by Hart Tillett

And so the die was cast. Together they [Glenda and Reggie] began the preparations for what they both knew could be the most risk-laden venture in their lives. She got references, found or got copies of her certificates, made arrangements for others to help with Jeffrey and Jasmine, and the like. The most challenging was finding the best way to explain to the children why Mommy had to go away. There were promises given, and cajoling reassurances made but in spite of it all they were not enough to stop their tears. And when she said her goodbyes at the airport it took all her strength to hold back her own pent up tears until she was seated in the plane

Part 2

(Continued from Amandala of Tues. Dec. 10, 2024)

Getting a job was not as easy as Linda had said, or how she and Reggie had figured it would be. Not having a Social Security card, and with only a visitor’s visa to show proved to be a major obstacle. Hospitals and clinics required it, and even with her RN credentials, she still had to get state certification to practice. And Linda’s revelation soon after her arrival in New York City that she was expected to help with the expenses, while not a surprise, had a worrisome urgency. She wrote Reggie:

The situation is desperate, she told him. I still haven’t got a job, but she continues to drop these awful hints that’s driving me crazy. Not sure I can take this much longer.

“Are you OK?” the concierge of the apartment complex asked her one morning. They had developed a friendly relationship, and the woman had noticed Glenda’s drawn aspect. She had shared with the Puerto Rican a bit of her predicament, and was promised help if anything came up. And something did. A member of the gang of soda can collectors the concierge handled as a side hustle, was going out of town for a couple of weeks, and a substitute was needed. “Would you like to fill in for her?” The woman’s knowing eyes took in Glenda’s drooping shoulders and downcast eyes.

Glenda was in no position to be choosy, and without hesitation, agreed. She had seen the collectors at work and thought she could handle it.

Linda’s reaction was cool.

“Those people are the homeless of the city,” she said derisively, and Glenda had to resist the urge to interject that that’s how she was feeling too!

By the end of the second week, she had gotten into the routine and gladly agreed to continue, since the woman she replaced would not be returning to New York City any time soon. The money was not much, but even after the concierge’s cut she could buy her own food and cover her personal needs.

Her next job—also with a nod from the helpful concierge—was dog-walking. It was for a woman’s pet in Apartment 6C, whose little Pekinese needed to be taken out twice a day. The dog Park was a mere 4 blocks away. It was summertime, which made her 45-minute exercise even pleasurable; and at $150 a week, the stress that had burdened her began to lighten. After a month at this, she even added two more tenants’ dogs. She wrote Reggie, making light of her situation.

“Doggone it, Reggie,” she told him, “I jokingly tell people that the RN after my name stands for Rottweiler Nurse, just to hear the laughter!”

“As long as you’re happy, darling,” he had replied.

“I’m not ‘happy’ Reggie,” she had chided. “I won’t be until I get my nursing certificate. By the way, I’ve registered with a local institute that offers certification courses twice a week,” she had added. “Sessions begin in late August, and looks like while I’m in training I might be considered by a hospital for non-clinical work.”

Shortly after that letter, she mentioned her situation to a Belizean priest who was on the preaching staff at an Anglican church on 5th Avenue where she found sanctuary and solace.

“Why not try out the office-cleaning field, Sister McAllister?” he ventured cautiously. “I can give you a reference and the names of a few agencies I know of.”

It was her first “real” job, and she didn’t mind the 45-minute bus ride up to Yonkers four nights a week. The office she and her coworkers cleaned was a second-floor suite of rooms on Executive Boulevard with the name, “ABERCROMBIE & JEFFORDS, Attorneys,” scrolled onto the glass door. It would be after midnight before she got back home, but the American Dream had stirred in her, and she was feeling good about herself. When she got her first pay-check she called Reggie.

“I’ve sent $80.00 to you through Western Union, Reggie. Not a lot, but very soon I’ll be able to help with a little more. The job fits nicely into my daily routine,” she said, in a style that mimicked a face-on conversation. “Can collection early in the morning, dog walking in the afternoon, and office cleaning at night—I’m a busy woman now, as you can tell,” she said, trying to coat the disappointment she was feeling with this wry attempt at humor.

“Sounds hectic to me,” he protested mildly.

“…and make sure,” she said as she ended the call, “you keep Junior’s music lessons fees current, and buy him the new sneakers he was asking about!” The boy had been doing so well in his music studies that he had been chosen by his school to be their contestant for his age group in the up-coming Annual Festival of Arts Exhibition.

And then, three months into her new life, something happened that completely changed the plan she had for moving to America. She was just finishing her dog-walk for the day when a terrified shouting up ahead got her attention. A dog fight had broken out. She hastened her steps and was just in time to see this huge German Shephard dog being pulled away from a much smaller brindle French bulldog. The owner of the smaller dog held it, but even from a distance she could tell from the blood that the little dog had been badly mauled. Her nursing background kicked in instantly as she rushed to help. As a trained nurse she always had a bandage bundle with antiseptic, small scissors and band aids in her purse.

“I’m a nurse,” she said to the owner, a white woman who was on her phone dialing for help. “Let me see the wound,” she begged. The woman on hearing the professional and authoritative inflexion in her voice cut short her call and yielded to Glenda’s offer. It wasn’t a serious wound, but there was a lot of blood. While she kept thumb pressure on the open wound of the little dog, her other hand was busy getting out the antiseptic and bandage roll, at the same time directing the owner on the length needed and prepped for application. The whole matter was concluded in a few minutes.

“Thank you so much,” said the owner. “How can I repay you?” she asked with maternal unction.

“No payment necessary,” replied Glenda, petting the little bundle of fur, made calm by then. “I’m a dog lover too, and helping this little one is reward enough. What’s her name?”

“Well, if you think of anything…,” the lady began, but let the thought trail. After a moment’s pause, she added: “I’m Laura, and my dog’s name is Blueberry,” and, hastily scribbling on a scrap of paper, added: “That’s my number; call me if you need to.” Glenda thanked her, gave the woman hers, and put the bit of paper into her bag, thinking little of the gesture. But she didn’t miss the business-like lilt in Laura’s voice: it had the ring of someone accustomed to giving orders; a person with authority.

A week went by. Then, while looking for a pill in her bag she saw the number Laura had left her. On a spur of instinct, she remembered the little bulldog and wondered how it was doing. She called the number Laura had given her.

“Hello, Abercrombie and Jeffords,” came a receptionist’s voice. “How can I help you?”

Abercrombie and Jeffords thought Glenda wildly. That’s where I clean, her mind racing, but she just as quickly calmed her racing heartbeat.

“My name’s Glenda,” she paced herself. “I’m a nurse and I’m following up on Miss Laura’s injured dog.”

When the connection was made, Laura, clearly overjoyed at the call, updated her on Blueberry’s condition, which was excellent. The two women chatted for a while more till Laura said:

“Listen, I know you didn’t want any reward for treating Blueberry, but I’d still like to show you some appreciation. When I called my vet and told him who you were and what you did, he said I didn’t have to go see him unless Blueberry showed signs of distress. Nada.” She was smiling into the phone and added, “Why don’t I take you for lunch, humph? What d’you say?”

That was the start of a friendship between the two. It turned out that Laura was a lawyer at Abercrombie’s, and arranged for Glenda to see the head of the immigration unit at the firm.

“As a member of the armed forces,” she was informed, “you can apply for a green card after a year in the service. And with the hundreds of casualties from this war that’s raging in Viet Nam, recruitment is quick with a minimum of red tape for someone with your qualifications!” She paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “And after your citizenship has been processed—usually with just a short wait—you can apply for your husband and the children to join you here in America.” She studied Glenda’s face for a moment and, satisfied with what she saw, concluded her encouraging chat with a helpful nudge in her voice. “So, what do you say?”

This was a dream unfolding, Glenda thought quickly; much better than the ten-year wait for a green card if she had to go through the customary, uncertain process. But Reggie would have to agree.

“I’ll need to let my husband know,” she demurred. “Give me a few days to think this over and discuss it with him?’

They talked some more about the benefits of military service—housing, education, medical insurance, travel—all of which were close to Glenda’s heart.

There was some resistance at first when she told Reggie, but in the end, he agreed with her, knowing how much she enjoyed nursing, and hearing of all the benefits that vets enjoyed. She would sign on for eight years, and as soon as possible apply for citizenship for Reggie and the children. Meanwhile, she would visit Belize as often as army regulations permitted, getting to see the children whom she missed badly. That she would be allowed to do this after she got her Commission on completion of the required Basic Officer Leadership course, was a major incentive in the process. She called Laura.

The years on the “floating hospital” off the shores of Da Nang seemed to fly along with a buzz. Glenda liked the status she had on shipboard. Her first two years were spent in some of the Field Hospitals in South Vietnam, but as her professional and organizational skills were unveiled, she got the notice of the High Command and was stationed on the USS Glory, a hospital ship to which the Dust Off helicopters made their ill-boded landings, bringing in the more seriously wounded soldiers. With that came more and more responsibilities in the oversight of the nurses’ and interns’ administration.

There was job security and economic stability in the US army, and that made it easier to survive the long, lonely hours on the hospital ship. She sent money regularly to Reggie, much of which he said was spent on their home, their “place to gather,” as he liked to remind her. And on those few times when she could make short visits home, there was evidence of that—some fresh paint here and there, a more firmly-hung driveway gate, the addition of a small imported plastic water catchment out back to replace the rusted-out gasoline drums from his father’s time, and the like. It was his way to cling to the notion of a gathering place, but one on which Glenda, who never cottoned well to the idea in the first place, had cooled even more. She realized she could never live in Belize again!

Eight years seemed like a long time at first, but by focusing on the end results—the military pension, a classy job in a world-class hospital in New York City, a beautiful, spacious home somewhere in the rolling suburbs of the City, and above all, her family comfortably settled into American life with all the perks, and being together for good—it was a minor delay at worst, and serving out her term became a delightful prospect. She commiserated with the young soldiers who contracted the Agent Orange infection and others who had lost limbs or been blinded in the war. Many nights she lay awake thinking of Junior, and glad he wouldn’t have to go through that. After her eighth year in the army, she applied for discharge.

Part 3

Life as a civilian and citizen of the USA! What an accomplishment! Her first thought was finding a nice place to live. She consulted Laura who thought the township of New Rochelle with its sizeable West Indian community and haven for veterans, would be a good fit for what she wanted. The burgeoning town lacked the bustle of Harlem; the homes were mostly residential, with unfenced yards, shopping centers and parks for families and children. With her savings she could afford the down payment, buy furnishings, and engage landscape teams to beautify the grounds. To impress Reggie, there would be need for polished wooden floors, a curving stairway to the bedrooms upstairs, a patio out back, and a tool shed.

She asked Laura to do some checking for her, and left for Belize. She registered as a US citizen with the embassy there, and through her acquaintance with the staff was tapped to attend the official National Day celebrations in September as part of the American squad. When she arrived, attired in her uniform and Commissioned Officer’s insignia, the TV crews panned their camera on her, as the announcer identified her by name and rank. It was a moment she regaled.

Then, Laura called.

“I’ve found a house I think you’ll like,” she told Glenda. “I’ve got the realtor to put a ‘Hold’ on the sale for a month, so you’ll need to be here soon to close if you like it.”

She had not told Reggie before about the house search she was on, and she didn’t tell him then. Her own concept of “a place to gather,” was moving to a newer reality, and it did not include Belize. A touch of guilt assaulted her when she thought of how glad she actually felt at being able to get away from the village and country of her birth, with its overgrown street verges, missing sidewalks, or laws penalizing the wanton disposal of garbage—sometimes right in front of their yard—with scavenging rats in plain and scary view.

“That was Laura—the lawyer friend I told you of?”, she said to Reggie in response to his questioning furrowed brow. “She has heard of an opening in one of New York’s premier emergency hospitals. The pay is good, and I need to get back. Sorry, Reggie but I have to leave.”

Back in the City she was taken by the realtor to see the house. It was just as Laura had said—and more! The red brick of the building complemented the lush greenness of the lawn and thick foliage of the neighboring trees, while the Aztec red of fascia boards, especially those on the second story eaves, stood out in strong contrast in the morning sun. Reggie will fall in love with this building on sight, she reflected silently. “I just know it,” she muttered audibly, so that the realtor asked,

“What do you mean?”

“O, nothing!” she lied easily. “Just something I remembered.”

What really prompted the exclamation was the way the architect had insinuated brackets into the design of the building. Wherever they could be fitted, they were placed—large ones, little ones, and some positioned to appear to be weight-bearing, reminiscent of Belize’s colonial architectural styles. And, like Reggie, whose idea that no corner should be left exposed, they all bore a fleur-de-lis icon. And they were everywhere—in the driveway, on the front porch, on the patio, and even the newel posts. He would be impressed for sure she had thought; I just know it!

Two days later she signed the papers and stepped into what she believed would be “their place to gather!” Now, she ruminated, I need to find some people who could come along and do just that.

She thought of the pastor at her church who had helped her before; she would seek his help again.

“Why not join our choir?” he suggested. “Our organist, a very talented musician from St. Lucia, lives in New Rochelle. She would be able to get you sorted out with the right people there and…” He did not finish, for Glenda knew that she had made the right decision.

“Yes, yes,” she cut into the priest’s speech. “I sang tenor back home.”

She called Reggie.

His first reaction was disbelief. “That was never the plan, Gee,” he rebutted, using the cozying-up nickname of their courtship years. “Belize is your home, and the house here is our inheritance: ours and the children’s; our place to gather, remember?”

“When you see the house you’ll love it, Reggie.”

She instantly regretted saying that, knowing he would spot the implied idea that he would gladly come to America to live. She was right.

“You once loved our home here in Belize,” he punted. There was a long pause as they both untangled the many nuances behind what he said.

“Things have changed, Reggie.” It was not a challenge, but it sounded like that to him.

“Not ‘things,’ Glenda,” he groaned. “You have changed. You’ve been changing ever since this army thing came up.” She let him go on. “It was bribery by the American government to get you to fight their wars with the promise of the ‘Good life,’—one that suffocates your own dreams, and replaces them with a shadowy sideshow full of American dollars.”

It was a cheap shot, and she resented the profiling. It was not the first time she had heard this rant from him. But before, it was just a theoretical issue; now it lay, like a blanket of hoar frost across their joyful union, with a reality they had to confront. She wanted to end the conversation before some unreasonable red lines got into the mix, but knew the timing was bad. Army discipline and her own instincts said: Don’t quit now—you’re at the Finish line!

As she waited for him to be done, matters that had long troubled her rushed back afresh. She felt a heavy guilt for what the world would regard as abandonment of her family. The load was especially heavy when she remembered her daughter: she was at an age when she needed her mother more than ever. And Junior, who had become a young man, a time when so many confusing ideas and biological changes were at work in his body—voice change and facial hair—made him want someone to talk to. Reggie was no use in such matters for, as he had said, the boy’s a good, bright lad—he’ll figure it out!

Then a flash back from her Officer training days intruded her memory. It was the picture of a huge rock near the entrance to the grounds, and was painted in the colors of the Stars & Stripes. The legend beneath it read: If you can’t move it—PAINT IT! The motto came to her rescue then.
“Okay, Reggie,” she said. “I think you’re right!”

Reggie sighed audibly. A pleased sound.

Fifteen years of marriage had taught her the kinds of outcomes to disputes that soothed him; decisions that bolstered his manliness; that seemed to soften her stand on issues. And it was in that moment that she would be able to counter with what sounded to Reggie like a plea—another button of his to be pushed.

“I need to work over here for two more years to qualify for a Social Security pension, Reggie,” she hurried on before he could say more. “That’s money we’ll find handy at our retirement.” She heard his acquiescing grunt and hurriedly drove the point she really had in mind. “Perhaps you and the kids can join me here for the Christmas holidays?” It was put not as a suggestion but a coy question, and when he said nothing, Glenda knew he hadn’t dismissed the idea. “They have never seen real snow,” she pursued her line, “and it would be a wonderful experience for them. What do you say, Honey?”

She had won his support; they would spend the upcoming Christmas in the home she had built for them; and it was up to her to make sure they loved it in America—enough to want to remain there. She thought of inviting her sister, Linda and her family over, but decided to leave them for the last, so that there was no chance Reggie might find out what she was up to. She joined the church choir, and made friends with Pamela “Pam” St. James, the organist, who took a liking for her and welcomed her to her circle of friends in New Rochelle. That included the mayor’s wife, the local chapter of the Veterans’ Association, who invited her to speak on her journey to realizing the American dream, and the team members of the local West Indian Cricket Club, to name just a few. As an RN nurse with military background, she was asked to sit on Boards and Ward Committees involved in the welfare of vets in this growing new city. It was her involvement in one of these groups where she spearheaded the chapter of Agent Orangemen. She grasped every opportunity to become involved in the social, cultural and economic activities of the town, and was even nominated to be Person-of-the-Year by the town’s leading newspaper, a gesture she felt was more notional than practical, given her brief presence there.

She had some of these friends over from time to time. No large gatherings, but small tête á tête affairs, where there was opportunity for better advancing her plan by talking to her guests about her background, while she learned from them of their own lives, the history of the town, and ideas for new growth areas. Included in those metes were musicians, politicians, trades people, religious leaders from a swathe of the faith spectrum, and of course, the medical and pharmaceutical communities. Neighbors only knew that the vet next door had a busy social life—with no wild partying, loud music or lines of cars to clog up traffic.

Meanwhile, back in Ladyville, Reggie was also getting ready for the trip to New Rochelle. That was still some months away, and the excursion would be for a mere three weeks, but security for the house, care for the livestock—their chickens and pigs—little things, he granted, but important in creating the impression of presence at the home, were essential, especially at Christmas time. He made a list of things that needed looking after—new locks for the gates, additional timers for the lights and radio in the house, someone to visit the house and move the car periodically—things that get overlooked in the readiness push for travel. After all, the village was no longer the little isolated place where folk passed through on their way to Belize City, or drove to on their way to the nearby international airport. It was growing, and evidence of the changes taking place was the rise in violent crime, a noticeable fall in church attendance, and the addition of more “gun-and-badge” men and vehicles to the Ladyville Police Formation.

Then in late November, three weeks before school closed in Belize for the holidays, the New Rochelle Person-of-the-Year was announced. Glenda was beyond belief when she received a call from the committee chair. Her prize was a $20,000 gift and the chance to have a name of her choosing added to that of the street where she lived. She wanted to call Reggie right away. But she knew she couldn’t share the moment with him, much as she wanted to, and that it would be better to keep that as an additional surprise!