Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice (35 page)

“Fine, how's Grandma?”

“She's still weak, but she's hanging in there,” Mama reported.

“They took her out of intensive care,” Daddy added. “So that's a good sign.”

“She's out of intensive care! That's great!”

Daddy grabbed my bag. “The doctor expects her to pull through.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “I prayed for her on the plane.”

“I'm glad you haven't forgotten how to pray. Remember the Lord in thy youth,” Mama recited.

“I was so worried that I'd hear bad news when I got here. I feel so relieved,” I said as we walked through the airport.

“Well, your grandmother's not out of the woods yet.”

“Evelyn, why do you always have to be so negative?” Daddy groaned.

“I'm not being negative. The doctor says the next twenty-four hours are critical.”

“Well, I have a lot of hope,” I cut in. “But how'd Grandma end up at County?”

“They were the only ones who would take her.”

“But, doesn't she have hospitalization?”

“Yes. But that's still where she ended up.”

“Black folks have a funny way of ending up at Cook County Hospital, no matter what.”

“It's called institutionalized racism, Daddy.”

“You hear that, Evelyn? It's institutionalized racism. Now, you heard it from a college graduate.”

“Speaking of institutions, did you bring something to wear to church?”

“Let the girl go to the house and rest. She's had a long flight.”

“No, take me straight to Grandma. I'm here on a mission.”

“Well, tell your grandmother I'll come see about her after church.”

“OK, Mama.”

“You know, Jean, they've even got black sections of the cemetery here,” Daddy said. “They just ain't got signs. They don't bury a black person just anywhere. You should've seen how far we had to drive to bury my buddy Red's father once we got to the cemetery. There wasn't a blade of grass either.”

“Maybe they just bought a cheap plot,” Mama suggested.

“There you go, Evelyn, still making excuses for the white man. Jean, it looked more like a construction site than anything else. They had work going on all around us. There's no way Daddy Red could rest in peace.” My father groaned as we entered the underground parking lot.

Cook County Hospital was a huge, old, brick monstrosity. It had a strong, no-nonsense Chicago appearance. Grandma was on a ward. I couldn't believe she didn't even have her own room. I was told to wait for several hours until visiting time. I napped in a chair in the waiting room.

It was like a scene from a movie. A long room lined with beds, each with a couple of chairs around it. Some were occupied by visiting loved ones. The patients were mostly old, asleep, or in different stages of agony.

I passed a man dressed in his Sunday suit holding a Bible. He stood over a bed and loudly commanded Satan to leave an old woman's body.

Another man tried to sell me copper bangles. “They'll cure whatever ails you.”

“Not today,” I mumbled.

If that were the case this place would be empty, I thought.

I continued along the row of beds, searching for my grandmother's name. When I spied it, I rushed to Grandma's bedside. For the first time in my memory she wasn't a tower of strength. There were tubes coming out of her, and she was coughing up a storm. Her chest was rising up and down. I saw a pitcher of water at her bedside table.

“Grandma, it's me, Jean,” I said before putting a glass to her trembling lips.

She peered at me through two cloudy slits. I wasn't even sure she recognized me. Grandma tasted the water and spoke.

“My baby done come see about me,” she said as her chest rattled. “They had to call you in from the ski slopes.”

“You heard that song, ‘Ain't No Mountain High Enough?' Well, nothing could keep me from getting to you, Grandma.”

“Well, I sho' have caused a uprising.”

“Don't even talk like that. I'm just glad you're doing better. They say you weren't talking much yesterday.”

“Ain't had nothing much to say.”

“Still got your spunk, I see.”

“I'm so tickled to see you, I'd dance a jig, if I could.”

“I'm happy to see you, too.”

“And here I was worried that my girl was pulling away from me.”

“Pulling away from you. What do you mean?” I asked, sitting down close to her bed.

“Who's this white girl you went skiing with? What is y'all's story?”

“A friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

“What do you mean?”

“I might couldn't hide peppermint candy from you. Well, you can't hide nothing from me neither.”

“When the chips were down, I couldn't count on Cynthia. So, I'm through with her.”

“I always said, I wouldn't trust one of 'em behind a broom straw.”

“Well, another one loaned me the money to fly out here to see about you though, Grandma.”

“Now, you know I always did say good and bad folks come in all colors, too. And if it weren't for good white folks, Lord knows, we'd be in worse shape than we are now.”

“Amen to that.”

“Now, let's get back to that white hussy.”

“She wasn't all bad, Grandma. She was just selfish. But it's an ill wind that blows no one any good. I reconnected with some folks and I got a chance to ski.”

“Well, good things can come through bad sources. That reminds me of a story.”

A pretty Filipino nurse greeted us and placed a thermometer in Grandma's mouth.

The nurse shook the thermometer. “Your temperature has gone down. How do you feel, Mrs. Dickens?”

“I guess I'll make it.”

“I'm sure you will, Mrs. Dickens. You're a trooper.”

After the nurse left, Grandma continued in her feeble voice.

“There was an old woman named Aunt Mandie, and she was on her back porch praying out loud for some food.”

I'd heard this story many times before and would gladly hear it again. But I didn't want Grandma to overtax herself.

“Are you sure you're up to talking?”

“If you don't hush up. I ain't no vegetable yet.”

“Well, go 'head on with your bad self.”

“All right, so, two white boys passing by heard Aunt Mandie and one said to the other, ‘Listen at that dumb darkie. She's stupid enough to think that God will send her some food.' The other boy had an idea. And the two of them ran to their houses and sneaked into their refrigerators and cupboards. They fixed a box of their parents' best food and took it and set it on Aunt Mandie's porch. The boys hid and waited for her to find it. Pretty soon, Aunt Mandie comes out and shouts, ‘Lord have mercy, thank ye Jesus! The Lord done sent me this here food.' The boys fell out laughing. ‘Yassuh,' Aunt Mandie declared, ‘the Lord sent it, but the devil brought it!'”

I laughed like I hadn't heard that story a hundred times. After all, it was one of my favorites.

“Jean, what do you mean, you're through with that white girl?” Grandma raised her eyebrows. “What are you through with?”

I felt nervous. Was Grandma asking me to come out to her?

“Grandma, here I thought you were at death's door, and all you wanna do is get up in my business.”

“You act like you got something to hide.”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Chile, ain't nothing new under the sun. I can deal with anything you can dish out.”

“OK, Grandma,” I swallowed. “Cynthia and I were involved. I was also with Traci, before her.” I held my breath. “Are you shocked?”

“Do I look shocked?”

“It's hard to tell, you're sick.”

“It would take a lot more than that to shock me. No wonder Evelyn turned pale as a ghost when I asked her if you were grinning up in some man's face out there.”

I hesitated. “Can you accept me?”

“It's not up to me to accept you or not. Only person has to accept you is you. You'll always be Grandma's girl, no matter what.”

“Are you saying that your love is unconditional?”

“I don't need no fancy words to describe it. I just know that Grandma's love is a fierce love, as my gay friends who come into the chicken stand would say.”

“You have gay friends, Grandma?”

“I have friends who happen to be gay.”

“And here Mama said if I told you, you'd have a stroke.”

“Your mama is so old-fashioned. Baby, I'm a old rat in the barn. I've seen and heard it all.”

“Mama's worried about my soul. She's afraid I'm going to hell in a handbasket.”

“Heaven forbid that God would want you to be happy.”

“Don't you fear God, Grandma?”

“How can you love what you fear?”

“That's a good question.”

“Chile, folks think God created them just so they could be miserable.”

“I used to think of God as sort of a pissed-off Santa Claus. But, it's like in that play
For Colored Girls Who've Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf
. You can find God in yourself.” I continued, “I guess, if you love yourself, then you'll find a loving God, and if you hate yourself, then you'll find a hateful God. They say you can't love anybody else until you love yourself. And maybe that even includes God,” I added.

“Chile, you said a mouthful.”

I sighed. “You know, Grandma, it's been really confusing. You see, I've been attracted to men and women. I don't want to be like a pancake, flip-flopping back and forth. I mean, I wish I could figure out which way I'm destined to go.”

“Chile, maybe your nature is a journey and not a destination.”

A couple days later, Grandma felt better and I returned to San Francisco. I had to get back to work and move into my new place. I was also eager to check out the Black Women's Support Group that Brenda was facilitating. The flier said that sisters of all sexual orientations were welcome.

Grandma used to say that she'd done been all through life and she'd done been many a fool. But, she'd say, “I ain't never been the same fool twice.” And then she'd wink and say, “All who believe that stand on your head.”

Grandma was right. My sexuality has been a journey. And I'm still on the road.

acknowledgments

Time to round up the usual suspects and thank them. First, I want to acknowledge my manuscript consultant, Susan Holper, and also thank Judy MacLean for her feedback on the manuscript. Thanks again to my supportive family and friends for being there during this process.

Cheers for my occasionally tough, mostly sweet, always insightful editor at Hyperion, Leslie Wells. And my wisecracking, ex-biker chick, agent, Winifred Golden (Margret McBride Literary Agency) who helps me to bring home the tofu. Thanks also to the staffs at Avon, my paperback publisher, and Hyperion for their enthusiastic support.

I appreciate the valuable residencies provided by the Djerassi, Yaddo, and MacDowell artist colonies during the writing of
Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice
. And thanks to René Rossi at seventies radio station, KBGG in San Francisco, for her research asistance.

I have countless wonderful memories, due to the many fans who touched my heart through letters and personally at my readings around the country. I'm also grateful to the international audience who bought the Spanish, German, Dutch, and Korean editions of
Coffee Will Make You Black
. Love knows no boundaries.

About the Author

April Sinclair is the acclaimed, award-winning author of three novels. Her debut,
Coffee Will Make You Black
, was named Book of the Year (Young Adult Fiction) for 1994 by the American Library Association, and it received the Carl Sandburg Award from the Friends of the Chicago Public Library. The sequel to
Coffee Will Make You Black
, titled
Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice
, was published in 1995 followed by the novel
I Left My Back Door Open
. Sinclair has been a fellow at the Djerassi, Yaddo, MacDowell, and Ragdale artist colonies. She worked for fifteen years in community service programs, and has taught reading and creative writing to inner-city youth. Born and raised in Chicago, she currently lives on an island connected by bridges and a tunnel to Oakland, California.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1996 by April Sinclair

Cover design by Kat Lee

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1866-1

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com