But the money I’d saved had gone to purchase a small herd of goats for an African village, and as my mother liked to point out, hadn’t that been the wiser choice, since the goats continued to make a difference while my marriage had been an epic failure?
Jocelyn retrieved her best pair of scissors and cut along the lines she’d marked. Amanda groaned loud and long.
“What?” Jocelyn’s hand stilled and she inspected the pattern. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh. Sorry, it’s not that.” Amanda lifted her phone from her lap and waved it around a little. “Something with work.”
Jocelyn and Molly exhaled simultaneously. Jocelyn started cutting again.
A few minutes later, Amanda let out a sigh and cradled her head in her hands.
“Ay probecita.” Betsy clucked her tongue. “Is one of your players getting traded or something?”
Amanda worked as a social media public relations manager in the sports world but was currently contracted with the baseball team, the Stampeders. A trade wouldn’t have her sighing and moaning like she was about to pass a kidney stone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She bit her lip, staring at the phone’s screen. She didn’t appear to have heard me, so I asked again.
Almost as if it pained her, she set the her phone on her leg and looked up.
“One of our relief pitchers, Dennis Nichols, took a knee during the national anthem. Social media is blowing up over it, and the team’s owner is demanding I Band-aid the gushing wound.”
“I thought kneeling during the anthem was more of a football thing,” Betsy said, brows scrunched together.
I found another container of straight pins for Jocelyn. “No, it’s more of a human rights thing.” Not that half the nation agreed with me on that point.
Amanda picked her phone back up and tapped the screen. “Well, according to a lot of the outraged comments online, it’s being perceived as a lack of respect thing. Especially for the service members who’ve made the ultimate sacrifice for this country.”
“Your dad’s in the Navy, Molly. What does he think about people taking a knee during the anthem as a means to protest systemic racism?” Betsy asked.
Molly peered out the window. Her parents had had a change of duty assignment in the spring and were now stationed overseas in Japan. She hadn’t seen them since they left. “Those who’ve served in the military seem to be as split on the issue as the rest of the country. Personally, Dad says he fights and sacrifices for all rights for all Americans. That includes the right to freedom of speech and the right to protest. These players are using the platform they have to peacefully bring public attention to a real problem in our country. I think, most of all, that he’s sad that anyone would even need to take a stand—or kneel, rather—because of inequality in this day and age. But he says the fact these players kneel doesn’t feel like a personal slap in the face to him. Then again, there are people in the service that do feel like their sacrifice isn’t appreciated by such actions so…” She shrugged helplessly. “It’s a trigger topic, isn’t it?”
“Maybe when the police stop kneeling on the necks of our men, killing them when they aren’t so much as struggling, then the players won’t feel they have to kneel during the anthem anymore.” Jocelyn’s voice broke, and she wiped a tear away with a shaky hand. She inhaled a trembling breath, looked up at the ceiling, and blinked rapidly. “Sorry,” she choked out.
Molly wrapped her arms around Jocelyn’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Jocelyn shook out her wrists. “My brother called last night. A couple of days ago he was out jogging when two police officers came out of nowhere and wrestled him to the ground. Apparently a call about a car robbery in the area came in, and he fit the description of the suspect.”
We were all quiet, no doubt imagining how scary such a thing would be. To just be out taking a jog, then all of a sudden violently brought down by police officers for no apparent reason.
“I know they were just trying to do their jobs, but they could have asked for his license and questioned him before automatically painting him a criminal and handcuffing him for simply exercising. This happens too often, and my heart is tired and hurting because of it. I mean, a Black man can’t even drive a nice car without someone assuming he stole it.” Her shoulders rose. “My head knows the majority of the men and women who put on the black and blue uniforms have done so because they want to protect and serve, but it’s so hard when things like this, and even worse things, happen every day because of the pigment of a person’s skin. It’s just…the system…”
Her voice trailed because, really, what was there to say?
“You know what we need?” Molly asked brightly, looking straight at me.
An uneasy wave curled in my belly. “More Peter Rabbit mocktails?”
“A happier topic. Tell us how your date went.”
“That would not be a happier topic.” My insides churned.
Amanda curled her legs under her. “Spill. We’re dying to know.”
I made a show of looking at my wristwatch. “Oh, look at that. I need to go relieve my babysitter.”
“No worries,” Molly said, nonplussed. “I’ll fill them in.”
Amanda gasped and leaned forward. “What do you know?”
That wave of unease tumbled me like a newbie surfer.
Molly grinned. “Ben told me.”
“I’m confused,” Betsy interjected. “How would Ben know how Nicole’s date went?”
“From Drew.” Molly’s eyes held mine captive, probing their depths to gauge my reaction.
“And Drew would know because…” Jocelyn let the sentence dangle.
I finally broke Molly’s gaze. “Because the date ended up being with him.” My eyes landed on each of my friends. “But you all can wipe those looks off your faces. You’d have better odds of logging companies implementing reforestation in the Amazon than Drew and me ever developing romantic feelings for each other.”
Case closed.
The end. Or so I hoped.
4
Drew
I’d learned early on in medical school to utilize any spare minute I could find. Waiting at the DMV to renew my license? Perfect for studying flash cards on infant diseases. Waiting for a movie to begin in the theater? Time to review my notes from the guest lecturer from John Hopkins. Now those spare moments looked more like grabbing a power bar between patients or shooting off a text to my sister to remind her to take her prenatal vitamins.
I sat in my Suburban, windows down, and glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Ten minutes before practice began. Eric tossed the football to Owen in the field across the street. A kid and his mom walked along the green from the opposite side.
I lifted my phone from the cup holder and held it up in front of me so face recognition could unlock the screen. The hospital discouraged us from giving out our personal numbers—stressed those boundaries for legal and ethical reasons as well as to establish healthy limits for their residents. But sometimes a patient would enter the exam room that needed a little extra assurance and care. A pregnant teen alone, scared. No support from the father or her parents. Or the single mother with dark circles under her eyes, worried about her son or daughter but also wondering how she’ll pay the medical bills.