Color Blind(3)

“I’m busy,” I announced.



“Doing what?” Rachel contested.



“Working and taking care of Nevaeh. I don’t need no man in my life, especially a white one. My momma would skin my ass if I ever brought him home.” I paused for a minute, “Speaking of Neveah, I need to make her a doctor appointment real quick. I’ll go make it now since I have no tables at the moment. Will you keep an eye out for me?” I asked my friend.



Rachel nodded that she would. I dashed into the manager’s office to use the phone. As it rang, I wondered how I would even explain these symptoms. What would I say? My daughter has swollen knees and a fever that’s been coming and going for the last few days? Those hardly seemed like reasons to call, but being my child, it was every reason.



“Dr. Herber’s office, Janice speaking. How may I help you?” his assistant answered the phone.



“Hi Janice, this is Kimberly Harris. I was wondering if the doctor could examine my daughter Nevaeh this week. She’s been complaining that her knees hurt, and she’s been running a low-grade fever the last few days.”



“Okay, um, let me check the schedule to see if I can fit her in. Do you have any idea why they might be swollen?” Janice asked as she tried to shift around the appointments to make room for them.



“No, I thought maybe she fell, but she keeps complaining about them. The real reason I wanted to bring her in is because of the fever; that concerns me.”



“Well, sometimes children can catch a bug or a virus and run a low-grade fever as their body fights the infection. You guys are welcome to come in on Thursday at 4:30 in the afternoon. Does that work for you?”



“Thursday?” I asked as I looked up at the schedule hanging on the wall. “Yes, that’ll be perfect. I might be a few minutes late getting her there because I don’t get off until four. Is that okay?”



“Sure thing, that’s no problem at all.”



I hung up the phone, relieved that they worked her in within the next couple of days. It was Tuesday, and I hoped that Nevaeh would feel better before Thursday afternoon so the appointment wouldn’t be necessary. I hated to rush around after work, but if it meant helping my sick daughter, I’d do it in a heartbeat. As I walked away from Kevin’s office, I saw that Rachel was taking a drink order from a two-top table. I met her in the kitchen.



“So what’d they say?” her co-worker asked as she made the customer’s beverages.



“They said they would squeeze her in Thursday at 4:30. I don’t get off until 30 minutes before her appointment, but we work together. Would you mind if I left a few minutes early?”



“No, girl. I wouldn’t care. You make sure she gets better.” She faced me and handed me the drinks, “Give the husband this diet soda and his wife asked for water.”



“Oh, thanks,” I said, taking the glasses from her before heading out to serve my last table of the night.



I cashed out and counted my money when I was off work. This was an unusually slow summer; I only made $32 in tips. Suddenly, I began wishing I would’ve taken that $50 tip from the sexy guy who’d tried getting my number. With a crawling start to the season, it looked like bills would be tight. I couldn’t afford for my daughter to be sick. My credit cards were almost full, but I could squeeze a small office visit on my Visa card. Although I hated my dead-end job, I continued to serve tables at the restaurant because it was close to home and was able to work the hours I needed for Nevaeh’s sake. A full-time day job was hard to find. Nevaeh was going into the third grade when the next year started up in the fall so it was important to me that someone greeted her as she got off the bus.



At the end of my evening, I grabbed two Styrofoam containers and made us dinner for the night. I was too tired to cook. Once I packed our meals, I hopped into my 2006 green Honda Civic and headed to Lorraine’s house to pick up my daughter. I couldn’t wait to lay eyes on my little girl, and Nevaeh would be excited when I brought home food from my work. As I pulled into Lorraine’s driveway, I spied my little sweetheart peeking out the window at me. I barely got out of my car before my pride and joy was running out the front door coming to greet me.



“Nevaeh!” I rejoiced, scooping up my child and hugging her tightly. Even though she was eight years old, she was tiny for her size.



“Hi, Momma! I missed you today,” the she attacked as she squeezed her arms around my neck. “I had so much fun while you were gone!”



“You did? What did you do?” I asked as we made our way toward the living room to gather Nevaeh’s things.