What's His Is Mine (3 page)

I
was waiting to hear the countdown in my ear before I went live. My producer gave me a two-minute warning.

“Okay,” I said as I checked myself out in my mini compact. My photographer turned the bright light on and it was showtime.

“Good evening. I'm here in College Park, and there is an explanation tonight as to why when the people in this neighborhood order pizza, they get more than they'd bargained for. In the past two weeks, residents in this neighborhood have been plagued with missing televisions. With us now is one of the victims.

“Ma'am, can you tell us what happened?” I asked as I looked over at the woman I was interviewing. Right before the camera lights came on she was very poised, but now I could tell she was becoming nervous. Her eyes became very big and she started stuttering.

“All I know is a few days ago, I came home and my television was gone.”

“At the time, did you have a clue as to who had taken your television?” I asked.

“None whatsoever. I just knew someone had climbed in my window and stole my TV. They didn't take anything else. Just the TV. And then I was talking to the lady down the street, and her television was gone, too. That ain't right. We are working people. We all had one thing in common though: Jerome! He's the man who delivers all of our pizzas.”

I nodded a few times, and then I turned my attention off of her and looked straight into the camera.

“Tonight our sources are telling us that pizza delivery man Jerome Reid of Riverdale is in police custody this evening and is being charged with a string of burglaries. This is Cherise Long, reporting for Action 7 News.”

I waited to get the signal that I was clear, and turned my mic off. I thanked the woman for the interview and then took my earpiece out.

I jumped back into our Action 7 News van with my photographer, Gary, and headed back to the station. I was a general assignment reporter at Action 7 News. I had been on the job for four months, but in the news business almost five years.

After attending Northwestern University, I landed my first job in Corpus Christi, Texas, for two years. Then from Texas I moved over to Birmingham, Alabama, as a general assignment reporter for almost three years. Now I was here in Atlanta, and I loved it. Atlanta is the eighth biggest market in the country, and I was still adjusting to the fast pace. In Texas, I was always reporting on cow tipping and a bunch of other farm stories, and Alabama was a little busier, but not like here.

My sister Toni and her husband lived right outside of Atlanta, so it made the transition easier. Toni was five years older than me, but she acted like the younger sister at times. She and her husband had been living here for the last ten years. They didn't have any children together, but her husband had a smart-mouthed preteen daughter, Tatiyana, from his first marriage and she was always over.

Toni was a teacher and her husband, Dave, owned a real estate company. Their marriage was currently on the rocks, though. Dave's company hadn't been doing so well and my sister just lost fifty pounds. She dropped the weight, but gained the
I look better than anyone
complex. She began losing the weight last year when she found out Dave was cheating. He apologized and was remorseful, but she blamed it on her weight. So her husband now had to deal with a wife who was skinny, made more money than him, and was still mad that he cheated.

Toni was my best friend as well as my sister. Most sisters argue, but I always wanted to be like my sister. She was five years older than me, which meant she was always a step ahead. She helped me with my whole life. She had already made the mistakes and told me what to do once I reached certain points in my life.

She taught me how to ride a bike, jump rope, and braid hair. In high school, she told me that my body was a prize and not to reward just any-ole-one. I listened to her because she was always right. Anytime that I didn't listen to her, I paid for it.

I believe that our dysfunctional family back in Charlotte assisted with our closeness, too. My sister and I knew from the beginning that normal families didn't cuss each other out and fight, but those Longs did. They fought, cursed, stole, and got sent to jail. My sister and I were never like them. We grew up living without our mother and father. Our father had his own blues band and he traveled overseas most of the time. They would send us money from his shows. At first my mother stayed home with us, but by the time I was in kindergarten she was back on the road with him. My father, Stanley, said he wanted to play bass all over the world. My mother said, “Okay, baby, follow your dreams.” It didn't matter to them that they had two children. Rita just went along with whatever Stanley said. They would come into town, check on us, give our grandfather money for us, and then be back on the road. But from the very beginning, Toni and I just knew since we were little that we didn't belong with our father's family. The Longs were, for lack of a better word, ghetto. It was nothing for my uncle to drink beer for breakfast, fix a car on the lawn, or get locked up every other weekend for robbing someone or fighting with his fat girlfriend. When I was in college on breaks, I would go stay with friends at their houses instead of going home. Even today, I never went home to visit. I always tried to stay away. The Longs suffered from too many secrets, lies, and madness. No one would believe that the beautiful, doe-eyed, golden brown news reporter with a perfect physique and a winning smile had a family like mine.

My condo was a long way from my Charlotte family drama. My ninth-floor Peachtree Street condo in downtown Atlanta was serene and peaceful. My place was very diva-ish and gaudy, but I loved it. I had plum leather furniture, a huge fireplace, a big chandelier, and a balcony with a view of the city.

I was thankful for it being a slow news day. I had enough time to go home and relax for a little while and then head to the National Association of Black Journalists reception. Just as I was taking my clothes off, my phone rang.

“Do you have time for drinks?” Toni's squeaky voice asked.

“No, I have to go to an NABJ event this evening. You know I'm new to town—I have to network, but you're welcome to join me.”

“A roomful of journalists sounds boring.” She laughed.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I have to get ready. I'll try to squeeze you in this weekend.”

“You better.”

My sister was so crazy. I loved her, though. I loved my life, but there was something missing. Yes, that four-letter word, L-O-V-E. I know you have heard it before. So here it is again—I was a very successful African-American woman, but yet I was very single. I wanted to fall in love. It's just that I was too busy working and the right person hadn't come along yet. So I'd been celibate for two years. I should have been having sex all the time at twenty-seven, but I was not getting it at all. This celibacy thing didn't start off as some spiritual journey, I just hadn't met a worthy candidate.

People thought because I was on television that it was easier for me to meet men. But to be honest, it was much harder for me than the average woman. I hate to use the
I
word, but it's true—many men I met were intimidated. They thought,
Why would she be interested in me?
or
I know she is already taken
.

My last relationship was with my college sweetheart, Travis. He was perfect while we were in school, but after graduating we both knew it wouldn't work. I had to go where the jobs were, and he already had a job waiting for him in Louisville, KY. Of course he moved on, he had a live-in girlfriend, and he was happy. I was happy, too, but would be happier if I was in a relationship. So in the meantime, I distracted myself with my career and tried not to focus on my single status.

I looked at the clock and realized I had wasted a lot of time thinking. I only had a half hour to get ready for the NABJ event.

The event was being held at the W Hotel. I walked into the crowded room and ordered a chardonnay and looked around to see if I saw any of my colleagues from the station or anyone who looked familiar. I saw Gavin. We went out a few times. He was a columnist at the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
and he just so happened to live in the building I was initially going to move into, but at the last minute the deal fell through. Nothing's really wrong with him. He just has a bad sense of humor. I'm not going to say the ridiculous line that he is too nice. But he wasn't my type. He was about five-foot-nine, and when I wore my heels I was taller than him. Aside from the height issue, I just didn't see Gavin in that manner.

I went up to him and tapped his shoulder. “Hey, Gavin.”

He turned around and said, “You look great.”

“Thank you.”

“How's everything going?” he whispered as he put his hand around my waist.

“No complaints,” I said casually. I wanted to come and meet new people, not be stuck with Gavin.

“When are we going to spend some time together?” he asked with a hopeful look on his face.

“I don't know. Soon,” I said as I removed his hand from my waist. We talked a little and then I went to mingle about the party.

I saw Deborah Ellerbe, who was someone I wanted to meet. She had been at the station since the late seventies. She was the station's first African-American anchorwoman. I read her bio at the station, and I was so impressed and wanted to get to know her. However, I never wanted to go up to her like a nervous fan. She had a great career. The National Media Association honored her with a lifetime achievement award and she was in the Georgia Association of Broadcasters hall of fame, and she won a regional Emmy for editorial excellence nine times. She also served as a chair on several charities. I was getting so excited. Deborah Ellerbe was just the type of person or mentor I needed. I looked over and saw her stop Gavin. Gavin left, then he came back over to her with glass of wine. As he was walking back in my direction, I pulled him over to me and asked, “Gavin, do you know her?”

“She is my mom's sorority sister.”

“Really? Can you introduce us? You never told me that.”

“I did a couple of times. Shows how much you pay attention to me. After she finishes up her conversation, I'll introduce y'all,” he said. The couple she was talking to was walking away and she was headed in our direction.

“Here she comes, Gavin,” I said.

He turned around. “Auntie, I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Cherise Long. Cherise is a reporter at Action 7.”

“Well, nice to meet you.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ellerbe. Congratulations on all of your success.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm new at the station,” I said, managing to keep the nervousness out of my voice. “You have had an amazing career.”

“Well, thank you. I've seen you around. You're pretty and I'm sure you will do well at Action 7,” she said.

I felt so honored I wanted to break out in a big grin, but I maintained my professionalism. “Thank you, it is really an honor to have met you. I hope to have such an illustrious career as yours.”

“Well, thank you. You are so sweet.” She looked over at Gavin and said, “Honey, she is a keeper.”

We both smiled.

“Gavin, have your mom call me. And, Cherise, you should come to my ladies only luncheon in a few weeks.”

“I would love to.”

“Okay, I'll send the information through Gavin to you.”

“See, you might want to roll with me,” Gavin said with a bragging tone. I laughed at him. I still didn't want him, but I was grateful for his connection.

I
was in the bed, totally drained. Yesterday was the first of the month and three people called out. The first of the month was when everyone got their stamps and Social Security checks. Every customer that I rung up was the wrong price or size or something. Then all the customers acted like they couldn't help me bag their food. I bagged so many bags yesterday my arms were sore. My check was going to look real good, though, with eight hours of overtime on it.

But this morning I was paying for my sixteen-hour workday. I hit the snooze button six times already. The first time I hit snooze the clock read 6:30. The second time 6:45, and the last time I looked at the clock it was 7:18. I hit the button and closed my eyes and thought,
I just need ten more minutes of rest.
That was an hour ago. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. It read 8:15.

I immediately jumped up. The boys were going to be late for school. I threw my clothes on and ran in their room screaming, “Miles and Kyle, get up!” Their room was empty. I peeked in Lisa's room. She was folding clothes and singing along to the Mariah Carey song that was blasting.

I screamed over the loud music, “Lise, where are the twins?”

“At school.”

“You took them to school?”

“Yeah, I did. I got up early. I feel much better. That migraine had me down yesterday.”

“Did you make their lunch?”

“I bought them hoagies from the corner store. There is a little breakfast left on the table,” she said, not looking up from folding clothes.

“Oh, okay. Well, I'm going to eat and then get ready for work,” I said, closing her door. Something was going on with Lisa. She hadn't gotten the boys ready for school since last school year. I was confused, but I was just happy that the boys got to school on time. I walked into the kitchen and served myself eggs, bacon, grits, and toast. Lisa came downstairs dragging a bag of clothes.

“What are you doing with all that stuff?” I asked as I munched on my bacon.

“I just went through my closet. I have all these clothes I don't even wear. I'm going to give them to the Salvation Army. You can look in the bag and see if you like anything.”

“Okay. I have to get ready for work,” I said as I jammed a piece of toast into my mouth. “I'll look later.”

I ran upstairs to get dressed. I took my uniform out of my neat closet and placed it on the bed. My shoes were perfectly aligned and all my hangers were going in the same direction. I started to take off my clothes to go get in the shower when Lisa knocked on the door and handed me her black shoe boots.

“Here, you can have these,” she said.

“These are your favorites. Why are you giving them to me?”

“I don't like them anymore. I want some new boots. I want everything new.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. I'll drive you to work. I have to stop past Aunt Darla's house.”

 

 

Lisa dropped me off and I only had five minutes to clock in. When Lenora saw me coming in she looked down at her watch and told me to hurry up because I was going to be handling returns. I didn't mind. I knew where everything was located, and walking around made the day go by faster. There were three shopping carts full of returned items. I would be busy at least until lunch.

After lunch, they put me on the express lane because it was becoming busy. I hadn't even had a break. By the time they tried to give me one, it was going to be time to go home. Lenora came over and tapped me on my shoulder at four and said, “I need you logged off your register. Come to the back. It's important.”

“Okay,” I said, startled. I turned my register light off and told the man who was next in line that he was my last customer.

My nerves were getting the best of me. I was a wreck, trying to figure out why they would take me off my register. What was going on? I hoped I hadn't forgotten to give someone the right amount of change again. As I scanned each item, I tried to remember any errors I may have made. Each beep of the register had me jumpy. Finally, I logged off and walked to the back of the store. “Your sister's fiancé called. He said it was an emergency and for you to call home because your sister is in the hospital.” Her fiancé? I figured Lenora was talking about Lisa's boyfriend, Mikey. What could have happened to Lisa? I couldn't gather my thoughts or belongings fast enough.

“Did he say what was wrong?” I asked Lenora.

“No,” Lenora responded.

I thanked her and clocked out. I pulled out my cell phone and called Mikey.

“Mikey, what's going on with Lisa?”

“She is at the hospital. Your aunt Darla is with her.”

“What hospital? What the hell happened?”

“Man, I don't really know. Just meet me at UPenn.” I told him okay as all kinds of thoughts ran through my head.

I caught a cab to the University of Pennsylvania hospital. I went to patient information. As soon as I exited the elevator, I saw my aunt Darla, her husband, and Lisa's best friend, Yvette.

“What's going on, Yvette?” I could tell by the expression on their faces that it was something bad. Real bad.

“She took some pills,” Aunt Darla said.

“Some pills?” I said, shocked, as tears began to stream down my face. “How many? What for? Was it an accident? Her head has been bothering her lately and she's been getting migraine headaches.”

Yvette butted in and said, “I don't think it was an accident. She left a letter and she took a bunch of stuff. I called her around three when school was out and Kyle said, ‘My mommy sleep.' I said wake her up, and then he said he couldn't. So I called back again and then Miles said she looked like she was dead because she wasn't breathing. I thought the boys were exaggerating, but then I called back and I told them to smack her to get her up because it was really important. I heard the smack and Kyle told me she was still asleep. So I drove over there and they opened the door for me and I found her unconscious in the bed.”

“So what are they saying? Is she going to die? Where is she?” I asked as my aunt Darla came up and started hugging me. I broke down, almost falling on the floor.

“Lisa is in a coma. They have her in intensive care. She is down the hall and it doesn't look good. You can go in there, but you have to calm down,” Yvette said, as my aunt Darla tried to hold me up. I tried to get myself together as I walked in Lisa's room.

Lisa was hooked up to all these monitors. I cried quietly as I touched her hand. It felt cold. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't see my sister hooked up to all those machines. I started crying hysterically.

“Calm down, Zakiya. Don't count Lisa out. She might still make it. We just have to wait and pray,” my aunt Darla said as she held me up and walked me out of the room to a seat in the family waiting room. I tried to get my thoughts together.

Tears began to fill my eyes. “Where are my nephews?” I asked Yvette and my aunt Darla.

“Mikey's mom has the boys. I had them call her and then I told her what was going on,” Yvette said as she attempted to console me, too. I saw Mikey coming down the hall and I became instantly mad. I tried to contain myself, but I just couldn't. I broke down and I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. My chest was heaving up and down and I felt like I couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't take it. First my mother and now my sister. I kept asking myself why Lisa would do something like this. She knew how hard it was on us to grow up without a mother. Why would she do this to her children and to herself? It didn't make any sense. When our mom killed herself, everyone was always pointing and staring and feeling sorry for us. We never had a mother to give Mother's Day cards to or celebrate the holidays with or comfort us by simply telling us that it was going to be okay. We had different dads, and neither one of them was around for us.
So why would she think it was okay to do it to her boys?
I thought as I cried uncontrollably, sobbing on my aunt's shoulder.

She gave me some tissues and hugged me. She told me it was going to be okay, and then asked me how Lisa had been acting the last few days. As I tried to sit up and wipe away my tears, I collected my thoughts and said, “I thought she was happy. Like really happy. She had music blasting and she was cleaning up, folding clothes, and bagging up clothes for the Salvation Army.”

“That's strange. If she was happy, why would she try to kill herself?” Aunt Darla asked.

“Actually, it is normal before a person attempts to commit suicide. They usually get really happy and give away their prized possessions. They get this euphoric feeling. I learned it in my psychology class,” Yvette said.

“Really? I didn't know that; I could have stopped her,” I said as a doctor came over to talk with us. He introduced himself as Dr. Mead. We all gathered around him in a huddle as he began explaining Lisa's condition.

“The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be touch and go. Anything can happen. However, does she have a will, or do you know what her final wishes were?”

Final wishes! I couldn't take any more. I walked away. This was way too much for me.

“Second generation is crazy,” I heard my aunt Darla whisper as I walked away. I looked back at them. “Did she hear me?” she asked Yvette. If they were supposed to be supporting me, they were doing a bad job of it. Mikey stood up and walked down the hospital corridor, throwing his arms up at the ceiling and letting out a long, loud sigh.

I walked out of the hospital and saw Mikey. He was pacing and smoking a cigarette. I wanted to be mad at him, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't pull the trigger, but he did give Lisa the ammunition. He was the one who made her want to kill herself. He always made her sad. Damn. Why couldn't he just do right by her? That's all she ever wanted. As he approached me I had mixed feelings. I wanted to hit him, but I just gave him a hug and started breaking down again. He hugged me back and said, “It's going to be okay, Kiya. She is going to make it through this shit.”

“I hope so. I don't know what I would do without her,” I cried as we separated.

“I know everyone thinks it is my fault, and to an extent it may be. But listen, I got Lisa. I love her. I don't want anything to happen to her or my sons,” he said, shaking his head.

“So why do you keep doing stuff, Mikey?”

“Your sister be tripping. I go get my hair cut and she accuses me of being with another woman. I put on cologne and she asks me who I'm trying to smell good for. Last week, she came down to the pool hall and busted my car headlights out because I was playing against my man and his girl, and she thought the girl was with me.”

“Well, you have to do something to make her feel more secure. So she won't think anything.”

“I've been trying, Zakiya. Come on, you know your sister be acting up for no reason.” I knew he was telling the truth, but still, maybe if he hadn't cheated in the past, then she wouldn't always accuse him. It didn't matter now. What mattered was just praying that Lisa made it.

I wanted to see my nephews, but I knew they were going to ask questions and I didn't have any answers. I had to seriously think about the future. If Lisa died, there would be so many things that had to be addressed. Her funeral arrangements. Who would take over the house? Would Mikey fight me for the kids? God, I didn't know how I would handle all of this.

By the time I came back upstairs to the family waiting room, my mom's youngest sister, Tina, had arrived from Maryland. She used to come and get me and take me out when my mother was alive. I hadn't seen her in years. She had her hair cut short and it was dyed honey blond. She was wearing a pink velour sweat suit. She always was the somewhat fashionable sister. Her husband was older. He did something for the government in D.C. I knew he made a lot of money and she didn't work. As soon as she saw me she gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek. The rest of the night we prayed and hoped that Lisa would make it through.