When we arrived in Birmingham the Ralseys went to find their friends while Ty, Alicia, and I asked around about the start time of the parade. Ty wanted to find his fraternity brothers, but he refused to split up, taking both of our hands. “Come on, y’all.”
My spirit opened up when I heard the echo of drums, sniffed the salty scent of pork sausage. The tin of a radio blasted the air. People walked around in full-on color. Black. Gold. Blue. White. Red. Pink. Green. I smoothed my hand down the front of my sweater, feeling chunky in my blue denim bell-bottoms. They were too long for me and grazed the ground. Afros. Halter tops. Beret-wearing revolutionaries. The crowd was a medley. Old and young. Families and couples. With fourteen historically Black colleges across the state, the bowl was a mecca.
We watched the parade for a while, cheering as the bands marched by, but I was too short to see. I ran into two nursing students from Tuskegee who briefly mentioned the Williamses and gave us a Black Power fist pump. Alicia said she was hungry, and Ty relented. He unfolded three chairs and brought us plates of chicken wings and potato salad. The wings were drowned in hot sauce, the potato salad soupy with mayonnaise. Alicia slurped lemonade. Ty finished his beer and said he’d be right back. Alicia opened up her tote bag.
“I have a new case.” She showed me a folder. “A young lady out in the country.”
“Damnit, Alicia. Why you bring that?” I could not take my eyes off the file.
“Fourteen years old. Two babies. Refuses birth control for religious reasons.”
“You can’t change them folks’ mind.”
“But I got her to try the pills. Finally convinced her. And guess what. After all that, they made her sick.”
I grew still, then reached for the folder. “Have you tried changing it?”
“Yup. Tried a couple of different pills.”
I read through the notes. The teenager was already caring for three younger sisters by the time her babies were born. Now she had dropped out of school. Don’t read any more, I told myself. Don’t read any more. But if someone didn’t intervene, this girl’s destiny was fixed.
“What’s Mrs. Parr saying about it?”
“She wants me to keep talking to the girl. We got limited options here, so I’m just working within that.”
I closed the file. “Why are you showing this to me, Alicia? What’s the point?”
“I just wanted to get your opinion.”
“My opinion? I don’t work there anymore. And I don’t exactly have a great track record with opinions.”
“That’s not true, Civil. You got a gift.”
“Gifts? Did I hear gifts?” Ty clapped his hands as he approached. His eyes glistened, as if he had downed a couple more beers.
“Now, don’t get too excited, Civ. My part-time job at the university only pays $1.60 an hour,” he said. Ty had recently started working as a resident adviser in the freshman dorm. He seemed unsure of what to do next in his career. Daddy had questioned a future with Mace, who had likely never had the luxury of time to “think things through.” Daddy judged the man, but it did not seem fair to question Mace’s future when the word future held a different meaning for him.
Alicia opened the tote at her feet and took out two wrapped gifts.
“For me?”
“Isn’t your birthday tomorrow, crazy girl?” Ty said.
“Looks like you wrapped it yourself.”
His gift for me was the size of a men’s shirt box. Images of Christmas trees covered the red paper. Typical Ty. Once, when we were thirteen years old, he’d wrapped two Mounds bars in newspaper and put them on my desk at school. The newspaper ink had been damp and smudged onto my fingertips. The chocolate bars were melted, but I still ate them. I held the box out in front of me, recalling all the times Ty had given me goofy little gifts.
“Open mine first,” Alicia said.
I could tell from the shape and weight of her box that it was a book. She kept looking at it in that nervous way givers had when they were worried what you would think of it.
I tore off the paper. “I didn’t expect this.”
“It’s not meant to be pressure. Just a little inspiration,” Alicia said quickly.
“Naw, I’d say that’s definitely pressure,” Ty said.
I turned the book over. MCAT: A Study Guide. It was the kind of gift my daddy might give. I didn’t know how to respond.
“Well, say something.”
“I don’t know what you mean by this.”
“Would you believe I stumbled on it in the used bookstore? And it’s still like new. Some poor soul only owned it long enough to change her mind about medical school. So I thought, the book is still looking for its destiny. I’d better buy it, gift it, and see if it’s another person’s opportunity to change her mind.”
I frowned at her. “Maybe you’re the one who is really thinking about medical school?”
“Naw, girl, if anything I’ll marry me a doctor. But you? You different.”
“Different?”
She touched my hand. “I know you feel rotten about what happened to those sisters. But whether you see it or not, you are gifted, Civil Townsend. Special. You would make an excellent doctor.”
Somebody was blasting Marvin Gaye, and the people in front of us started to move as if there were a dance floor beneath their feet.
“Ooh, if Civil’s daddy could hear you now. Alicia, you might get the good Dr. Townsend to church after all!” Ty said.
“Let’s just enjoy ourselves for now, alright?” Alicia took the book out of my hands and stuck it back in her bag.
“I’m sorry I sound ungrateful,” I told her. “It’s just that I like being a nurse. I think we’re the real caregivers. Alicia, you know doctors couldn’t do their work without nurses. Who is the one who notices when a patient is constantly rubbing her chest? Who is the one who writes down they sweating even though the room is cold? Who do they complain to that the medicine is making them sick to their stomachs?”
Neither of them responded.
“Medical school is for people that want a title. I don’t need a title. I don’t need somebody’s respect.”
Someone cranked up the music. I started to shout to be heard. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
Ty held up a hand. “Civil. It’s just a book. Put it in your closet and don’t even think about it. Now open mine.”
“Y’all really didn’t need to get me anything. I wasn’t expecting this,” I said as I tore off the Christmas paper. It was definitely a recycled box, wrinkled at the edges. He’d Scotch-taped the sides. I ran a fingernail under the edge and pulled off the lid, rummaging through tissue paper.
It was a photograph of me, Erica, and India outside our hotel in Washington, DC. I remembered one of the photographers calling out to us as we descended the steps. I had drawn the girls to me, an arm around their shoulders. I had been taking them for a walk to see the National Mall. My face had creased with irritation, but both of the girls had smiled. It was the only picture I had of the three of us.
“Ty, how in the world did you get this?”
“It was published in the Tri-State Defender in Memphis. They printed the photographer’s name. Man by the name of Ernest Withers. I found his phone number and called him. Turns out he’s a Black man who traveled up to Washington to cover the hearing.”