack. “I brought you some more Kotex. You been using the other ones I brought you?”

She nodded.

“Your grandmama home?”

She pointed to the house with a stick. I hooked my purse over my shoulder and walked up to the door. I tried to be respectful enough not to peer inside without permission, but I could see the dog lying in the middle of the floor and a man beside it stroking its back. He waved me in. For a minute, I was speechless. I had never seen a prettier face on a man in my life. The screen had blurred his features, but I could see now he took after his mother—same complexion, same bone structure. Thick, black eyebrows framed heavy lids. The light shone just enough to reveal the glint of green in his eyes.

“Which place you from?” he asked.

“I’m a nurse from the clinic.”

“A nurse.” He continued rubbing the dog.

“I apologize for barging in on you. I came to bring the girls some supplies and ask if I could take them out for a few hours.” I looked through the window for a sign of Mrs. Williams, the grandmother. I needed to ask her for the social worker’s name.

He slowly stood up as if it pained him. When he walked over to me I could make out the semblance of a limp. I stepped back and bumped against the door. It was like a wall against my back.

“Civil Townsend.” I stuck my hand out, and he took it for a brief second.

“You a new one.”

“A new what?”

“A new government lady.”

I didn’t have an answer for that. I didn’t think of myself as a government lady even though my clinic was funded by the federals. I thought of all the people who must have entered that front door asking questions about their habits, diet, physical maladies, all the information that would justify the state to step into their lives and deliver a handout. Yes, I knew what he meant when he called me a government lady, but it bothered me.

“You’re Mr. Williams, right?”

He laughed. His voice sounded like his mother’s—deep and throaty. The only thing that kept me from getting caught up in looking at his face was that, like the girls, he smelled bad. I didn’t understand it. Maybe the house was just too funky for a body to get clean.

“So can I take the girls or not?”

“You taking them for shots?”

“No, sir. I’m taking them for . . . well, the truth is I wanted to take them shopping.”

“I thought you said you was a nurse?”

“I am.”

“Shopping for what?”

“Necessities.”

“Don’t you want to sit down first?”

The house was no cleaner than it had been on my previous visit. There were only two chairs, and they were both covered in stuff. He must’ve seen my expression because he hastily picked clothes off a chair. It creaked when I sat in it. A spring poked into my underside.

“I’m sorry about this place,” he said as he rummaged around until he found a glass jar. He wiped it with a T-shirt. “Mr. Adair ain’t no kind of boss. And Mama ain’t no match for the weather stick.” He pointed to the straw stuffed in the holes in the wall. He went outside with the glass, and when he came back it was filled with water. So there was a spigot close by.

“Thank you.”

I didn’t want to drink from that jar, but he was watching me. I closed my eyes and took a long swallow. It tasted like iron, but it cooled my throat. I awkwardly crossed my legs at the ankle. I had on my uniform, but I wore a long blue cardigan over it. There was a T for Townsend sewn on the sweater pocket. I caught him looking at it. “You working today?”