Roy Glenn - MOB

“Yeah.” She laughed too. “I always read the nutrition facts on everything that I buy.”

“Nutrition facts?” Travis asked.

“You’ve never read the nutrition facts on the things you buy?”

“I’m ashamed to say it, but no, I don’t,” Travis said and dropped his eyes in mock shame. Inside, he was glowing.

“On the label of just about any kind of packaged food that you buy, there are nutrition facts,” she said. “It gives you information that you need to know about the foods that you eat.” She put her magazine back on the rack and reached into his shopping cart then stepped next to Travis. His heart began to pound.

She pointed to the nutrition facts on the package of frozen corn on the cob. “Look at the label on that package. It tells you that this corn has only ninety calories and that five of those calories came from fat. There’s only one gram of total fat. It has no saturated fat or sodium. Now look at that box of mac and cheese. Look at both packages and compare the two.”

“Two hundred and sixty calories and four hundred if I use margarine and two-percent milk,” Travis said.

“And who doesn’t put margarine and milk in their mac and cheese?”

“Nobody.”

“Now check out the amount of sodium it has, and compare it to the corn,” she instructed.

Travis did as he was told. At this point, he would have hopped on one leg and barked like a dog if she said wanted to see it. “The corn has no sodium, and wow! This mac and cheese has seven hundred twenty milligrams. That’s a big difference.”

“And it is so much more sodium than we black people, who are already prone to high blood pressure, need in our diets. So, we should really watch the amount of sodium in the foods we buy and the amount of salt we pour on it.”

“But you know black people can’t live without mac-n-cheese,” Travis said playfully.

“True that, true that.” She nodded in agreement and smiled. “’Cause I love it too. But we shouldn’t eat it all the time.”

“Well, if that’s the case, half of what we call soul food ain’t all that healthy for us either.”

“I know that’s right, ’cause when I go to my aunt’s house for Sunday dinner or on Thanksgiving and Christmas, there I am eating everything in sight, gettin’ fat on my way back in the kitchen for a second plate. But I sure pay for it the next week.”

“I don’t know. You look pretty healthy to me.”

“I try to eat right, you know, get a little exercise. You look like you’re in pretty good shape,” she said, peering in his cart. “Most of what you have is pretty healthy. Plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables.”

“Thank you,” Travis said, glad that he only picked up items in the aisles she went down. “By the way, my name is Travis. Travis Burns,” he said and extended his hand.

“Me’shelle Lawrence,” she said, accepting his hand.

“Well, Ms. Lawrence, it is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is mutual, Mr. Burns,” Me’shelle said graciously.

“And thank you for the nutrition lesson.”

“Not a problem. Everybody needs to be educated on some things sometimes. It’s what I do.”

“So, when you brutally attacked my ankle, what were you looking at?”

“The dietary fiber contents,” Me’shelle said. “Always choose my cereal based on the amount of dietary fiber it has.”

“Is that important?”

“Very,” Me’shelle replied, thinking the reason why it was important was a little too much information for her to be giving for the purposes of that conversation.

“I’ll have to watch that,” Travis said. “And thank you again. Listen, would you like to go out with me some time?”

Me’shelle leaned back and looked Travis over. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”

“Why? Are you married?”

“No.”

“Well then, I think it’s the least you could do after you attacked my ankle,” Travis said jokingly, but he was dead serious.

“Travis-that’s your name, right? I usually don’t go out with guys that try to pick me up in the grocery store. So, I guess that you’ll just have to settle for a sincere apology.”

“Well, if that’s all I can have, then I will just have to be happy with that.” Travis once again extended his hand. “It was truly a pleasure meeting and talking with you today, Ms. Lawrence. Hopefully we’ll meet again some time. In fact, I’m sure of it,” Travis said confidently.

Me’shelle accepted his hand and looked at him curiously. “Nice meeting you too.” She was really starting to like Travis. I wasn’t expecting him to give up so easily, she thought as she watched Travis walk down the aisle heading toward the checkout lanes.

For Travis, it was a totally successful first encounter. He came away knowing her name. Me’shelle Lawrence . The words seemed to float from her lips to his ears. He knew what kind of car she drove. He knew that she was health conscious, and he now knew that she was quite intelligent.

Travis paid for his items and headed for his car, knowing that he would see her again. He made a note of her license plate number and drove off.

On Sunday morning, Me’shelle got in her car and headed to her aunt Miranda’s house in Queens for Sunday dinner. As she drove across the Whitestone Bridge, she glanced out her window at the water. She loved the water; it was so peaceful and allowed her to clear her mind and think. Of course, driving across a bridge may not be the best time to look at and enjoy the water, but it is what it is. Her dilemma that morning was her older brother, Bruce. How should she handle him, and what, if anything, could she do to get her niece, Brandy, out of that situation?

Like so many others, Bruce had lost his job. To make ends meet he began to sell cocaine for some character who called himself Chilly. Nothing major; he could flip a few grams, maybe an ounce here and there if he already had a buyer. But then he would step on it so hard that they didn’t come back. You see, Bruce and his wife Natalie were big-time smokers, and having product around just made it worse because they would always smoke themselves in a hole. A hole that they continuously asked Me’shelle to dig them out of.

The night before Bruce had come to her for help. It wasn’t that they owed anybody money. That would come later. They had smoked all they had and needed money for more.

The calls began a little after 2:00 in the morning. She knew it was Bruce, and she knew what he wanted, so she didn’t answer the phone. But the calls continued about every ten minutes until Me’shelle unplugged her phone at 3:00 in the morning. By the time she had drifted off to sleep, it was after 4:00. That sleep was interrupted by a loud banging at her door accompanied by, “Me’shelle!” Bruce yelled at the top of his lungs as he continued to bang on the door. “Open the door, Me’shelle! I know you’re in there!”

Me’shelle jumped out of bed and ran to the door. She had to shut him up because the last time he pulled a stunt like this, her landlord, Mrs. B., told her if it happened again, lease or no lease, she was putting her out. She swung the door open, snatched Bruce by his shirt and dragged him into the apartment. “Are you crazy, Bruce? What are doin’ knocking on my door like a crazy fool at four in the morning?”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

“Did you ever think that I wasn’t home or had company and didn’t want to be bothered?”

“Nope. Since that blockhead Trent dropped you, you never go anywhere,” Bruce said, looking around Me’shelle’s apartment.

“He didn’t drop me. We agreed that we should see other people,” Me’shelle said, knowing Trent had dropped her.