Tree (eBook)

1

As Debbie waited outside in the dark for a taxicab, she wept a little. The cold air wrestled with the hood that was attached to her red coat. Debbie stood at the entrance of what she concluded would be her last temporary job and indeed it was her last day there. And as she stood at the entrance of that factory on the all-important day that she got fired, she had a disconnection in knowing whether she was headed in the right direction. The night was one of many destined events that would pull her out of a pit of despair and pity, and into the tranquility of peace. But she had been filled with uncomfortability in that work environment of the factory, and simultaneously doubted herself.

Debbie was a 5-foot 6 woman of color. She was fair skinned but had low self-esteem. Her hair was long and brown; she wore it pressed and in a ponytail. She believed that she was of average attractiveness. Her footsteps were light and she carried a big stick. Debbie had words of encouragement draped around her neck and a blue ribbon in her hair; a ribbon that read “I love Jesus”.

The evening began when she was a passenger in a van that took her back and forth to work. The driver, Joe, always left the front seat open for her. Debbie met him on the job. Joe was a dark skinned African American with French braids. His appearance looked like he was stuck in the 70’s which caused her to envision those braids out into a big old afro. Debbie’s strong mental imagery of Joe’s hair had correlation to her permed and non-permed concept. Joe definitely was somebody that could relate to the terms what’s happening and right on. He was not the man to bite his tongue or monitor his voice tones. Sometimes the brother would get loud. After clocking in on that all important day Joe told her, “They have talked about every woman on the job but they have never said anything about you Debbie”. Debbie thought that was untrue but maybe it was true. She walked into work as usual, full of anxiousness.

She was on a 3 p.m. to 3 a.m. shift, referred to as D shift. She focused on making it through as a trooper. The day went like clockwork. An all weaved up woman and that critical label Debbie gave her, left early from work with sickness. Candidly the weave looked fairly well compared to some hair weaves but Debbie paid undue attention to what was not her business. Her permed and not permed thinking process led her to play judge and jury to which she had no right. She told Debbie to have a nice Christmas and Debbie received that message just as the woman meant it and spoke it to her. But that woman’s chuckle made it clear to Debbie that something was about to transpire before Christmas. Debbie knew that the woman would receive a horrible reputation there…by her own accord. She put herself out there like a loose goose. The young lady had willingly become the obvious lure for a fisherman’s hook with no sense of discretion to self-esteem. Why oh why? Debbie got that straight from the horse’s mouth and felt in some way sorry for that unhappy woman for she indeed shared commonality with Debbie. Debbie was up in the shop gossip and took on the role of judge to that woman and her character and did not entertain that it was not her call. That was unfortunate and not the proper thing to do for Debbie. She had embraced raking someone else’s yard. She would ultimately in life be faced with those same demons of being judged for her actions. Debbie should have paid closer attention to what was draped around her neck and in her hair but that day she judged others, only to ultimately be judged herself.

KEEP YOUR FINGERS IN YOUR OWN POT

Why are we so intrigued with someone else’s business?

Not only are we interested but also thrive in a negative conclusion

Why don’t we keep our fingers in our own pots?

All the backstabbing, tongue twisting, cold hearts

We need to stop, handle ours and leave others to handle theirs

Your ladder of life comes with a definite

Somebody’s fingers will dip in your pot

Either way, that day it changed, the day that her lunch box retired at that job. She didn’t expect that co-workers would put her down from a near distance through laughter. Did Joe stir up some trouble or did Debbie need a reality check? Debbie heard co-workers refer to herself as a bulldog including recognition by good old Joe’s laughter. Debbie thought he was a traitor and should rename him “Smoking Joe”. Honestly, as the day moved along Debbie’s face had folded up in distress as bulldog syndrome. Who could help but notice a folded-up face? They talked about Debbie but not to her face. Some might have been put off by her facial disposition and body language which spoke a silent stand back. When she would look in their direction, they would laugh at her and that’s what she saw. Debbie felt powerless. Thus, she kept her head down and focused on work. Was Debbie paranoid? An illusion doesn’t start with the eyes but with the mind.

Her boss, a man with a spout of a lip, was a true dictator. He had demeaned Debbie over a small period of time, from right before the all-celebrated Thanksgiving until right before Christmas. Let’s call him the Joker. The Joker called her silly behind in front of other workers and got laughter. The Joker didn’t use the word behind he in fact used a curse word and that was deemed unprofessional by Debbie. But this type of language ran rapid throughout the manufacturing shop. The Joker was a little biased when he told her she couldn’t listen to music but other workers indeed did, in plain sight, with the exception of the outsider Debbie. Debbie was asked to go home that night from work. Not bluntly told that she was fired but through hints of subtleness in word and action saw herself being brushed away like the broom sweeping she did in cleaning there from time to time. As she was on a day-to-day contract she knew when she was told she could leave that she indeed did not have to come in the next day and her time was up, it was over she just didn’t know or understand why.

The chain of events happened so unexpectedly and humiliation grew on and in Debbie. She wrote down a prayer of forgiveness and slipped it in her pocket. Something to keep her encouraged, something to keep her. She felt her reputation, work ethic and the measurement she used being used back on her in the form of judgment. Her reputation had gone kaput there (haywire, even) and her connection grew toward the hair weaved up woman who had lost her good reputation; a recollection of Debbie’s own imperfections. Debbie was responsible for her actions and had regret and deep distress for conforming to the environment under a state of distortion. Something pulled her to safety when she could not. She didn’t know where it was, but it existed for her, some safety in the midst of trial and tribulation. They talked about her on the job and she held on. The Joker mocked her before she retired the broomstick, while he chewed gum and peered menacingly at her, she held on. As she walked outside to calm through sedation of a pill, at lunch that day, she held on. As she walked inside after lunch and faced the Joker and a company gopher, she held on. As she was discreetly told to go home, she held on. What could have been the defining moment that made an impact on the decision to let her go? The pill of courage that saw her through and her illusion of thought, but she knew only how she felt and reacted to the chain of events that savored her humility. As she called the taxi company, she held on. As she walked out and past the time clock without punching, she held on. As she cried and waited outside for the taxi she felt as if she had been taken way past where she wanted and expected to go that night and her mind was in a whirlwind of thought. Debbie was broken and distraught. But indeed, the trooper held on. Comment: For everybody is somebody whether thought to be or not and the answer was that she had dug a hole that she was immersed in. Debbie picked up the message that, “It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man,” (Psalms 118:8 kjv) but she still could not trust her own idealism because her thought process was warped. Debbie should have been let go that day for her own sake and didn’t realize it until the long road back, for she was not well internally nor mentally.

On that night of turmoil, a light peeked through the darkness in the form of headlights and a bright taxi sign. The ride would give her what she needed and came right on time. Debbie was about 12 or so miles away from home and as she opened the rear passenger door and positioned herself on the seat of the cab, the driver and her exchanged greetings of hello. The driver of the vehicle deserved and earned his name, he was very pleasant. Pleasant, the cabby, spoke of God as he drove and Debbie’s blank eyes connected with the darkness. As he continued telling Debbie he did that all day long — speaking about faith, that is — stimulating Debbie’s mind, and connecting her with this messenger from heaven. As she plugged in to the moment, she found hope and inspiration in his words, life experiences, and determination to speak. He held back nothing. He gave all praise and thanks to God. He loved God very much and it was quite evident. As she rode, her thoughts cleared. She knew the direction she headed in was the right direction. That taxi driver was there to encourage her through his struggle which was real. She sat back and listened as he drove the fifteen miles or so to...