My girlfriend, Jolene, took it and ran with it, but I figured I should let her know. Too bad an argument ensued and it ended abruptly. She hung up. Her anger focused mostly on what I did and not our son's health and malnourishment. For the past two weeks, my newborn son cried; sometimes, throughout the day and at night. But not today, Milton, Jr., lay soundly asleep across my chest. His face fat and content, belly too.
About an hour or so later, the front door flew open as fast as it shut. The loud noise disturbed my nap, but not his thankfully. I woke up slightly dazed, taking care to sit up and do it slowly. Eventually, I reclined and looked up at this beautiful but sour looking face. I couldn't make out her first words, but they became audible the more she spoke. Or, should I say curse.
"What the fuck's wrong with you," Jolene said, standing above us.
"Not so loud,” I said. "He's asleep, so lower your voice. Better yet, kill that attitude."
I stood up just as slow so as not to wake him. Jolene tossed her hand purse on the sofa and stormed straight into the kitchen. She then proceeded to empty out the containers I told her about, pouring the milk down the kitchen sink drain, and doing it with emphasis.
"Say! Don’t do that.”
"I’m his mother. Me, not her." Jolene said. "Is this all of it?"
"It is now."
"You know I don't like her."
"You can't let that go, can you?"
Jolene spun and gave a frank look. She walked upfast and I expected her temper to explode. She never refrained from throwing a tantrum along with some well placed punches when the situation fit. I turned sideways in preparation for a few hard blows, but none came.
"Hand him here," she said, reaching. My son fast asleep in my arms, but he squirmed a bit from suddenly being physically put adrift. The grin still on his face. His lips smacking, as if savoring a familiar and tasty flavor or experiencing one pleasant dream.
"Now get out!"
"Say what? I live here."
"You heard me! Get out! First, you cheat on me and then endanger my child's life,” she said. “You're an asshole, you know that."
"Cheated? Endangered?"
“I bet you sat there and watched, didn’t you?"
“I mean, of course. I've seen her breasts before.”
Being straightforward didn't go over too well. I soon found myself standing outside the apartment in my basketball shorts, a tee-shirt, ankle socks, and sandals. The door reopened, but only momentarily, so she could toss out my wallet. I didn't bother banging on the door, but I should’ve. But why cause a scene? Better yet, why invite the police? Because nothing good will come from it. Instead, I picked up my wallet and walked off.
I thought about going over to Henrietta's, but left the apartment complex altogether, and walked to Burger King to think. I knew I did the right thing – a good thing. I did what men ordinarily don't do;act responsibly for once. I solved a problem, but she resented how, knowing damn well there existed a scarcity of infant formula nationwide. Parents, like myself, throughout America must feed their babies sparingly. To think, newborns could literally die of starvation because of the lack of production doesn’t make sense. I hear it so often from news pundits about how bright the light shines on the hill. I mean, like, what the fuck?
I now arrived at the Burger King, the lobby not as busy as the drive-thru, so I could take my time looking over the menu. I soon placed a food order to sit inside, paid for it, and then carried my tray of food to a window booth. I sat there, looking out on the world, while feasting on two double-meat sausages, egg, and cheese croissants, hash browns, and a large coffee. Thinking: Jolene's jealousy is clouding her judgment. Maybe, the idea of another woman nursing her child did it. But she, herself, refused to breastfeed our son based on supposed horror stories of nipple scarring and pain. Sure, her body, her decision; but damn, should it cost Milton Jr. his health? I just sat there, thinking, enjoying breakfast, and checking out those entering.
*****
Last night, we both agreed that she would get up early and drive all over town to look for infant formula. Jolene figured the richer side of town could have some. Plus, she didn't think a six foot five black man would get as much sympathy and service as a woman. So, I should stay home, enjoy my Saturday off, and watch our son while she store hopped.
After she left, a half an hour later, my son woke up wailing. No doubt hungry. So I lifted him out of the crib, tossed a towel across my shoulder, put him in my arms, and then offered him a warm sugar water bottle, which he often rejected. I wanted to save the last of the freshly made infant formula for later. Frustrated and unable to console him, I slipped on my sandals, pocketed the house keys, and then left, going to another apartment building until I reached D337. I rap-knocked on the door and waited. Then it swung inward.
"Good Morning."
Henrietta Greenwood, one curvy, plump, short, smart, white woman, pretty even when ordinary , stood in the doorway wearing a recognizable pair of lengthy Adidas basketball shorts and a gray t-shirt that ironically read, Got Milk. I met her several years back through a mutual friend and later learned we lived in the same residential apartment complex. Soon thereafter, we became romantically involved but remained friends, enjoying the benefits of being bed buddies rather than the push and pull related with a serious relationship.
"Hey Mezz, what's up?"
"Say? I need a big favor, but I'm not sure how you'll take it."
"Depends on the favor."
"Well? You're aware of the current baby formula shortage, right?"
"I am, so what of it," she said. "It's not my problem. I breastfeed, you know that."
"I know. That's why I came. I'm tired of feeding Milton Jr. watered-down formula and sugar water. Right now, Jolene is out driving all over town looking for Similac and Enfamil; and, I hope she finds some. I really do, because nobody knows how long this drought will last, and we need it badly. I'm just worried, you know. Afraid even. My son has been crying a lot. Not pooping and I don’t want to give him regular milk or Pet milk. Not yet."
"So what do you want from me?"
"Would you nurse him?" I asked. "That's why I am here."
"Why should I?"
"For me, Henrietta, please."
"You should’ve called before you came," she said.
"No, no, I couldn't." I said. "I'm not borrowing money. Something like this require a face-to- face."
Henrietta stood there akimbo, shifting her posture, and playing with the door. I prepared for another cursing out and door slam, but as soon as those soft brown eyes and sneaky smirk looked up, I knew right then she made her decision.
"And your old lady is okay with this?"
"I don't know. I haven't told her yet."
"Oh great," she said. "Mezz? Are you mad?"
"No. Not really." I said. "But I'll tell her, promise. You know I will. You know me. I'm honest to a fault. But right now, I've had it up to here with his crying from hunger. He needs milk."
"Okay, okay."
"So you'll do it?"
"Yes, I'll do it." Henrietta said. "But your girlfriend better not knock on my door."
"She won't, promise."
"Come on in."
I arrived at feeding time. Henry lay in his playpen, tasting his foot. She picked him up and got situated on the couch, and then she lifted up her t-shirt and began feeding. Henrietta then beckoned for mine and I tucked him into her opposite arm and helped him latch on. Soon both boys lay face-to-face, each suckling on a tit. Neither fussed about the other's presence. I sat in the chair across from her, looking on happily. I almost got up and sat beside her, but changed my mind. Checking my emotions, thinking by doing so I could interrupt the bonding taking place.
Milton Jr. fed much longer than Henry and without being told, I took hold of Henry. He gave a 'don't I know you look' as he stared at my black face with those big hazel marbles and fat grin. I circled the sofa repeatedly, carrying, and patting him on the back gently until he finally burped and puked. As I cleaned his mouth, I noticed the clock on the microwave, shocked at the time.
"It's almost 10 o'clock. I've been here that long."
"I guess," Henrietta said. "Say? Since you're walking around and being a good daddy, go look in the fridge. I have a large plastic juice bottle in there. It has a red lid. It's full of my breast milk. You can have it. Take it. I have plenty in the freezer."
"No shit?"
"No shit. I figured, why not. Give it to him. It won't go to waste."
"What about Henry?"
I didn't want to deprive him, but she clarified her kindness. Henrietta produced every two hours and could share, but for a short period. Two weeks, tops. By that time, the federal government, Abbott, Mead, and Nestle should have their act together and shelves restocked.
"Damn, that often. No wonder he’s so big."
Henrietta looked at me looking at her and blushed, a habit she couldn't get rid of whenever I turned her on. She soon hid her bosom, but did it slowly, and then we exchanged sons. "Look at him. He's smiling," I said, gently laying him against my toweled shoulder and repeating what I did before: patting his back to encourage burps. "My apologies for him being so greedy, but I'm grateful. Really I am."
"It's okay. He's just like his daddy."
"Really now?"
I hung out a bit longer for further small talk and to snack on a pack of frosted Blueberry Pop Tarts for breakfast while both boys lay asleep in the playpen. After that, we embraced tightly and kissed. I soon left, promising Henrietta that I would let Jolene know what transpired. As soon as I returned home, I telephoned Jolene and shared the good news. The conversation quickly became lopsided. I argued my point that our child's health outweighed her jealousy, but she disagreed.
"No! I didn't fuck her…Yes, Henrietta breastfed our child…So what! It's not like it's going to be permanent or anything." I said. "And she's willing to do it until formula becomes readily available…She even gave us some of her spare milk."
Jolene hung up after that.
*****
While I walked to Burger King, an upset Jolene called Bernice, her mother. Unknown at the time, I gained an advocate which likely caught her off guard. Her mom explained the role of wet nurses back in the day before the invention of powdered milk. How enslaved black women commonly breastfeed and cared for slaveholders' and wealthy white men's wives' children. Even poor white women and immigrants did it to supplement their income. Sometimes at their own child's detriment.
"Mama? You're siding with him?"
"On this," her mother said. "Yes, I am."
"Really, Mama."
"So let me ask you?" Bernice said. "What do you want him to do?
"Not that."
For an hour or two, mother and daughter debated; discussing several issues, both old and current. Milton, Jr. soon woke up, disrupting their talk, apparently hungry. Jolene told her mother goodbye. She opened the refrigerator and soon realized in her blind pride, she discarded the large plastic bottle of breast-milk and inadvertently tossed the infant formula Mezz made earlier. She looked down into the trash can and confirmed her stupidity. There, buried with all the other refuse rested an empty Enfamil can. Now Milton Jr., as before, rejected the warm sugar water bottle.
Jolene sat down and tried to soothe him, but unsuccessfully. She looked at her own chest, but opted against any attempt at feeding him. She then scoured the apartment and car for forgotten unused infant formula, but nothing. She then wondered about Mezz's whereabouts after throwing him out without his phone. And then it hit her, she left her own apartment for Building D and made the deliberate walk up three flights of stairs. Jolene knocked on door D337. Soon the door opened and two women who shared the same man's love, stood before each other holding his son, looking at each other suspiciously.
"Henrietta."
"Jolene."
"Is Mezz here?"
"No," Henrietta. "He was earlier. I did a favor for him."
"Yeah, yeah, you did. He told me."
"Now, why are you here?"
"I kind of overreacted and threw him out, along with the milk you gave. He doesn’t know I'm here."
"Really?" Henrietta said. "You did that?"
"I was mad. Mad at him, but I want to make it right."
"I see."
"So, from one mother to another: could you find it in your heart to help me out again?"
"I'll think about it."
Henrietta swiftly shut the door in Jolene's face. The sound of the lock latching could be heard while Milton Jr. continued his crying and she repeatedly knocked on the door, begging and apologizing.
"Henrietta? Please. Please don't punish his son for my stupidity."
Suddenly, the door unlocked and then opened. Henrietta thrusted at her a plastic grocery bag containing a few frozen packets of breast milk. She took it and looked inside. Thanks followed. Then, Jolene tried to offer Henrietta a hug, but faced outright rejection.
"Just tell Mezz," Henrietta said. "Do that, okay. And let him know his promise lasted only four hours and he should do better. He'll know what I mean. Oh yeah? He's probably at Burger King, thinking, sucking up the soda machine. Bye, Jolene."
The door closed. Jolene stood there misty-eyed. She then left Henrietta's building for her own, still feeling conflicted, but happy she could feed her son. As soon as she reached her building's floor, she recognized this lanky dark figure sitting beside the door, sipping on a large drink.
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