Koti & Kokonsa: Part IV

Diane held Dijah in a soft embrace and rocked her gently. Her daughter’s contented sigh reminded her of the day she had come from school in tears after being taunted on the playground. All she had wanted was her momma. That was so long ago. It had been ages – years – since Dijah had allowed herself to be vulnerable in Diane’s presence. Somewhere along the way, Kodjo had swooped in and become her hero; her go-to guy. But today, her daughter wanted her. Diane swallowed hard and lifted Dijah’s face so that she could look into her eyes.

“What happened, baby? How did you get hurt?”

Khadijah buried her head back into Diane’s shoulder, her face disappearing under a mass of brown curls. Her cheeks were wet when she emerged.

“Oh, Mom!” she gasped. “It was awful. I was on the ladder at work and I fell…”

Diane exploded. “What?”

Her mother’s intense reaction frightened Khadijah. She clammed up. Diane cursed under her breath and tried to take a softer approach. She had never liked the idea of Khadijah working, particularly at that up-start boutique just outside of Lenox Square. The shop owner was a pretentious hag who had sold her daughter a line about needing someone who was “innovative” and “responsible” to run her shop while she was away. Khadijah – being the blonde that she was – bought the sale heel, toe and tongue. So while Robin Sandorff was off in Milan buying trinkets to stock her selves, her precious Khadijah was slaving away for a few bucks an hour for thirty-five hours a week. If she worked more than thirty-five hours a week, Robin would reprimand her, and Khadijah hated to be reprimanded. Robin would also be required by law to provide Khadijah with health benefits.

That little Jewish snake! Now her daughter was lying on her floor with her foot in cast with no company-paid health insurance and…

Diane put as much sugar in her voice as she could when she asked her next question. “Sweetie, how did you get to the hospital?”

“Oh, I took her!” a husky, cheerful voice replied. Diane froze. Jesus. Not her.

Alexiz Simmons bounded up the last of the steps on the landing and breezed into Khadijah’s room…if you could call the halo of cigarette smoke that perpetually followed Alexiz a “breeze”. Alexiz was chirping like a finch, explaining how she had been there to rescue Khadijah.

“Lucky for all, I needed a new hatpin for the Magnolia Society’s benefit next week,” Alexiz peeped as she drew her fingers along the bedspread. Diane resisted the urge to smack her hand away. “Well, I just happened to walk into Robin’s…you know how little foot traffic she gets so I always try to help a sister out when I can… and there was our dear Dijah just laid out on the floor!”

Diane and Dijah watched Alexiz pace around the room as she alternately calmed and worked herself into a frenzy.

“Well, I just knew I couldn’t leave her there, so I scooped her up n’ put her in the back of my red convertible n’ took her to my doctor. And as you well know, Dr. Wiseman can fix anything.”

“Your doctor? You took my daughter to see YOUR doctor?”

“Why sure,” Alexiz replied innocently. “It was just a l’il ol’ broken bone. Nothing he couldn’t handle, as you can see.” She gestured to Khadijah’s bound leg for emphasis.

“Mom, it’s no big deal,” Dijah whispered. “Please, Mom…”

Diane released her protective grip on her daughter and stood to her feet. She took a deep breath and exhaled her next words.

“Thank you, Alexiz. That was very kind of you. Very neighborly.”

Alexiz Simmons smiled, gathered up her Michael Kors bag and patted Khadijah on the shoulder before skipping triumphantly down the stairs.

“I’ll see myself out, sisters!” she sang. The front door closed with a click.

Diane spun around and bore her gaze into Khadijah’s skull. Khadijah was busy staring into the ceiling.

“You know we can’t tell your father you went to see her doctor, right?”

Khadijah continued to stare upward, ignoring the question.

“Dijah! Right?”

“Yes, Mom,” she sighed. “I know”

“Good.”

“You handled that very well, Mom. I’m proud of you.”

Khadijah was grinning wickedly when she gave the compliment. Diane gaze her a side glance and snorted. She pulled Khadijah to her feet and settled her into bed. Diane didn’t even want to verbally acknowledge what her daughter was talking about. It made her feel petty.

Alexiz Simmons was a beautiful woman. She was blonde in the summer and brunette in the winter. She was ridiculously wealthy; or at least her husband was. He grew weed in this backyard…for fun. His “real job” was an investment broker, but nobody really knew what Mr. Simmons did for a living. All anyone knew was that he made an indecent amount of money, that he chose to live in this particular neighborhood, and that his wife used to be a man. If it weren’t for the thin, silvery line where her Adam’s Apple used to be and her size 11 feet, Alexiz Simmons would be the Hope Diamond of transgendered women. She was that stunning.

And Diane detested her for it.

The day the Adofo family moved next door to the Simmons couple was the day that Diane lost a bit of her identity. She had always chided Kodjo for his homophobic views.

“Not every gay man wants to have sex with you or our sons,” she would snap whenever the subject came up in their home. “This is America, right? You said you want to live the American Dream wherever one gets treated fairly?”

Throwing Kodjo’s words back in his face about ‘equality’ and all the nonsense she knew was nothing but political fantasy gave her a rush, and it placed her on moral high ground. But the night Alexiz Simmons revealed over wine that she used to be Alex Bannerman, an aspiring model and actress who chose the life of a stay-at-home-wife to an eccentric billionaire instead, everything changed.

Alexiz leaned in as she whispered her confession, slurring her words over her alcohol. “I’m only telling you because I trust you, Diane. I know you know what it’s like to be on the outside.”

Suddenly, Diane wasn’t as liberal and tolerant as she once was – or had assumed herself to be. Alexiz had robbed her of that, and she had never forgiven her for it.

It was disgusting.

Every time Alexiz called her “gurl” it made her itch. It just wasn’t right! Diane couldn’t figure out how, but somehow she felt like Alexiz had co-opted her femininity, her struggle. How dare she change her sex and start calling her “gurl”? What she know about being a girl? What did she know about the power of that one word, uttered in pain, ecstasy, mirth or surprise? GURL. Even as a ‘woman’, Alexiz Simmons still enjoyed a different sort of White male privilege. Diane couldn’t articulate it, but she knew how she felt!

It was disgusting!

“We’ll have to talk to your employer about getting some workman’s comp,” Diane muttered. “I’ll start making calls about getting the paperwork ready.”

“What are we gonna tell Dad?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll tell him you called me and we went down to Northside to get your leg set,” Diane replied. “But you know how he feels about Alexiz.”

“Yeah…” Dijah whispered. “I know.”

With that, Diane set about crafting the narrative of how she had come to her daughter’s rescue, rather than give credit to the only person in this neighborhood she could call a friend.